“There’s Daad and Jacob,” Hannah said suddenly. “And Amos, too. He works with them.”
Nadia peeked again, to find herself looking at the backs of the three Amish men. They had arrayed themselves in front of the store, facing the protesters.
“Oh, no,” she exclaimed. “They’ll be on television!”
She dashed forward, aware that Ben was sticking close to her. When she flung open the door, she saw that more Amish were hurrying down the street. Men and women both.
The distinctive clip-clop of hooves and whir of steel tire rims on pavement had her looking the other way. A black buggy approached, and another came around the corner behind it.
Were they coming to defend her, even though doing so would place them in a position so uncomfortable to people of their faith? Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but Nadia refused to let them give her away. She stopped where she was, a couple of feet outside the door, Ben a solid presence at her back.
The small group of protesters drew into a tighter clump, their heads turning uneasily. The basilisk stares of the two Yoder men as well as their employee were enough to give anyone the willies. All three stood with their feet planted apart, their arms crossed, the brims of their hats shading their faces. And now they were joined by several other men, who ranged themselves with their backs to the window and wall on the other side of her doorway. A wall of defenders, she thought in astonishment.
The women...they hurried forward, calling, “Nadia, was der schinner is letz?” What in the world is wrong? “What is this crazy thing happening?”
A stout, middle-aged woman who had been at the quilting frolic on Monday tucked her arm through Nadia’s while the others encircled her. Only a couple of them even looked familiar.
The first buggy stopped at the curb, the horse snorting as if in disgust. The second one advanced as if the driver was blind to the television cameraman, who had positioned himself in the street. He had to scramble back, and was suddenly cut off from the scene in front of the store.
More people were rushing down the street now, some Amish, some not. And two more buggies had appeared. Word must have spread like wildfire.
Likely, they were here for Hannah and her family; most had never set foot inside her store. But they had been told of an injustice, and came. Nadia hoped their bishops wouldn’t disapprove.
The cameraman reappeared around the front of the horse that had cut him off, scuttling as if he expected to be trampled or bitten. Too bad the harness horses were too well trained to do any such thing, Nadia thought vengefully.
Ben bent his head, his warm breath tickling her ear. “They’re off balance. Do it.”
She squared her shoulders and raised her voice. “Excuse me! I have something to say.”
The Amish women who had been exclaiming to each other fell silent. And, oh—she did know many of the latest arrivals, other merchants from a several-block radius, two customers who must have been shopping or eating at the café.
She focused on the protesters, looking from face to face, reading the signs they held.
DON’T SUPPORT A THIEF!
BOYCOTT THIS STORE!
HER KIND ISN’T WANTED IN BYRUM.
The last bothered her the most. It was carried by a woman who had taken one of the first classes Nadia offered, and been delighted by the start she’d made on a quilt that would be far more complex than she had ever attempted before.
Not acknowledging by word or glance the reporters or camera, Nadia said, “I loved this town when I came, when I opened A Stitch in Time. People were so welcoming. I had never lived anyplace where so many of the women shared my love of fabric arts and quilting in particular. I was unbelievably moved that so many of you gave generously of your time and skill to raise money for neighbors, even for strangers, who are so desperately in need.” She was quiet for a minute, holding gazes, seeing the angry color in people’s cheeks, the defiance in their eyes. At least they were listening. Traffic two blocks away could be heard; the jingle as a horse shook his head could be heard, the silence was so complete.
“That evening was one of the happiest of my life. The most satisfying. I would never have stolen that money.” She had to swallow before she could get another word out. Ben’s hand on her back helped. She let herself lean into it, just a little. She had intended to keep her statement shorter, but now she was talking to these people, saying everything that had been eating at her. “I wanted to build a life here in Byrum. To make friends, help quilters sell their extraordinary work to a wider market, to someday know I belonged. I have been stunned at how quickly people I thought I knew turned against me.” Once again, she looked from face to face. Some would no longer meet her eyes. “I don’t even understand it. Because I was the last person known to have the auction proceeds, the police had to look at me. I understood—” lie, lie “—and allowed a search of my building and car so that they could rule me out as quickly as possible. Chief Slater has made it clear that he does not consider me a suspect in the disappearance of the money.” Her vision had become blurry, and she realized in panic that she was crying. But she had to finish.
“I have never in my life committed a crime. I have never shoplifted, or shorted a customer on change or cut a fabric length a little short. I keep promises. This—” she gestured at the signs and the people who held them “—hurts. I didn’t do anything to deserve this. I hope...” She had to breathe for a moment, summon the will to finish. “I hope you’ll search your hearts before you attack another person the way you have me.”
With that, she turned and hurried inside, ignoring shouted questions. And applause. To her astonishment, many of the bystanders were clapping, for her. Was the camera panning the crowd? She felt sure Mr. Rutledge would say as little about her supporters in tomorrow morning’s article as he thought he could get away with.
Nadia kept going, holding her head high but wanting only to reach the back room, to be out of sight. Behind her, she heard Ben’s deep, firm voice saying, “I’d like to make a statement as well.”
* * *
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, having also answered questions, he found Nadia in the back room sitting beside Lucy. The two women held hands, their eyes red and puffy and their faces splotchy. Hannah and several of the other Amish women hovered. All looked at him when he walked into the room.
“They’ve cleared out,” he said. “Or should I say, they’ve run for their rat holes.”
Nadia shook her head. “They’ll hate me even more. I should have been more diplomatic. I could have said I understood why they were angry—”
He cut her off with a “No. There’s nothing understandable about their race to judgment. You hadn’t given a one of them any reason to think you’d do something that crummy. To the contrary.”
Her bloodshot eyes didn’t waver. “I hadn’t given you any reason to think I’d do something like that, either.”
The sting silenced Ben for a moment. “I thought we’d gotten past that. I didn’t know you.”
“I...” Nadia averted her gaze, then met his again. “I’m sorry. That just...came out.”
Very aware of their audience, he nodded. Inside...he was shaken to realize that she might have forgiven him on the surface, but still harbored anger. You really thought it was that easy? he asked himself.
“To get back to the point, understanding was the last damn thing you had any reason to offer. Puzzlement, hurt, those will get better results.”
Nadia gave a forlorn sniff and looked around. “Having so many people come running to the rescue helps more than anything I said.”
Ben smiled at the group still here. “You’re right.”
“I just wish there hadn’t been cameras here.”
One of the women said, “You don’t need to worry about us! Gott will understand. We don’t have the televisions, so we won’t se
e our faces there.”
Hannah’s father, who had unexpectedly followed Ben in, spoke up. “They know we ask them not to take their pictures of us. We cannot let cameras scare us from helping our friends.”
Nadia burst into tears. With so many women to fuss over her, Ben kept his distance. Roy Yoder chuckled.
“Nadia must become used to having friends, ain’t so? I think Ruth Graber would have hit me over the head with an iron skillet if I had done nothing today.”
Ben found himself smiling, too. “If she could have reached as high as your head.”
Roy’s laugh became heartier. “Ja, ja! Ruth is only so high.” He held a hand a belt level. “But me, I would have bent over for her.”
“Fierce, is she?”
“I would say so. She and Katie-Ann Chupp, they say Nadia is a good woman who tries to do right by people. None of us want her to close her store and move away.”
“No,” Ben said huskily. “None of us do.”
He would have liked to stay, but knew there might be fallout in his town he would have to deal with. He exchanged a quiet word with his sister, bent to kiss Nadia’s cheek and whispered, “You did good,” and then went out the back.
One of Ben’s least favorite city council members, Maurice Abbott, called not an hour after he reached his office.
“I understand you held a press conference to answer questions about an ongoing investigation,” he said sharply.
“A press conference? No, I didn’t. Did I answer questions when they were raised? Yes.”
“Was that wise? How can you publicly proclaim Ms. Markovic isn’t a suspect in the crime when you haven’t identified anyone who is? Did this unknown person really waltz into a locked building, go straight to the money and vanish without a sound or a clue left behind? Or do you think it’s a ghost?”
Ben would have smiled at the sarcasm if he liked Abbott better. “I feel confident in saying Ms. Markovic was the victim and is not a suspect,” he said. And how many times would he have to repeat that? “As for the waltzing, she had not replaced the locks from the former owner. You may recall that Mrs. Jefferson was murdered by an individual who very likely had a key.”
Abbott grumbled about him leaping to call a mere fall down the stairs murder. He explained again about the laws of gravity, about force and trajectory. This repetition was really beginning to annoy Ben. He also reminded the city councilman that the medical examiner had felt the severity of fractures suggested an accelerated fall. “Now, a gymnast with a springboard might have managed to hit the wall where she did, but you tell me how an elderly woman taking a tumble did.”
Abbott didn’t have a comeback, but complained that Ben shouldn’t have made a statement without discussing it with the city council.
“It’s part of the job,” he said, forcing himself to sound a lot more patient than he felt. “That job is to enforce the law and provide justice when possible. Impartiality is essential, as is my ability to act for the good for the citizens of this city rather than for individual city council members.” He was tempted to ask what he’d recommend if a member of the city government were to break a law, but refrained.
Maurice went away, but Ben didn’t kid himself the guy was satisfied.
He hadn’t realized that a police chief had to be a politician, but the calls kept coming. In addition, a car versus buggy accident was reported, the car driven by a fourteen-year-old joyriding with three friends. The buggy was damaged but horse and driver unscathed. None of the kids had been wearing seat belts, however. All were carried in screaming ambulances to the hospital. One was currently listed in critical condition, another in serious condition.
Ben wasn’t able to get away, so at five o’clock he went downstairs to turn on the only television in the station, kept on a rolling cart in the bull pen.
The demonstration in front of A Stitch in Time and the surprising counterdemonstration led by peace-loving and reserved Amish was on the news at the top of the hour. The segment began with a recap of the theft, followed by a couple of harsh comments given by Allison Edgerton and a woman identified as Sandy Houser. But the arrival of not just Amish, but also store customers and other merchants was televised, and well-edited clips from Nadia’s statement were aired. An angry reaction from another woman following the statement was kept brief, and the segment concluded with Colleen Hoefling, whom he hadn’t seen arrive, stoutly defending Nadia.
Ben thought the station had been fair, and noticed that the cameraman had done his best to show the Amish slightly unfocused only in the background or in profile.
He called Nadia, who said, “Yes, I watched it. It wasn’t as bad as I expected. Am I wrong in thinking the reporter came down on my side?”
“No, I think she did. Rutledge, now...”
She huffed. “I used to deceive myself that journalists tried for fair and accurate.”
Ben laughed. “I suspect some—most—do. Unfortunately, Rutledge owns the Henness Herald, which gives him complete freedom to indulge his every nasty bias and desire to increase circulation by stirring the pot whenever he can.”
“Do you know, I ran a weekly advertisement in his paper? Never again.”
“Not many options,” he pointed out.
“I’ll go with the weekly. And I can do handouts, post on bulletin boards. Anything but the Herald. Maybe I should talk to other merchants, try to start a rebellion.”
Ben laughed, imagining Rutledge’s reaction.
Hearing her temper and determination let him release some tension. She didn’t sound like someone planning to close her store tomorrow morning. Ben hoped she had paid attention to the proportion today of demonstrators versus supporters. While many of the supporters wouldn’t be customers of hers, the small group of women waving those signs wouldn’t be any big loss to her business, either.
Well aware she’d lost a lot of other customers who hadn’t turned out today, Ben grimaced. Not only customers—Nadia had lost her sense of security, probably hard-won after the hideous shooting she had survived in Colorado. To have someone break into her place? To be shot again? It was a wonder she hadn’t already upped and gone.
Having people turn against her would have stolen her assurance as well. Would she ever be able to trust the same way again?
Ben’s inbox was still piled high, he hadn’t answered all his emails, he ought to check on how the injured kids at the hospital were doing—but what he wanted was to go home. Lucy intended to invite Nadia home with her for dinner, at least.
So, to hell with it. This was Saturday. He was entitled to time off, and for once, he would be selfish. He had been trying to make himself delegate more, anyway; his first two years here, he had concentrated on training, and maybe it was time to believe his efforts had been effective.
He powered down his computer, verified that he had his cell phone and started for the door. Of course, that was the moment his desk phone rang. If it was an outside call—
Of course, it wasn’t. If one of his officers or the dispatcher needed him, he had no choice but to answer.
“Chief?” It was Denise Small, the evening dispatcher. “Jim Wilcox is here to see you.”
Surprised, he asked, “Did he say what he wants?”
“No, sir. He looks upset, though.”
“Okay, I’ll be right down.”
Strange, Ben thought, leaving his office. For Wilcox to show up at the station twice in as many weeks...
Ben’s feet quit moving. Did Jim Wilcox ever keep a key to a lock he installed for someone? He had a solid reputation, so that seemed unlikely, but, damn, it would be easy for him to do. And what if canvassing hadn’t turned up a witness to the packet of credit card slips being shoved through the Wilcox Lock and Key mail slot because nobody had shoved it through?
What if he’d had it all along?
; Don’t jump to conclusions, Ben ordered himself. Why would Wilcox be here now if he’d committed a crime of that magnitude? The last thing he’d want would be to draw attention to himself.
Ben almost had himself talked out of his suspicion when he stepped into the waiting room and saw the man’s face—and the brown paper sack with handles on the seat beside him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WITHOUT SAYING A WORD, Jim stood, picked up the sack and followed Ben into the same room they had used the last time. He set the sack on the table and dropped into a nearby chair.
Then he made a raw sound and buried his face in his hands.
Ben lifted the gray metal box from the bag, discovering it had some heft. The latch should have required a key, but sprang open with a touch. Inside, bills of every denomination were neatly piled in the slots sized for them on a tray. When he lifted the tray, he found rolls of coins in the bottom, ready to go to the bank, as well as the hundred-dollar bills, rubber-banded.
Exultant for Nadia’s sake but regretful, too, Ben sat and waited until Wilcox wiped his cheeks with his forearm and lifted his head.
“I’m sorry. So sorry I—” He choked and shook his head.
“Is the money all here?”
“Yes. I needed it real bad, but...I couldn’t do it. I kept thinking we won’t need it because things will turn around, and even though I knew that wouldn’t happen, I still—” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s not me.”
Ben had seen torment before, but not for this reason. He couldn’t afford to sympathize, however, not yet. “Why did you take it?”
The story poured out. Jim’s nine-year-old daughter Maddie had leukemia. “People have been real nice.” His face contorted. “Only nobody knew that business has been down, and they didn’t think about what it meant when Pam had to quit her job because Maddie is in and out of the hospital and needs one of us with her. We... I dropped our health insurance almost two years ago. Stupid when you have kids, but we just weren’t making it. And then Maddie got sick, and I borrowed everything I could, but we’re about to lose our house and probably the business. I don’t know if they’ll keep treating her if I can’t pay for it.”
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