Her Amish Protectors

by Janice Kay Johnson

  He met the locksmith’s troubled brown eyes. “I assume you took a look to see what was in here.”

  “Sure, I thought it was for me. The first check I picked up was written for forty-seven hundred dollars. I know the woman who wrote it. I’m thinking this is some of what was stolen after that auction.”

  Ben tapped his fingers on the table as he thought. “Why you?” he finally asked.

  “I don’t know.” Wilcox appeared less than happy. “A lot of folks in town know me.”

  “I wonder if your mail slot is deeper or wider than some.”

  The locksmith shook his head. “I don’t know. I never paid any attention. My building is an old one. The mail slot is brass, an old-timer.”

  “Do you mind if I fingerprint it?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “All right.” Ben pushed back his chair. “Thanks, Jim. We’ll see if we can get lucky and find someone who saw this being delivered.”

  Visibly relieved to have off-loaded a problem, Wilcox left, and Terry Uhrich came in response to Ben’s summons.

  He studied the bag without noticeable enthusiasm. “Well, paper absorbs oils so it’s ideal for picking up fingerprints. But this one isn’t crisp out of the store. Fact is, I’ll probably find lots of them. I’ll have to get yours and Jim Wilcox’s for elimination. And that’s just the beginning. Presumably a grocery clerk or bagger and at least one customer handled it. And people keep these around and reuse them. There could be an innocent reason for just about anybody leaving a print on it.”

  “And the guy who decided out of the goodness of his heart to give back the credit card slips and checks probably wore gloves.”

  “Unless he’s never watched television or read a book or newspaper,” Terry agreed.

  “Or just got careless.”

  Terry shrugged. “It happens. Anything I lift from here would mostly be useful to match up once you have a suspect.” Peering inside, he said, “I’ll see what I can do with a couple of the top and bottom slips and checks, too.”

  “Go for it,” Ben said, and went straight to his office to call Nadia. She deserved to hear the news first.

  CHAPTER TEN

  NADIA HUNG UP the phone, her hand not quite steady. She didn’t know what to make of Ben’s news. Had somebody suffered from a guilty conscience? If so, not enough to return the cash—the irreplaceable part of what was stolen.

  She’d be happier if the return of the credit card slips and checks cleared her of suspicion, but anyone who had already condemned her wouldn’t have any trouble believing she had been the one to jam the sack through the locksmith’s mail slot. It was logical to suppose that, under suspicion, she would have decided to get rid of the physical evidence.

  The bell on the door let her know she had a customer, so she arranged a smile on her face and stepped around the counter. The smile immediately became natural.

  “Katie-Ann!” Besides Hannah, Katie-Ann Chupp was the only Amish woman she considered a real friend. “And Ruth!”

  Elderly and tiny, Ruth Graber was widely considered the finest quilter in the area. Nadia had been captivated from their first meeting by Ruth’s bright eyes and mischievous smile.

  Today, both women carried bundles in their arms. Quilts, Nadia saw, and gave silent thanks. This was their way of expressing support.

  “Do you have room to display more?” Katie-Ann asked, as if there was any doubt. “Mine is only crib-size, but Ruth’s is for a bed.”

  “For you two, I always have room.” Nadia hurried forward to take the larger bundle from Ruth. The top of her head barely reached shoulder height on Nadia. “I’m excited to see what you’ve brought.”

  Their voices must have carried, because Hannah and Lucy emerged from the back room. Lucy had arrived shortly after the shop opened to use a sewing machine. Nadia introduced her.

  “Learning to quilt?” Ruth surveyed Ben’s sister and nodded with apparent satisfaction. “Smart, you are, coming to Nadia. A fine teacher she is.”

  Lucy beamed. “I think so, too. Do you mind if I peek at your work, since I’m here?”

  Of course they didn’t; quilters almost always welcomed newcomers. And although the Amish abhorred pride—they said someone was taken over by hochmut—the finest of craftsmen and women surely wouldn’t strive for such perfection and grace without feeling gratification anyone else would call pride, or so Nadia suspected.

  First, she spread Katie-Ann’s crib quilt atop the pile on the bed. The Tumbling Blocks pattern used fabrics shading from the palest lemon in one corner through richer yellows and vibrant greens before flowing into blue at the opposite corner.

  “Oh,” Lucy breathed, reaching out to touch it reverently with her fingertips. “If I had a little boy...” Sadness crossed her face as she withdrew her hand.

  Nadia filed away what she’d seen, wondering if Ben’s sister was unable to have children or had lost a baby. Not the kind of thing she could ask.

  And then they all sighed with pleasure as Nadia unrolled Ruth’s Sunshine and Shadows quilt that truly seemed to capture sunlight contrasting with secret corners that were never quite illuminated. Yellow, gold and bronze, it glowed. The tiny, perfectly spaced stitches made it a masterpiece.

  “I’ll take pictures of this today for the website,” Nadia said. “I predict it will sell by the end of the week. I think it might be the most beautiful quilt I’ve ever seen.”

  Ruth demurred, of course. Ach, she knew so many fine quilters! She did her best, she said, but her eyesight wasn’t what it had been, which Nadia didn’t believe for a minute. Not after seeing her stitches in this newest quilt.

  She took Ruth’s hand, small, calloused and arthritic, and Katie-Ann’s, no softer but stronger, and said, “Thank you for bringing these. For...trusting me.”

  The wrinkles giving Ruth’s face a crepe-paper-like texture deepened into crevasses. “Was der schinner is letz? Not trust you? Who would not?”

  What in the world is wrong? she had asked. Hadn’t any of the women told Ruth what was happening? In Nadia’s experience, the Amish grapevine was lightning fast despite the fact they didn’t use telephones.

  “You know about the stolen money?” she said.

  “Ja, sure.”

  “Quite a few people think I took the money myself. They are no longer shopping in my store, and...” She made a face. “Several women have taken their quilts back. I guess they’re convinced I won’t pay them.”

  Ruth’s grip tightened until it almost hurt. “Moderns. A good shake, is what they all need! You are honest as the day is long. Any fool can see that.”

  “Denke,” Nadia said shakily.

  Ruth turned her fierceness on poor Katie-Ann. “Why did you not tell me?”

  “You’ve had enough troubles—”

  She snorted. “If I don’t know, I can’t talk sense into people. This must be set right.”

  “Chief Slater called a few minutes ago,” Nadia said. “Um, he’s Lucy’s brother.”

  Hannah already knew, of course. The other two women stared at Lucy for a moment.

  Nadia told them about the credit card slips and checks being returned via the mail slot on the locksmith’s door. “I told him to take them to Julie Baird. There’s enough distrust of me—I can’t handle them. A lot of the people have already stopped payment at their banks or credit card companies. There are a few from people we were unable to contact, and those we can cash.”

  “So more of the money can go to help people,” Hannah said with satisfaction.

  “Yes. But, no matter what, it isn’t even half what we brought in. A third of the total, maybe? So many people paid with cash, and whoever took it didn’t give that back.”

  Ruth gave a firm nod. “What I earn from this one—” she nodded at the Sunshine and Shadow
s quilt “—you will give that money in place of what was stolen.”

  Katie-Ann beamed. “Ja, you must do the same for mine. I will talk to other quilters.”

  Nadia’s eyes stung. “You can tell them that I won’t keep a commission if they’re willing to donate their part, too.”

  “No, no.” Ruth squeezed Nadia’s hand and let it go. “You must keep your part. What will we do if you go out of business? What I offer is for you, too.”

  Katie-Ann nodded vigorously.

  Nadia swiped at damp eyes. “You’re making me cry.”

  “In a good way, I hope.” Katie-Ann hugged her.

  Laughing through her sniffles, she said, “Of course, in a good way! Thank you both. Denke.”

  Eventually Ruth and Katie-Ann went to the back room to see what Lucy was working on, and approved both her fabric choices and the care she was taking in cutting, sewing and ironing. So many beginners thought they could be slapdash, not realizing how the tiniest imperfection would cause problems down the line.

  Nadia caught sight of a buggy stopping in front, the glossy brown horse calm even as a motorcycle roared past. “Is that your ride?” she asked.

  Following her gaze, Katie-Ann exclaimed, “Ach, Elijah is here already.”

  “So soon?” Ruth chuckled. “Well, blabbermauls, we’ve been, ain’t so?”

  Hannah walked them out, and Nadia saw the three out on the sidewalk, their heads close together, and guessed they had switched to Pennsylvania Dutch. The better for Hannah to tell them hastily about this morning’s events. Nadia touched her cheek, remembering how filthy she had felt, when a baby’s spit wouldn’t have bothered her at all.

  Knowing she did have friends warmed her inside. The effect lingered even though by lunchtime her sole sale of the day was the two spools of thread.

  * * *

  BEN HAD KNOWN before he and his officers began canvassing people who worked up and down the street from Wilcox Lock and Key that the odds of finding a witness to the bag being poked through the mail slot were about one in a million. Few buildings here had upstairs apartments. With no restaurants or taverns, the street shut down at five o’clock. Yeah, there were street lamps, but it wouldn’t have taken a minute for somebody to pull up to the curb, hustle over to shove the sack through the slot then drive away.

  Still, they’d had to try.

  When he returned to the station after the fruitless quest, Terry reported finding fingerprints from eight different people on the bag, but none of those were also on the checks and credit card slips that had been on the bottom and top of the pile. Except for Wilcox’s and Ben’s, Terry ran the prints from the bags, but Ben’s gut feeling was that this thief wasn’t anyone who’d already be in the system. Not to say the individual hadn’t stolen before, but nothing about this had been impulsive. Somehow, he or she had had a key. He—if it was a man—hadn’t taken the opportunity to rape Nadia.

  Not for the first time, Ben wished he’d followed her home and made sure she got inside safely. If so, he might have seen someone else watching.

  Had the thief savored the irony of returning that envelope via Wilcox Lock and Key? Or was it an outright taunt? I have a key, didn’t need a locksmith? He gave passing thought to Lyle Warren but, odd as the man was, Ben couldn’t fit him into any believable scenario.

  He forced himself to set aside the brooding in favor of a few hours dedicated to the frustrating administrative stuff. He and the principal had a lengthy discussion about what presence the police would have at the high school come fall semester. An officer who’d done a lot of the safety talks at the elementary school had taken a job elsewhere, so Ben now had to decide who could replace him. He took a call from an irate father who didn’t want to believe his daughter had actually shoplifted.

  Midafternoon, Ben checked in with Lucy. She mentioned having spent several hours at A Stitch in Time. He asked her to hold dinner to give him time to stop by and talk to Nadia before coming home. What he’d have liked was to invite her to join them for dinner, but he didn’t dare, not yet. He had been told that the city council had erupted in some hot debates before he had been offered the job of police chief. He felt sure he knew which councilmen—and every damn one of them was male—hadn’t wanted to hire a brash, know-it-all Northerner. Ben had worked hard so far to do his job effectively while not giving anyone ammunition to get rid of him. However he felt about it, Nadia was still a suspect in the eyes of too many influential members of this community.

  He slipped away early enough to park in front of her building just as she was turning the sign to read Closed. She waited, opening the door as he crossed the sidewalk to her. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and resume this morning’s kiss, but restrained himself. Nadia had had reservations about him from the first, even before the theft, and he needed to know why before he presumed too much.

  She locked and said, “You do know everyone who sees your Explorer out front will wonder why you’re here.”

  “It’s not a police car. Why would anyone notice it?”

  Nadia’s look said, Get real.

  “How do you know so much about small towns when you didn’t grow up in one?” he grumbled.

  “Being the subject of vitriolic gossip is a speed-learning experience,” she said tersely. “Are you staying long enough to come upstairs?”

  “Yes.”

  Without comment, she led the way, her reserve solidly in place. Maybe he should have kissed her the minute he walked in the door, to hell with the chance of being seen.

  “I made lemonade earlier,” she said without looking at him as they entered the apartment. “Would you like a glass?”

  “That sounds good. Thanks.”

  Another nod, and she disappeared into the kitchen. Not liking this uncertainty, Ben hovered in the small living room, listening to the sounds of her moving around. The cupboard door, the refrigerator, the clink of glasses. Soft but unmistakable. Would she really have slept through those kinds of sounds while an intruder searched her place?

  Yeah, but if she’d turned lights on and off quickly on the way upstairs, an interested observer might rightly have assumed she hadn’t stopped long enough along the way to hide the money. And what if the only light she turned on in the apartment was in her bedroom? The intruder could have started the search there. With a penlight, he could have seen the money box immediately.

  When she returned with the lemonade, he sat on the sofa, her on the easy chair facing him.

  “Walk me through what you did when you got home that night.”

  “What?” Shock showed on her face.

  “You parked out in front and let yourself into the store. Did you turn on any lights downstairs?”

  “The hall, just long enough for me to check that the back door was still locked. And then the ones above the stairs, of course.”

  The light in the hall would show as a glow through the store’s front windows, for sure, and more faintly through the back window. The staircase lights probably couldn’t be seen from outside at all, front or back.

  Needing to pin her down, he said, “But not in the store.”

  She shook her head.

  “Upstairs?”

  Her eyes briefly became unfocused. “As I was going up, I thought about having a glass of wine. But I was so tired, I think I was weaving a little, so I went straight to the bedroom.”

  “No lights on the way.”

  She frowned at him. “What’s this obsession with lights?”

  He explained, and she said, “How will that help you figure out who he was?”

  “It probably won’t, but you’ve satisfied my curiosity. It kept bugging me. How could somebody search out here without waking you?”

  “I was awfully tired—”

  “I know, but I also think we all have a strong sense of
self-preservation and an internal filter. We ignore a lot of noises when we sleep. But there are noises that shouldn’t be there. A cupboard door closing, a footstep outside your bedroom door—”

  Shivering, she carefully set her glass on the coffee table. “But...he or she must have come with the intention of searching thoroughly.”

  This was the part that still chilled him. “Yeah.”

  “If I had woken up...”

  “Thank God you didn’t,” he said roughly.

  Nadia blinked a couple of times. “Yes.” She was quiet for a minute. “You won’t give up, will you?”

  “No. I’m not good at quitting.” He heard more heat in his voice than he’d intended to give away.

  She searched his eyes and finally nodded. “Thank you.” She cleared her voice. “I’ve said that a lot today.”

  When he asked, she told him about Katie-Ann Chupp and Ruth Graber’s visit, and their kindness. There was awe in her voice when she mentioned Ruth’s offer to donate the entire amount earned from her quilt sale—and Katie-Ann’s immediate willingness to do the same.

  “It’s their way,” Ben said simply, and Nadia nodded.

  “So I’m discovering.” She smiled at him. “Ruth’s quilt is spectacular.” Some less welcome thought had her smile dying. He’d swear she was challenging him when she added, “I’ll bet Lucy will tell you about it.”

  Ah. He’d hinted, but they never had put that incident to rest. Unfortunately, he couldn’t explain why he’d reacted the way he had without violating his sister’s privacy. And the last thing he wanted to tell her was that he still wished Lucy would keep her distance until he made an arrest or the community uproar died down.

  So all he said was, “She mentioned that she planned to use a sewing machine at your place.”

  “I can assure you that she left in good health.”

  “I am worried about her,” he admitted, knowing he couldn’t lie to her. “And no, it’s not because I think you’d be a bad influence on her. It’s her. And I can’t tell you any more.”