When Secrets Strike

by Marta Perry

  “Appreciate it.” The surveyor gestured again to his helper. “Come on, move it. We’re going for a hike.”

  The younger man’s groan was audible.

  This was probably the best chance Aaron would have to ask. “Do you know what the new owners are planning to do with the property?”

  The man shrugged. “It’s just a job to me. I’m not in their confidence. Still, if I were guessing from the orders we have, I’d think the owners were intending to divide it up for building lots of some sort.”

  “Home building lots, you mean?” Aaron found that hard to believe. “Why would anyone want to put in houses this far away from town?”

  “Who knows? Seems kind of strange to me, too.” The man mopped his face with a handkerchief. “I don’t suppose you’d much like having a bunch of suburban neighbors, either.”

  “Complaining about the smell of manure and blaring their horns at the buggy horses? No, not much.” Aaron could just imagine what it would be like.

  The surveyor chuckled. “Funny how people think they want to move out to the country, and then as soon as they get there, they start changing it to make it more like the town they came from.”

  “True.” Aaron frowned. “This land is supposed to be zoned agricultural, though.”

  “Yeah, it is.” He winked. “Funny how planning commissions change their minds when it means a bunch of new taxpayers moving in, isn’t it?”

  Aaron’s jaw tightened. What he said was true. Farmers had been dealing with that sort of thing for years. In fact, it was pushing more and more Amish out of areas where they’d had family farms for generations. He’d just thought it would never happen here.

  “Do you know anything about the new owners?” he asked abruptly.

  The surveyor ruffled through his papers. “Evergreen Corporation, it says. Headquartered in Delaware. Afraid I’ve never heard of them before.”

  Neither had Aaron. Did Matt Gibson know what the buyers planned for his property? Maybe, maybe not. But there was one person who ought to know. It looked as if he’d be paying a repeat visit to Preston’s Real Estate.

  * * *

  SARAH HAD HOPED to have an opportunity to talk to Allison about Julia when she reached the shop, but Allison rushed off immediately to pick up a permit application for the quilt festival, and it wasn’t until afternoon that they had a quiet moment together.

  “Sorry I’ve been on the run.” Allison stowed her bag under the counter and smoothed her ruffled hair. “It turns out we have to have a permit to hold the festival at a location other than our shop, so I decided I’d better go down to Town Hall to get the application.”

  “And you happened to run into the mayor while you were there, ain’t so?” Sarah teased, enjoying the way her sophisticated friend sparkled like a teenager at the mention of Nick.

  “We had to talk business,” Allison said firmly, but her lips softened. “Nick says that the fire company’s pumper is in worse shape than they’d realized. It’s a good thing there hasn’t been another fire in the past few days. It gave them time to get some repairs done, but it’s still just a makeshift business. He’s going to talk to the newspaper editor about running some articles.”

  Nodding, Sarah paused in the process of hanging a new baby quilt over a rack. “That will help, especially with folks in town. They have to be aware that the problem affects them, too, and not just the farmers.” She smoothed her palm over the delicate yellow and green design of bunnies and daffodils, loving the joyful effect of the pattern. If she’d ever had need of a baby quilt, she’d have wanted one like this.

  “And speaking of the festival, have you and Aaron made any headway in checking out the possible sites?” Allison sounded perfectly innocent, but her expression gave her away.

  “Stop pushing. I’m certain sure you manipulated that deliberately to throw Aaron and me together.”

  “Not manipulated, exactly,” Allison protested. “I couldn’t be sure Aaron would volunteer. I just believe in taking advantage of opportunity when it presents itself. So, have you? Made plans to check out sites, I mean.”

  “I know what you mean.” Sarah should be annoyed, but it was hard to manage it when she knew her friend meant nothing but the best for her, and Allison’s own happiness with Nick made her want the same for everyone around her. “I’ll set something up with Aaron the next time I talk to him, I promise.”

  Possibly she’d be able to tick a few places off the list on her own before that happened, she added silently.

  “Well, when you do, try and act more like an available single woman and less like a childhood buddy.”

  Sarah just shook her head, knowing that explaining all over again wouldn’t deter Allison from her determination to see Sarah happy. “Now, enough about that. We need to talk about Julia.”

  “Julia?” Alarm showed in Allison’s green eyes. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “She’s all right,” Sarah said hastily. “But she had a fall this morning, and it worries me.”

  “You’re sure she didn’t hurt herself? At her age, a fall can be serious.”

  “As sure as I can be. She wouldn’t let me call the rescue squad, and she did seem to be moving all right when I helped her back to her chair. I thought I’d stop by on my way home.”

  Allison was already shaking her head. “I know that makes you late getting home, and your mother will worry. I’ll go. Maybe I can take a meal over and eat with her. That’ll give me more time to assess the situation.” She dived in with her usual efficiency. “But how did it happen?”

  “That’s...worrisome.” Sarah hesitated, trying to decide just what she thought about that odd incident. “Julia’s walker slid on a throw rug, and she went down.”

  “The last time I was there, she was having a spirited argument with the visiting therapist. He told her she should put all of those rugs away, but you know how Julia is. All she needed was someone telling her that to make her stubbornly insist on leaving them where they were.”

  “I’m sure. But it wasn’t as simple as that. The rugs do have nonskid pads under them, but the pad wasn’t there.” She caught the sharpened look of attention on Allison’s face and shook her head. “Donna came in about then, and she claimed that she’d taken them up to wash, and told Julia to be careful. But Julia insisted she’d never mentioned it.”

  “Why on earth didn’t Donna just pick up the rugs, if so? It sounds odd to me.”

  “I know, but everyone isn’t as efficient as you. It’s just the sort of thing Donna would do. Start something and not carry it through.” Now that she’d voiced her concern, Sarah had a sense of release. “I can just see her doing it without thinking.”

  “You’re more trusting than I am,” Allison said. “I don’t like it.”

  Sarah blinked at the idea. “But Donna wouldn’t want to see Julia hurt. Surely it was just a mix-up. She might have thought she’d mentioned it to Julia but hadn’t. Or Julia might not have remembered, I suppose. Donna keeps saying that she’s forgetting things, but I haven’t seen it myself.”

  “It sounds to me as if dear cousin Donna has some explaining to do.” Allison’s expression was grim. “She’s always saying she’s Julia’s only relative. And I’d guess that Julia is fairly well-off.”

  Sarah was already shaking her head. “No, no, that’s impossible. People just don’t behave that way. And anyway, tripping on a throw rug wouldn’t kill Julia. Hurt her, maybe, but why would that benefit anyone?”

  Allison shrugged. “Given the way Donna complains about everything she does for Julia, she might be happy to see her in a nursing facility. Then she wouldn’t have to be bothered with her.”

  “I can’t believe—”

  The shop phone rang just then. Relieved to be distracted, Sarah scooped it up, only to hear Julia’s voice.

  “
Julia?” She signaled to Allison. “Are you all right? Do you need anything?”

  “Fine, fine.” Julia sounded testy, and Allison was holding out a demanding hand for the phone. “I want you to do something for me.”

  “Of course. What is it?” She held up a palm to Allison, trying to stave her off. “And Allison wants to talk with you when we’re done,” she said, more for Allison’s benefit than Julia’s.

  “Just stop by the cottage on your way home and tell Gus I want to see him here tomorrow morning at nine sharp. He’s supposed to be doing the yard work here, and apparently he thinks because it hasn’t rained there’s nothing to do. Be sure he understands. If he wants to keep living rent-free, it’s time he earned it, and you can tell him so.”

  Sarah mentally translated the demand into more tactful phrasing. “Yes, I’ll see to it. Here’s Allison.” She handed the receiver off, listening with a fraction of her attention to Allison’s efforts to persuade Julia that she was coming over with supper. Given the strong wills both of them had, an argument was inevitable.

  As for her—well, it was not in her nature to argue with anyone, and she’d naturally agreed to Julia’s request. But a little shiver snaked down her skin at the thought of another encounter with Gus after seeing his attitude about his privacy the last time she’d spoken with him.

  * * *

  SARAH HAD MANAGED to dismiss her qualms about Gus for the rest of the afternoon, but they came back in force as she approached the turnoff to the Everly property. Funny that she’d never realized before how isolated it was. Julia’s husband had never farmed the land, so what had once been pastures had given way to scrub growth of pines and sumacs. He’d wanted the land for the woods, but the result was unfortunate. The trees and the bends in the road cut the cottage and what had been the barn off from view in both directions.

  Molly shook her head, setting the harness jingling, when Sarah signaled the turn. Obviously the mare hadn’t forgotten what had happened here. She probably never would. Animals seemed to have longer memories than humans for some things.

  The cottage belongs to Julia, Sarah reminded herself as Molly trotted sedately up the lane. She was bringing a message from the owner. No matter how zealously Gus guarded his privacy, he had to respect that fact.

  Sarah’s gaze was inevitably drawn to the remains of the barn. With no rain to settle the ashes, they clung to a few skeletal timbers, and the charred odor wafted to her nose. There were a few orange markers around scene, left either by the police or the arson investigator.

  The cottage door was closed, the windows dark. It looked deserted, but that didn’t mean anything. Gus could still be holed up inside, ignoring anything as disturbing as a visitor.

  Bolstering her courage with the reminder that she was here at the owner’s request, Sarah mounted the steps and knocked. Nothing. She rapped again, louder this time.

  “Gus! Are you here? Come to the door.”

  Still no response. “I have a message from Mrs. Everly. She wants to see you.”

  Either Gus wasn’t there or he’d decided not to respond even to Julia’s name. Or he was passed out.

  Sarah’s hand hovered over the doorknob. She’d opened it before, but then she’d had the excuse that he could be in danger. Delivering a message didn’t constitute an emergency. Besides, if Gus was drinking, she didn’t really want to encounter him.

  Returning to the buggy, she fished out a notepad and pencil. She’d leave a note for him, and if he didn’t respond to it, he’d have to explain why to Julia.

  It was while she was scribbling the brief note that the feeling began to overcome her—a prickly sensation on the back of her neck, a sensation as if ants crawled on her skin. She stiffened. She was being watched. She knew it as surely as if she could see the watcher.

  Trying not to give herself away by her body language, Sarah returned to the cottage door, using the opportunity to scan the windows. Nothing moved. No one stood at the windows watching. But the feeling increased, and she couldn’t shake it off.

  With no means of fastening the paper to the door, she picked up a fist-sized rock from beside the steps. It felt oddly reassuring in her hand. She stooped, propping the note against the door and putting the rock over the bottom of the sheet to keep the breeze from blowing it away.

  Something rustled in the dense growth of rhododendrons that ran along the side of the cottage. Sarah froze for an instant, willing her fingers to let go of the stone. As she stood, the rustle came again, the branches moving as if someone was forcing his way through them.

  Her courage fleeing, Sarah bolted down the steps, yanking the lines free of the post where she’d looped them. She scrambled to the relative safety of the buggy seat. Molly, seeming infected by her fear, needed no urging to step away from the porch and circle back to the lane.

  Not daring to look around, Sarah snapped the lines, sending Molly down the lane at a sharp pace. Foolish, she was being foolish, the rational side of her mind told her, but apparently her native caution was stronger. She had to get away from the cottage.

  A few yards farther on she came to a halt, checking Molly with an abrupt movement, as a car came toward her down the narrow lane. It pulled to a stop scant feet from the mare’s nose. Trembling a little, Sarah drew on the lines. If she backed clear, she could send Molly onto the grassy verge and get around the vehicle.

  But the driver was already getting out, and Sarah recognized him. Norman Fielding, the arson investigator from the state police.

  Relief combined with a sinking feeling. She wasn’t afraid of the watcher, not with a state policeman here. But she didn’t relish another discussion with the man.

  Obviously she wasn’t going to avoid it. He came toward her, making a cautious circle around the mare as if he half expected the placid creature to attack him. “Ms. Bitler. What are you doing at the investigation site?”

  Of course that was what it would be to him. Somehow that alleviated a little of her apprehension. “The caretaker still lives in the cottage. The owner asked me to drop off a message for him on my way home.”

  His scanty eyebrows lifted. “Really? Why didn’t Mrs. Everly call him?”

  “I don’t know if there’s a phone. She asked me to deliver a message, and I was glad to help her. If you’re going to the cottage, you’ll see my note on the porch.”

  “This caretaker, Gus Hill—he wasn’t there?” The man seemed to study her face intently.

  “He didn’t answer when I knocked,” she said carefully. “He’s a bit of a hermit in some ways. He doesn’t like visitors.”

  She considered telling him about her feeling of being watched and rejected the notion. He was looking at her suspiciously enough as it was.

  “Seems a strange situation to me.” Fielding’s eyes narrowed. “What’s Mrs. Everly doing with a caretaker who behaves that way?”

  “You would have to ask her that question.” Sarah raised the lines. “If you don’t mind, I must be getting home. My family will be concerned at the delay.”

  It was an invitation for him to back off. He didn’t. Instead, he put one hand on the buggy seat. “Not so fast. Since you’re here, I’d like to take you over your evidence again. You can show me where you were when you saw the smoke and exactly where the fire started.”

  Sarah’s stomach revolted at the thought of going back to the cottage. Would she have that sense of being watched again? She didn’t care to find out.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m already late. I must go.”

  He had a firm grip on the side of the buggy seat now. “It won’t take long. I’ll follow you to the barn.”

  Her natural deference to authority argued with her need to get away from the place. The fear won, giving her the ability to speak firmly.

  “Not now. If you wish, you can stop at our house later. It’s just down the ro
ad, and the name is on the mailbox.”

  “Just a few minutes,” he said. “Taking care of this now—”

  Sarah’s fingers tightened on the lines. Molly, alert to the tiniest hint, began to back up, tail swishing, hooves coming down close to the man’s feet.

  He sprang back, paling. He really was afraid of the mare. If he’d only known it, Molly would dislike stepping on his foot even more than he would.

  “It would not be appropriate,” Sarah said. “You may talk to me at home, with my father there.” Her heart was in her throat at the temerity of defying him, but Fielding didn’t look as if he intended to argue.

  He stepped back, well away from horse and buggy, as she backed, swung in an arc around his vehicle and headed toward the road home, letting out a long breath as Fielding said no more.

  How had she dared? She found she was irrationally pleased with herself for actually standing up to the man. Did that mean she was lacking in humility? Or obedience to the law?

  Still, what she’d said was true, although it probably wouldn’t weigh with Fielding. It was inappropriate for her to be alone in such an isolated spot with a strange man, especially an Englischer.

  And if he came to the farm...well, she’d cooperate with the investigation. She certain sure wanted the arsonist caught before he caused any more damage. But she doubted that anything she could say or do would help.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SARAH HOPED SHE’D heard the last from the arson investigator, and her stomach clenched that evening when Jonny called out that someone was coming. A second later she heard the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats and relaxed. The thought of Fielding coming by horse to question her was enough to make her smile.

  Aaron’s deep voice sounded from the backyard, where he was teasing the boys as they vied to tend his horse. Daad looked up from the church newspaper, setting it aside, and Mamm took the remains of a blueberry pie from the cabinet and set it on the table just as Aaron tapped on the screen and came in.