by Marta Perry
A half hour later they were sitting in a booth at the nearest coffee shop, hands around their now-cooling mugs, still trying to hash out some answers. Or at least find the right questions to ask.
“Okay,” Logan said, blowing out a frustrated breath. “Let’s start with the obvious. The only reason I can see for anybody to put a trace on Hartline’s car is that he hasn’t turned over whatever it was he took.”
“Right. That would also explain the repeated searches of his apartment and Rachel’s house. And the attack on her. So this thing...idea, schematic, invention...whatever the heck it is, is still out there.” He stopped, thinking over what he’d just said. “You know, that’s what’s really bugging me about the whole thing. We’ve been at a disadvantage from the beginning by not understanding what’s missing or even what the internal workings of the company are.”
“All we have is Attwood’s description of it as a valuable new way to do something, with no explanation of what that something is.” Logan glared at his mug and signaled the server for a refill. “Something technical, obviously. And unproven, as yet. Maybe Hartline acted too fast.”
Clint nodded his thanks when the server topped off his cup. “According to his ex, Hartline wasn’t involved in the technical aspect of the business at all. He handled the marketing exclusively. Would he even know enough to find and access whatever it is he copied?”
“Good point. I suppose if he’d been recruited by a rival company, he might have been told what to do, but it’s hard to understand how they’d know exactly how to get at it.” His gaze met Logan’s across the table. “So what are we saying? That someone besides Hartline from the company was involved?”
“We’ve seen stranger things,” Logan said. “If so, that person might have been smart to use Hartline to keep suspicion away from himself. Or herself. The bottom line is that we need to know more about the day-to-day running of the company from someone other than Attwood.”
Clint found he was picturing Ian Robinson turning up at Rachel’s door to help her clear up after the intruder. Rachel seemed to relate to him more than anyone else at Attwood Industrial.
“What about bringing Robinson into the loop? He probably knows as much about the technical side as Attwood himself, and he’s a close friend of Hartline’s.”
“About Robinson...” Logan was shaking his head. “I didn’t have time to tell you something that came to light just before I left the office.”
“Robinson put a foot on the wrong side of the line?” His eyebrows lifted. He hadn’t cared for the guy himself, but at least his concern for Rachel had seemed genuine.
“When I ran a routine credit check on him, everything seemed fine. But apparently he had an extra card—one that had only his name on it, not his wife’s, with the office address. And the charges were for nights at various hotels and some extravagant restaurant options.”
Clint grinned. “Everyone doesn’t agree with you that a fast-food joint is fine dining, you know.” He sobered. “Still, it’s odd. Could it be a card kept separate for expenses on business trips?”
“Most of the hotels were right here in the Philly area.”
His eyebrows lifted. “So what was this successful married professional doing staying at a hotel when he could easily have gone home to his wife and child?”
“I don’t know, but we’d better find out before we put any trust in what he tells us. Maybe one of the technicians can put us on to how things work...”
Logan broke off when Clint’s phone rang. As Clint frowned at the screen, Logan’s face took on a questioning look.
“The ex-wife again?”
“No.” His frown deepened. “Her friend.” Why was Lyn Baker calling him when she’d seemed so determined to avoid telling him anything at all?
The woman started talking as soon as he answered, her clipped tones at odds with the anxiety underlying her voice. “We’ve had a break-in at the school. In Rachel’s classroom, to be specific. The police have been and gone without seeming to find much, but it occurred to me that you ought to know.”
“Right. Thanks.” His mind struggled with the ramifications. “I suppose you can’t tell if anything’s missing.” That would be too much to hope for.
“Not really,” she said. “But I found a few of her files tossed on the desk, and I know they weren’t out at the end of the school day on Friday. I came back for a music concert and to prepare for tomorrow, and just walked through to check her room.”
“Any specific files out?” He didn’t think Rachel had told her friend where she’d been headed, and he didn’t want to give it away with his questions.
“They seemed to be pictures she was saving, maybe to display on different subjects.” She apparently realized how little she had to tell, because a note of doubt had entered her voice. “I don’t know how important it is, but if you’re in touch with Rachel, you ought to know, I guess.”
“You did the right thing,” he reassured her automatically, wondering whether this was a false alarm. “Was the school actually broken into? You said there was an event going on.”
“Yes, that’s what the police pointed out. I think they thought some kids just slipped away from the concert and made a mess.”
Kids, or someone else using the concert to cover their activities. “Don’t you have security cameras?”
“We’re a small, private elementary school.” She sounded exasperated, probably thinking about how parents would react. “We operate on a shoestring. The only cameras are on the outside entrances.”
“So someone could have come in with the crowd and slipped off.”
“They could,” she admitted. “If you want to come by and see for yourself, I won’t put anything away.”
“I’ll stop by tomorrow, either before or after school. In the meantime, I can contact Rachel and see if she has any ideas.”
“Good.” Her voice had become crisp again. “She seems to be trusting you. I hope she’s not mistaken.”
He could hardly blame the woman. “I’ll make sure she’s all right.”
“You’d better.” It didn’t sound like a threat—rather a statement of fact.
“Count on it,” he said shortly.
Logan was already putting some money on the table. “Trouble?”
“I don’t know. I don’t see what it means, but someone broke into Rachel’s classroom. I’ve got to contact her—make sure there was nothing that could give away her location.”
“We’d better get out of here so you can talk.” Logan slid out of the booth.
He grimaced. “It’s not that easy. She’ll probably have the phone turned off at this point. I’ll text and have her call me back.”
“Okay.” Logan glanced at his watch as they headed for the car. “I’ll drop you off. Tomorrow we can get busy finding a source of information at Attwood’s. I’m not a fan of going behind the client’s back, but I also don’t like working blind.”
Clint didn’t either, especially not where Rachel was concerned.
CHAPTER NINE
MORNING SUNSHINE SLANTED across the backyard as Rachel handed one end of a wet sheet to Sadie and stretched out to pin her end to the clothesline. On a day as warm as this, it was hard to believe that the first frost could be just around the corner.
“Oops, look out!” She scooped up Sadie’s three-year-old to keep him from running right into the sheet. “Thomas, I thought you boys were helping.”
“I’m helping, Cousin Rachel.” Daniel gave up chasing his little brother and hurried to her with a handful of clothespins. “I’ll hold these for you.”
“Me, too.” It was the immemorial cry of the younger sibling coming from Thomas. At a look from his mother, Daniel handed him some of the clothespins.
“Here. You hold them for Mammi.”
Rachel set him on his feet and he trotted off eagerly t
o his mother. She and Sadie exchanged smiles over the children’s heads. Sadie’s boys were being raised in the typical Amish tradition, learning early to work and to be kind, and with a single look, Sadie had reinforced both of those lessons.
But the helping didn’t seem destined to last very long, because a buggy drove up to the house, and both boys went running.
Rachel felt a flutter of uneasiness. “I don’t suppose I can just stay busy out here, can I?”
“Not unless you want to make folks talk,” Sadie said. She linked her arm with Rachel’s. “Komm. Just act natural.”
That actually worked fairly well, right up to the point at which Rachel recognized one of the two women in the buggy. Sarah Burkhalter was a neighbor, and she’d certainly known Rachel well enough to know she wasn’t Amish.
Sadie carried the encounter off with flair. “Sarah, how nice to see you. And your great-aunt, too. This is my cousin, Rachel, who is visiting us for a bit.”
The older woman’s face sharpened inquisitively. “Rachel? I didn’t know you had a cousin Rachel. What side of...”
Sarah Burkhalter interrupted the question by leaning across her, smiling. “Rachel, how gut it is to see you again. It’s been years. But we don’t want to take you away from your visiting. I just thought we’d pick up your cookies for the school lunch and save you a trip.”
“They’re all ready,” Sadie said, exerting a gentle pressure on Rachel’s arm. “Rachel, will you give them to Daniel to bring out? I don’t want to keep you away from Grossmammi any longer.”
“For sure.” She turned away with a sigh of relief. Grabbing Daniel’s hand, she led him quickly into the kitchen. The cookies were ready on the counter, so she put the container into his hands.
“You’ll take care, now, yah?”
“I’ll be careful.” He wrapped both arms around the plastic container and marched out, mindful of his responsibility.
Rachel kept herself out of sight until the buggy had driven away and the boys had run off. When she rejoined Sadie she could feel laughter bubbling up in her. “Sarah knew, and she played up beautifully. Who would have guessed the two of you could improvise that way?”
Sadie chuckled. “As soon as I saw Sarah’s great-aunt, I knew we were in trouble. She is without a doubt the nosiest woman I’ve ever known. Kind, mind you, but she always wants to know everything that’s happening.”
“Obviously Sarah is used to it. She did it all without being rude or saying a false word.” She shook her head. “Pretending to be Amish requires a lot of cooperation from people who care about you.”
Sadie smiled. “You have that, always.”
It wasn’t until they’d finished hanging the sheets that Rachel realized she hadn’t turned her phone on yet this morning. She powered up, saw a text from Clint and slipped up to her bedroom in the daadi haus to call him.
“About time you were calling back.” Clint sounded as if his patience was running thin. “Didn’t you get my message?”
“Sorry. I had the phone turned off overnight to conserve the battery. Someone broke in at the school?”
“It’s not a big deal,” he said, as if he heard the fear in her voice. “Someone got into your classroom, apparently during the concert. Your classroom seemed the only place disturbed.”
Revulsion grabbed her at the thought of someone making a mess in a place that should be safe for the children. “How bad was it?” She couldn’t help picturing the mess in her house.
“I told you—not much. Just some folders taken out of the filing cabinet. Your friend saw the room wasn’t the way it had been left, so she called the police. She suggested I come over to have a look at it, as well. But was there anything there that might lead to you?”
She sank down on the bed and tried to focus. Her mind skittered through the contents of her desk and file cabinet. “I don’t see what there would be. Was Lyn specific about what was disturbed?”
“She said some files had been left out, presumably by the intruder. But as far as she could tell, they were mostly pictures you’d saved to illustrate something for the kids.”
Baffling, that was all she could think. “I just can’t imagine what anyone might hope to find there. Are you sure it’s connected?”
“I don’t mind admitting that coincidences happen, but this one is stretching the odds a bit too far. The police seem to think it was kids, skipping out of the concert, but why would they go to the kindergarten room?”
“No place else showed signs of someone getting in?”
“Not that Ms. Baker could see. The intruder didn’t attempt to get in the office at all, and that’s where he might find cash or something of value. I’m going to stop by the school so she can show me.”
The shadow of her trouble was already touching the school. Tension tightened on the nape of her neck—tension that had been noticeably missing since she’d arrived at the farm. “Have you made any progress otherwise?”
He was so quiet she thought she’d lost the connection. “Paul’s car has turned up,” he said.
“What? Where?”
“It was sitting in a quiet residential block in St. Davids, undisturbed.”
“Was there anything in it that might lead to him?” She assumed he’d have found a way to get past the locked door. That seemed to be a requirement for his job.
“Neat as a pin. No papers, no maps, nothing. The glove box contained the owner’s manual and the usual insurance and registration.”
She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. “That doesn’t sound like Paul. His car always accumulated papers, wrappers, maps... He’d only clean it out once a week.”
“Well, either he parked it there right after his cleaning, or he intended to leave nothing that might lead to him.”
It seemed very unsatisfactory to her. “You’re sure the car wasn’t stolen?”
“A thief wouldn’t desert it in pristine condition in a nice residential area.” He sounded as if he was exhibiting patience. “They’re not that thoughtful as a group. It’d either be in a chop shop or wrapped around a tree.”
“I suppose that’s true.” The reminder of Paul increased the pressure of taut muscles. “Why would he walk away from it?”
“Why not? You did.”
That was different, she wanted to say, but what good would it do? Maybe to Clint there wasn’t any difference between her actions and Paul’s.
Where had Paul gone? If he really did regret what he’d done, why hadn’t he come forward?
Her phone gave a warning beep, and she realized she was running on very low battery. “I’ve got to put my phone on the charger. Is there anything else you wanted to say?”
“Just be careful. All right? I don’t want anything to happen to you. Among other things, your friend Lyn would beat me to a pulp if I let you get hurt.”
She smiled, warmed. “I promise.”
* * *
CLINT HUNG UP, annoyed at the sense of failure that kept creeping up on him. Logan felt the same, he knew, but in this case, sharing the misery didn’t improve it. Neither of them relished the idea of failing on this one—they’d never be able to consider it part of the game.
They probably never would feel that way, no matter how busy and successful the agency was. They both came from a tradition that put duty first—the police in his case, the military in Logan’s. They didn’t expect to fail.
This wasn’t going to be the first time, not if he could help it. He’d get on with the task of finding someone from Attwood Industrial who would talk freely about the place. Michael Leonard had been willing enough to talk, but of course he no longer relied on Attwood for his future.
If someone else had been involved with Paul in the scheme, it seemed to him Ian Robinson was the most likely—he was an old friend of Paul’s, his job was second only to Attwood’s on the scientific si
de and his occasional weekend activities needed to be explained. But proof would be helpful.
By the time Clint reached Rachel’s school that afternoon to check in with her friend, he was actually feeling encouraged. The talkative technician he and Logan had unearthed seemed perfectly willing to gossip about his fellow workers at Attwood Industrial, and everything he said bolstered the idea that Robinson had something to hide.
Furthermore, he’d once run into Robinson and Claire Gibson, Attwood’s assistant, having an intimate chat in a downtown restaurant. He’d had a few salacious comments for that. And people said women were the nosy ones.
Nothing like finding someone willing to gossip to shed light on the inner workings of an institution. Any dalliance between Robinson and Ms. Gibson might have nothing to do with the matter they were investigating, but it certainly raised questions in his mind, as well as doubts about the man’s reliability.
Walking into the school was like swimming against a tide of children. A steady stream of them poured out the walk, heading for the circular drive where parents were waiting to pick them up. By the time he made it inside, the hallways were emptied of students and the head teacher waited to greet him.
“Thanks for coming. I’m not sure there’s much for you to see, but I kept out everything that had been taken from the filing cabinet.”
“Never hurts to have a look myself.” He fell into step with her as they walked toward the kindergarten room. “Did you hear anything else from the police?”
“No. I got the impression that they thought I was making a mountain out of a molehill. If it hadn’t been Rachel’s room...”
“Exactly. Anything out of the ordinary touching on her could be important.”
She glanced at him. “I won’t ask where Rachel is, because I know she doesn’t want me to know. But you can tell me if she needs anything, can’t you?” Her concern for her friend was clear in the way she spoke.
“Rachel’s fine, and as far as I can see, there’s not a thing she needs except answers that probably only her ex-husband can provide.”
