When Secrets Strike

by Marta Perry

  She nodded, feeling tension in her neck as she did. “If you say so.”

  “Good. I’ll come with him if I can, but he may want to interview people without me.” Apparently having fulfilled his purpose, Mac headed for the door. “I have to get back to work. I’ll see you later.”

  The door closed behind him.

  “Now can I talk?” Allison’s words rushed out. “We really have to think of something we can do. Both for that poor family and for the firefighters.”

  “You don’t need to worry about the Stoltzfus family,” Sarah said. “Everyone is rallying around to help—lending equipment and replacing that first cutting of hay they lost. The men are already planning a barn raising.” Seeing that Allison looked doubtful, she smiled. “Really. We’ve done this before, you know. I’m not saying it isn’t a blow for Ben and Miriam, but you’ll be surprised at how quickly the barn will be replaced.”

  “She’s right,” Nick added. “The Amish take care of their neighbors. It’s a lesson the rest of us could learn.”

  “There’s still the problem of the fire company equipment.” Allison wore a crusading expression. “Maybe some sort of fund-raiser would work.”

  Nick shrugged. “Maybe, but we just had the spring festival a couple of months ago. I’m not sure people would respond.” Seeing that Allison didn’t think much of his reaction, he added, “We ought to bounce some ideas around. I have to get back to work now, but I’ll think about it.”

  “Do that.” Allison shot him a determined look. “I’ll talk to your mother. I’m sure she’ll agree that protective gear for the firefighters is crucial.”

  Sarah hid a smile. Allison had gone straight for the bull’s-eye. Ellen Whiting wouldn’t be easily deterred if she thought her sons were in danger.

  With a quick kiss for Allison, Nick left, heading down the hallway and to the detached workshop of Whiting and Whiting Cabinetry.

  Chuckling, Sarah turned her attention to a box of fabric they hadn’t finished unpacking yesterday.

  “What are you laughing about?” Allison joined her. “I’m right. We have to do something.”

  “I know.” Sarah pulled out a bolt of cotton print in fall colors—orange, russet, gold and red. It might be July, but women who sewed would soon be looking ahead to the next season. “I’m just amused at how fast you figured out the Whiting family. Go to Jim for wise advice, but go to Ellen if you want something done.”

  “It wasn’t hard.” Allison pulled out another bolt, and they worked in silence for a few minutes.

  Sarah felt her partner’s gaze and knew she was going to speak. And guessed, too, the subject.

  “You’re not worrying about Aaron, are you?” Allison was predictable. “I’m sure if the burn had been serious, the EMTs would have taken him to the hospital whether he wanted to go or not.”

  “I... Was I very obvious? Did Nick or Mac notice?”

  “I don’t think so.” Allison made a face. “When did you ever find a man who noticed emotional responses without being hit in the head by them?”

  She had to smile at that. “I guess you’re right. It just startled me, that’s all.”

  Allison’s gaze remained fixed on her face. “I don’t want to pry. I know you cared for him but he married someone else. If you’d like to talk about what happened between you and Aaron...”

  Sarah shrugged. Pulling out another bolt of fabric, she held it against her, hands smoothing the chintz. “Nothing happened. Not really.”

  She didn’t talk about Aaron, though it was certain sure that her family had long since guessed. But she and Allison had formed a solid bond in the few months they’d known each other, and the longing to speak about the thing she held so tightly in her heart was strong.

  Allison waited.

  “You know Aaron and I have been friends since we were kinder.” She smoothed her hand down the surface of the fabric again. “Friendship turned into love on my part. But not on his.”

  “He seems to feel close to you,” Allison said. “Didn’t he ever give you any sign that he felt something warmer than friendship?”

  Her fingers tightened on the bolt, and she avoided Allison’s eyes. “Once, maybe. When we were teens. He took me home from a singing, and I thought maybe that meant he was getting interested. But he never said anything. And then Mary Ann—”

  “Mary Ann?” Allison queried. “Oh, right, the girl Aaron married.”

  Sarah nodded. “She was so pretty and popular. Everyone wanted to be around her.”

  “You mean all the boys,” Allison said.

  “Well, you can understand it. She made a point of talking to me. She said that she really liked Aaron, and since he and I were such good friends, maybe I could give him a hint.”

  “And you did?” There was so much outrage in Allison’s voice that Sarah stared at her. “Oh, Sarah. Why didn’t you let her know what you wanted? Or better yet, let Aaron know?”

  “I couldn’t.”

  Allison didn’t understand, but then, Allison hadn’t been brought up Amish. And she didn’t have a shy bone in her body, as far as Sarah could tell.

  “It would have been impossible.” Sarah took a breath, trying to ease the tension that came with remembering. “So I told Aaron that Mary Ann was interested, and...well, it went just as Mary Ann wanted.”

  Allison was silent for a few minutes, but Sarah could almost feel the thoughts teeming in her friend’s mind. They emptied the box and broke it down before she spoke.

  “Aaron’s free now,” she pointed out. “Maybe it’s not too late. He’s still around. Still your friend.”

  Sarah shook her head, busying herself with picking up the flattened box. “Exactly,” she said finally. “I’m a friend. He’s not likely to see me any differently now.”

  “You have to give him a hint. A strong hint.” Allison leaned toward her, voice eager. “Remember what I said about men and emotions? Just start him thinking, and let nature take its course.”

  “I can’t.” She put out a hand to stop Allison before she could bubble out with a list of suggestions. “Really, I can’t imagine doing it. I’m not outgoing and confident like you.”

  Allison seemed to make an effort to restrain herself. “You should be. Confident, I mean. Look at all you’ve accomplished.” She waved a hand to encompass the shop and its contents—the fabrics, quilts, wall hangings, all products of women’s industry. “You might have been too shy to say what you wanted at sixteen or seventeen, but you’re a grown woman now, an accomplished businesswoman.”

  Sarah’s heart was so heavy she put her hand over it, as if that would ease the weight. It shouldn’t still hurt after all this time.

  “It’s true that I’d never have imagined myself actually making a success of my own business. And I’ve learned a lot along the way. But that hasn’t changed who I am inside.” She patted her chest. “In here, I’m still the same person.” She managed a smile. “Maybe it comes of being taught all my life to be humble. Whatever the reason, there are things I know I can never do, and telling Aaron how I feel about him is impossible.”

  Allison pressed her lips together briefly, holding back with an obvious effort. “I won’t argue. But I do believe you’re capable of a lot more than you’ve ever thought.”

  Sarah just shook her head. Allison meant well. But Sarah knew herself. To speak out—to claim what she wanted—the very thought made her stomach twist. She would have to be content with being Aaron’s friend, because she’d never have anything more.

  * * *

  THE STOREROOM AT the rear of Blackburn House was theoretically for the use of all the residents, but in actual fact, only the quilt shop and bookstore staff made much use of it. Sarah stacked a box on one of the metal shelves, making sure the contents were marked on the side facing front. She’d hate to become l
ike the former bookstore owner, who’d had such a scrambled method of storing things that he’d never known what he had.

  The poor man was gone now, and Emily, the new owner, was far more organized, if a bit dithery when things upset her. Sarah and Allison had become used to calming Emily down whenever business threatened to overwhelm her.

  Sarah made a quick survey of their storage section, just to be sure nothing had been neglected. It wasn’t too early to start thinking about Christmas fabrics, as the crafters in Laurel Ridge would soon start working on Christmas gifts and items for the various bazaars and craft shows.

  Satisfied that all was in order, she stepped out of the storage room, keys in her hand, her thoughts still occupied with possible orders, and nearly bumped into Harvey Preston, who had the real estate agency on the second floor.

  “Sarah! Just the person I was hoping to see.” His round, jovial face lit with a smile. Harvey, she’d always thought, had the perfect personality to sell real estate—outgoing, optimistic and soothing to the stressed nerves of sellers and buyers.

  “How are you, Harvey?” She gestured toward the door. “Were you going in?”

  “No, no. I don’t have occasion to store much in there, with practically all my work done online these days.” He waited while she locked the door. “I noticed you when I was coming down the stairs, and wanted to have a word.”

  “Of course.” She couldn’t help the curiosity in her tone. She and Harvey were fellow tenants, of course, but other than that they had little in common. “How can I help you?”

  “I know you’re a neighbor of Aaron King. A friend, too.” He shook his head, his normally cheerful face sobering. “I suppose he told you about this business of the Gibson farm.”

  She nodded, not sure what, if anything, she should say. But Harvey didn’t seem to expect a comment.

  “It’s very distressing.” He fell into step with her as she headed toward the shop. “I didn’t know what to say to Aaron when he told me about the understanding he had with Matthew Gibson. I really knew nothing at all about it. If only Gibson had told me...” He let the words trail off, shrugging.

  “It is a shame. And very unlike Matthew, to go back on his word to anyone.” The man she remembered had always been the soul of honor—the kind of neighbor anyone would want.

  “True, so true.” Harvey nodded. “But on the other hand, his health hasn’t been all that good lately, according to the conversation we had about the property. In fact, that’s why he entrusted the sale to me, not even making the trip back to clear the house. Depend on it, he forgot all about his conversation with Aaron.”

  “I’m sure that’s what happened,” Sarah agreed politely. If Harvey had been taken by surprise by Aaron’s visit, it was natural enough that he wouldn’t have thought everything through. The situation had clearly been bothering him. “The King family certainly doesn’t blame you for what happened.”

  “Are you sure?” His brows drew down, and he looked as woeful as someone with his round, cheerful face could. “I feel terrible about it, but there’s simply nothing I can do. I wouldn’t want to be on bad terms with anyone over it, especially not with any of my Amish neighbors.”

  Enlightenment dawned, and Sarah smiled. Harvey’s real estate agency did a great deal of business in the area, and the Amish were the primary buyers and sellers of farmland. Naturally he wouldn’t want to get a bad reputation with them.

  “I don’t think you need to worry about it.” She stopped at the door of her shop. “I’m sure it’s just as you say, and—”

  Allison opened the door behind her. “Sarah, you’d better come in. The state police fire marshal is here to see you.”

  Harvey looked startled, as well he might, and Sarah’s stomach seemed to do a somersault. She took a steadying breath. Mac must not have come with the man, or Allison would have said. Apparently Sarah would have to deal with the investigator on her own.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “SARAH, THIS IS Norman Fielding, the investigator Mac sent over to talk to you.” Allison gave her a reassuring look as she made the introduction. “I’ll just get back to work while you talk.”

  The fire marshal turned out to be a diminutive man, barely her height, with the kind of wiry build that suggested he’d go on forever. Sarah guessed him to be about her father’s age, with a thin, noncommittal face and a way of looking suspiciously over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses as he took down her name and address.

  “Now, then, Ms....um, Miss Bitler, I understand you were first on the scene at the initial fire.” In his clipped tones the fact sounded almost like an accusation.

  “Yes, that’s right. I saw the smoke when I was driving into town that morning.” As often as she’d been over it, she’d begun to feel as if she could tell the story in her sleep.

  “That’s what I was told.” He darted a glance around the shop. Allison was at the counter a few feet away, occupied with the quilt files but within easy earshot, and several women browsed through the racks. “Maybe you’d rather we talked in private,” he suggested.

  Allison flicked a frowning look in her direction.

  “This is fine,” Sarah said, trying to appear more at ease than she felt. “My partner knows all about what happened that day.”

  She thought Fielding seemed dissatisfied, but he didn’t raise any objection. Sarah took a couple steps closer to the counter, which forced him to do the same. As Allison had pointed out a short time ago, she had gained a lot of confidence in dealing with the Englisch from running the shop. Still, her stomach seemed to churn at the idea of being questioned by this stranger and having everything she said put down in his report.

  “Were you on your usual route to town?” He looked at her over the frame of his glasses. “You were coming here, I suppose?”

  “Yes, that’s right. And it’s the way I normally come.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’ve had a look at the area. That back road wouldn’t be the most direct route from your home to the store.”

  Allison stirred, as if about to speak, but she didn’t.

  “I drive a horse and carriage back and forth. There’s less automobile traffic on the road I take.”

  Fielding gave a rather disparaging look at her plain navy dress and apron. “That’s an Amish thing, is it?”

  Sarah nodded.

  Allison took a step closer, and Sarah frowned at her. Nothing would be gained by challenging the man’s apparent ignorance of Amish customs. That is, assuming it was ignorance and not prejudice.

  Fielding had moved on. “Now, about the smoke you saw. Can you describe it?”

  Sarah blinked. How did one describe smoke? “It was just smoke. I thought it might be from someone burning trash, but it seemed too thick for that.”

  “What color? Brown? Gray? Black?” He snapped the questions at her.

  Determined not to let him fluster her, Sarah took her time, trying to picture in her mind the moment when she’d first seen smoke rising above the trees.

  “It was dark,” she said finally. “Dark gray or maybe black.”

  “What is the significance of the smoke color?” Allison’s curiosity had apparently gotten the better of her.

  Fielding eyed her for a moment before deciding to answer. “Wood burns brown or lighter gray. Black signifies the presence of gasoline or some other accelerant.”

  “But...” Sarah frowned, visualizing the scene. “There wouldn’t have been any gasoline stored in an unused barn. Anyone would know better than that.”

  At least, she’d think so. Gus Hill drove a rattletrap old pickup that looked as if it were held together with binder twine, but surely he wouldn’t do something so foolish as to store gas in the barn.

  Fielding made a noise that might have been agreement. “Did you approach the barn once you got there?”


  “I checked the cottage first, looking for the caretaker, but it was empty. Then I went to the barn. I had to be sure the caretaker wasn’t inside, you see.”

  Unlike Aaron, Fielding didn’t criticize that decision. “How could you see inside? Did you open the door?”

  “No, I didn’t have to. The door was standing wide open.”

  He nodded, and she understood now what he was thinking. Why hadn’t she seen it before?

  “The doors are usually closed. I’ve passed that barn a hundred times and never seen them standing open before.”

  “Why? I mean, what’s the point of the doors being open?” Allison didn’t bother to disguise her interest.

  “Someone might have left them open to allow the air to get at the fire,” Sarah said. “That would feed the flames.”

  “You seem to know a lot about it.” Fielding peered at her again.

  Maybe she’d better not volunteer opinions so quickly, with the investigator writing down her words.

  “Anyone who burns trash knows that much,” she pointed out.

  He made another note on his pad. “Could you tell where the flames were concentrated when you first got there?”

  Sarah tried to put herself back in the jolting buggy, urging the frightened mare up the lane. The image rose in her mind.

  “The two back corners,” she said without hesitation. “At first I thought it was just one, but then I saw the other burning, too. I remember that’s how it appeared at first, and then after I’d checked the cottage and looked again, the whole back was in flames.”

  “Moving fast?” He tilted his head to one side, his eyes intent, looking like a robin that spied a juicy worm.

  Sarah shivered. “It seemed so to me. When I looked in the front to see if anyone was there, the flames seemed to race toward me across the floor in kind of a narrow path.”

  Fielding made a satisfied sound and jotted a few more words in his notebook. Then he snapped it shut decisively. “Good. That’s all for now, but I might want to talk to you again.”

  Sarah couldn’t imagine what else there was to say, but she nodded. “I’m usually here during the day and home in the evening.”