Her Amish Protectors

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Ben was tempted to help, just to speed up the process, but his role as lead detective was to make sure the search was thorough, clean and fell within legal parameters. Anyway, what was he going to do? Sift through her lingerie? Study the contents of her medicine cabinet and bathroom vanity? All he’d do was make any future conversations with her even more difficult. Instead, he had to watch as she lost every shred of privacy and yet clung to both dignity and fury.

  Mercifully, his men managed to finish up here without doing any damage. They even, more or less, put everything back in place. The relative care they took didn’t make Ben feel any better. His gut roiled as they continued with the necessary task.

  The downstairs took hours. Just the peculiar closet beneath the stairs consumed an inordinate amount of time. It was jammed with plastic totes, all labeled, but each had to be opened, the contents examined. Nadia had installed cupboards and open shelves in the back room for some storage, but she needed most of the space for the quilt frame and to hold classes, so she had to live with the inconvenience of the oddly shaped closet. It must be a pain in the butt when she needed to find something that wasn’t right in front.

  Once they moved on to the store proper, Ben stepped into the hall where he could see the proceedings and Nadia while also making phone calls and checking email. He learned exactly how much money she had in checking and savings accounts, as well as an investment account. Given her mortgage, he doubted she had enough put away to allow her to hold out six months if sales in her store tanked. Not at all to his surprise, there had been no suspect deposits.

  Suddenly, she exclaimed in anger and anguish, “You can’t put those on the floor! Do you know the work that went into them?”

  Ben hustled into the store to see Officer Ackley straightening with an armful of quilts, expression chagrined. “But...we have to take them down, ma’am.”

  “Lay them carefully over a row of fabric, or hand them to me and I’ll find a place to put them temporarily. This one was made by Ruth Graber. Do you know her?”

  Ben knew of her. The elderly Amish woman had lost her husband last fall. As it happened, the county sheriff, Daniel Byler, had married Ruth’s granddaughter Rebecca in November. Who knew how many more quilts she’d make? Ben had also seen the tiny price tag pinned to the one Officer Ackley had been about to drop onto the floor. $2,800. He cringed to imagine a dirty footprint in the middle of an intricately hand-quilted white block.

  He stepped forward to take the quilt from Ackley, making a point of twitching the tiny price tag into view. The officer’s eyes widened.

  Watching, Terry Uhrich shook his head and went back to inspecting walls.

  Ben turned to find Nadia had resumed her rigid stance. Unfortunately, she’d crossed her arms, plumping her breasts above them. He had trouble dragging his gaze from the sight.

  “You have to be beat,” he said in exasperation. “For God’s sake, why don’t you go lie down? I’ll keep an eye on them, I promise.”

  Not even looking at him, she said in a low, fierce voice, “You are the last person—” She shook her head, not finishing. She didn’t have to.

  He was the last person she would trust to look out for her interests. God help him, he couldn’t blame her for feeling that way. She’d called the police for help, and, from her perspective, instead of looking for the real thief, they were subjecting her to this. They might as well have cuffed her, hauled her to the station and focused bright lights on her as they shouted questions.

  He made a sound no one else would hear. They? Who was he kidding? In her head, the villain was him. And she wasn’t even wrong—he had ordered this. He’d known they wouldn’t find anything, any more than the warrant had turned up a grain of suspicious activity, and yet he still didn’t know what else he could have done.

  From what he was hearing, community opinion was solidifying against her. He wanted to be able to say, “Ms. Markovic is not a suspect.” But would anyone believe him, after word got out about the search?

  And it would—nobody had thought to lower the blinds in the front windows, and people had been peering in watching. A couple of times, the doorknob had rattled despite the closed sign. Nadia had kept her back to the windows, refusing to look at the curious.

  Finally, Terry left his two men putting bolts of fabric back on the hollow bases and came to Ben and Nadia. “We’re done, Ms. Markovic. I’ve lost track of which quilts hung where, but if you’ll tell me, I’ll be glad to put them back.”

  “I’d prefer you leave.” Her voice was a husk of itself, dry and empty.

  “But the ladders are out...”

  She didn’t say a word. Her gaze seemed fixed on a now bare wall.

  Terry’s eyes slid Ben’s way. Ben gave his head a slight shake, and the other man sighed.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  A minute later, the three left, the bell dangling on the front door tinkling in their wake. Nadia didn’t move, didn’t speak.

  “They didn’t put the fabric back in the right order,” he heard himself say. He didn’t love the idea of her spending an hour or more perched precariously on a step stool while she rehung the quilts for sale, either.

  At last she faced him, the devastation in her beautiful eyes acting like a kick to his belly.

  “I assume you’re satisfied?”

  “I didn’t expect to find the damn money. I told you.”

  “And yet you decided to ruin me. Because you haven’t been able to come up with another suspect, I assume.” When he held his silence, her lip curled. “Unless you have any other indignities to offer, you need to leave. I don’t want you here.”

  He couldn’t tell her what else he’d done, because he’d continue watching her financial dealings for the immediate future, just in case she now thought herself safe and deposited some of the money. When she found out, as she inevitably would... Yeah, she’d see that as another indignity.

  “I regret having to put you through this,” he said stiffly. “I can only tell you I was doing my job.”

  “I’ve lost everything.” She looked around in despair.

  “You haven’t.” He wanted to grip her upper arms and make her meet his eyes, but knew better. “You have supporters. People will realize you would never have stolen that money. Just...give them time.”

  “I can’t afford to give them time,” Nadia said in the dry voice that held no vitality. “And...do I want people who condemned me without a second thought to become good customers? They would have to pretend, and I’d have to pretend...” She shook her head. “I can’t stay in Byrum, not after this. Whatever happened, I’ll never dare call the police again, I know that.”

  “Nadia—”

  She took a step back. “You’ve worn out your welcome.”

  Despite the renewed ice in her voice, he hesitated, but recognized he couldn’t make this better. Not now, maybe never.

  He dipped his head. “Things will look better tomorrow.”

  She didn’t dignify that with any response whatsoever.

  When he walked out, she immediately locked the door behind him. Ben got in his car, started the engine then tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Things will look better tomorrow? Had he really said that? Why would she feel one iota better come morning?

  Muttering a foul word, he drove away without allowing himself a last glance at the storefront.

  * * *

  NADIA MADE IT UPSTAIRS to her own bathroom before she dropped to her knees in front of the toilet, her stomach heaving.

  When her phone rang and she saw her parents’ number, she let the call go to voice mail. They’d spent the past year worrying about her. She wouldn’t give them a new reason. If they knew what was going on, they’d want to rush to Missouri to support her. As much as she loved both her parents, she couldn’t bear their surreptitious monitoring o
f her every word and move, the false cheer, the constant little suggestions.

  And look how well her escape had gone, she thought bleakly.

  Her skin crawled as she thought about the day. She should have left. They’d done nothing but their jobs, even Ben Slater. She knew that. And yet her entire goal had been making them all feel guilty for what they were doing to her, as miserable as she possibly could.

  Except she knew perfectly well they’d put her out of their minds by now. Any of them who were unmarried had probably stopped at a bar for a couple of beers and a game or two of pool once they clocked out. The married ones would have gone home to family chaos. And their chief? He’d done what he felt he had to, staying calm all day, and if he was a little ruffled by her contempt and pain, he would shrug it off.

  She was the only one who couldn’t. This was her life, or, at least, the one she’d been trying to patch together.

  Some of this bitterness that edged toward hate had roots in Colorado, not present circumstances. But that was the only other time she’d needed the police, and they had failed her as completely as it was possible to do. So, no, she wasn’t being fair, she knew she should hate the thief, not Chief Ben Slater, but she didn’t care. It almost seemed as if he’d gone out of his way to make the search as conspicuous as possible. If he’d cared, he could have arranged it to be done after hours and not had multiple marked police vehicles sitting in front of her business. He could have pulled all the blinds.

  But, no. He had likely intended for the search to be as visible as he could make it. See? I listen to the citizens of my town. Watch me do my job, to hell with the woman I’m destroying.

  Feeling cold despite the sweltering temperature here upstairs, she tried to shake off the debilitating effects of rage and humiliation so she could think clearly.

  What was she going to do? Pack up and return to Colorado?

  She revolted instinctively at that idea.

  Okay, try to make yet another start somewhere else? She’d be able to do that only if she could fund the start by a quick sale of the building. Otherwise...even if she took a job after moving and found a new outlet for selling her quilts, she wouldn’t be able to earn enough to make payments on her mortgage here while covering the rent wherever she found to live. Go bankrupt? Couldn’t do that until she really did run out of money. What’s more, bankruptcy would mean no possibility of getting a loan to start over.

  Anyway, if she put a for-sale sign out front, she would only increase Ben Slater’s certainty that she had the money. If she was compelled to stay, for however many weeks, she had to keep opening the store every morning and hope she still had a few customers. At least she might bring in some income. It was safe to say nobody would hire her right now, making job hunting a nonoption.

  Panic joined the crowd of emotions elbowing for room inside her rib cage.

  Nadia wanted desperately to run away. To pack a couple of bags and go. She could make long-distance arrangements for the quilts to be returned to their makers, for someone to clean out the apartment, to hire a real estate agent.

  Her spine stiffened. She wouldn’t run away again. Fail, have to move, maybe, but not quit when there was any possibility of salvaging what she’d built here in Missouri.

  Making herself get practical, she decided she could get by for a while without replacing stock. No one would notice that the bolts of fabric were looser because no new fabric replaced what had sold. There might be stock in her store that could be returned to manufacturers, too, it occurred to her. Not much, she was afraid, but every little bit would help. The rest...she could donate it to Amish quilters. My little bit of recompense, she thought bitterly, remembering Julie Baird’s suggestion.

  Running the air conditioner after she went to bed so she could hide under the covers, Nadia made herself face reality.

  Self-respect aside, taking off would make her look guilty. The smartest thing she could do, the bravest, was get up in the morning, do her best to restore her displays and open just as she did every other morning. If business was as slow as she anticipated, she’d have to let Hannah go. Maybe keep her or hire someone else just for the hours she was teaching classes—assuming anybody showed up for those classes. Unfortunately for her, given that the Amish were being supportive, they didn’t need to take classes; they all had mothers and grandmothers and aunts to teach them the art.

  One more thing she could do was refuse to talk to Chief Slater again without having an attorney present. Which put finding one next on her to-do list, after straightening up downstairs.

  A little sleep would be really helpful right now, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw herself watching three strange men handle her most intimate possessions while she knew all the while that he was watching her.

  If he expected his pressure would break her so she confessed all, he was going to be sadly mistaken.

  * * *

  LUCY’S CALL CAME the next day as Ben was leaving Aaron Hershberger’s farm.

  The poor guy was still scratching his head over Ben’s interest in the gristmill on his property as he watched Ben get back in his car. Ja, Aaron knew Lyle Warren wanted to buy that land, but then he would not only restore the mill, he’d put in a parking lot and trails and signs, and Aaron did not want to live next to such a thing. He did say that Lyle had only repeated his initial offer, and not since spring. Warren apparently didn’t have the money to increase it.

  “I wouldn’t sell it even if he offered double,” the farmer had said with a shrug. “That building, it’s falling down anyway. Already it’s a nuisance. I chase teenagers away all the time.”

  Ben hadn’t bothered telling him to call the sheriff’s department. The Amish had as little to do with police as they could manage.

  Braking at the foot of the lane, he answered the call.

  “I’m ahead of schedule. I’ll be there in about half an hour,” his sister said with perkiness he knew was forced. She struggled with anxiety whenever her routine was altered. But he had to respect her decision to rent a car on her own after flying into Saint Louis so she wouldn’t be totally dependent on him.

  Had it taken the same grit for Nadia to make the move to Byrum?

  “Can I stop by the police station and pick up a key?” his sister asked.

  “I’ll meet you at the house. You have the directions?”

  “I printed them off,” she assured him.

  After promising to be there by the time she arrived, he turned onto the country road, noting where he’d parked Saturday but unable to see the mill from the road. Fortunately, it didn’t take him over ten minutes to reach town.

  When Lucy got out of her car in his driveway, he walked to meet her. “You’ve lost weight.”

  She made a face at him. “Most women would take that as a compliment.”

  “It wasn’t meant as one.” Yeah, Mr. Tactful he wasn’t. But, damn it, his once slender sister had become painfully thin. Even since he last saw her at Christmas, she’d dropped weight.

  His smart, pretty sister had always had an air of vulnerability. Sometimes Ben wondered if the rapist had picked her out from the herd because he’d seen her vulnerability. The thought never failed to enrage Ben.

  Now he hugged her, disturbed by the sharpness of bones he shouldn’t be feeling. He’d always been protective where she was concerned, but it grated that he hadn’t even been able to help her heal. “You look like crap,” he murmured against her baby-fine light brown hair, “but I’m really glad you came.”

  She stepped back with a tremulous smile. “I’m glad I did, too. I miss you, you know.”

  “Yeah.” He had to clear his throat. “Ditto.”

  He carried her suitcase up to the somewhat bare bedroom across the hall from his. He had bought the bed right after moving into the old house in town. Only his parents had slept in it. Just a
few months ago, he had seen the dresser in the window of an antiques store in town and bought it on impulse along with a rocking chair that was in the living room. Otherwise...he guessed he wasn’t much for decorating.

  “This is perfect,” Lucy said, sounding as if she meant it. “What a wonderful house.”

  “A place the age of this one has some drawbacks, but there aren’t a lot of new houses being built around here. I liked the porch.” He had been sold the minute he saw the porch running the full width of the house. One of the few furnishings he’d purchased right away was a glider. He’d liked the rope swing in the backyard hanging from an old maple tree, too, even though he didn’t have kids. He rarely had time to sit out on his front porch, either.

  “It’s a family house,” his sister said softly, as if she saw right into his head. She’d always been able to do that.

  “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Maybe someday.”

  “You haven’t met anyone?”

  Ben flashed on Nadia, lush curves, glorious eyes and fierce pride. Not happening. “No.”

  Lucy tilted her head to one side. “You’re lying.”

  He gave a short laugh. “Maybe I didn’t miss you.”

  She giggled, the unexpectedly merry ripple of sound somehow also sharp enough to pierce his chest, between the ribs and up into his heart.

  “Are you going to tell me?” she teased.

  “No.” He sighed. “Maybe. But fair warning—there’s no happy ending.”

  Her smile fading, Lucy searched his eyes. Ben didn’t know what she saw, but she rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. The ache in his chest was so acute, he had to fight the need to press his hand to his breastbone to try to ease it.