When Secrets Strike
Page 19
“Since they paid Matthew for his land, they must be real,” Sarah pointed out. “You need to turn right here to go down the main street of town.”
“This is charming,” Allison exclaimed, as they passed small shops and historic buildings, with flowers blooming in pots and window boxes everywhere they looked. “Why haven’t I ever been here?”
“You must tell Nick to show you around,” Sarah teased. “He should take you to Sturgis Pretzels, at least, and let you make your own pretzel.”
Allison leaned over the steering wheel, watching the signs. “Is Lititz mainly Amish?”
“Moravian,” Sarah said. “They settled in the county about the same time as the Amish arrived, also looking for religious liberty.”
“I can see I’ll have to get Nick out of his comfortable rut to do some touristy things with me.” Allison’s gaze sharpened, and she pointed. “There it is.”
Lititz was busy on a summer day, with visitors wandering up and down the narrow streets and admiring the serene lines of the Moravian Girls School in its green setting. Allison finally found a parking space, and they got out.
Sarah’s back complained when she stood up after even that short ride in the car. Maybe lying down would be a good idea, but it would have to wait until she got home.
They were walking toward the tiny shop before it occurred to Sarah to wonder exactly what they were going to do. She glanced at Allison, who was striding confidently to the door.
“Will you tell the owner why we’re interested in the album quilt?”
“I think we’ll let him assume we’re interested in buying first. Time enough to get into that once we know what he volunteers about it. And we need to get a close enough look to see if the name is there.”
“You’d better be the buyer, then,” Sarah said as Allison reached for the handle. “He wouldn’t believe an Amish woman was shopping for a quilt.”
“Good point,” Allison said, pulling the door open. “Just follow my lead.”
Sarah could only hope that didn’t involve her saying much. Or anything at all. She wasn’t sure she was cut out for detective work, even about Julia’s quilt.
The shop was crowded with all sorts of items—mostly old, some of them fabric goods, arranged in what seemed a haphazard manner. It was the sort of place that would lure buyers in, each of them convinced that he or she was going to discover a hidden treasure.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” A man, probably the owner, emerged from the back and came toward them, rubbing his hands together briskly. Smallish, sixtyish, slightly graying, he wore a vague air that contrasted oddly with the sharp look in his faded eyes. “What are you looking for today? Samplers? Needlepoint?”
“Quilts,” Allison said, her tone brisk. “I’m interested in an album quilt, and I found one you had displayed on your web page.”
“Yes, of course.” He seemed to be measuring the worth of Allison’s linen slacks, silk shirt and designer leather bag. His gaze veered toward Sarah, and his expression became questioning.
“My friend is here to advise me on the quality of the work,” Allison said smoothly.
Sarah could see that Allison’s poise and confidence were making an impression on the man. She was so used to seeing Allison as her friend that she sometimes forgot the impact her sleek coppery hair, jade-green eyes and air of quiet elegance had on others.
“Certainly, certainly. The album quilt. Just one moment, and I’ll bring it out for you to see.”
It didn’t take long. The quilt, encased in plastic, lay on a shelf nearby.
“You’ll understand if I don’t take it out of the bag,” he murmured. “Such a valuable piece merits careful handling.”
If they couldn’t get a closer look, they wouldn’t be able to check for the signature. Sarah glanced at Allison, to find her fixing the man with an icy stare that reminded Sarah of Allison’s late grandmother.
“You’ll understand that I can’t consider investing in such an expensive quilt unless I examine it closely,” she said.
They gazed at each other, and then the man’s eyes dropped. Wordlessly, he opened the encasing plastic and removed the quilt.
Sarah found she couldn’t keep quiet, after all. “A quilt of that age should have been wrapped in acid-free paper before storage in plastic.”
He looked a bit irritated. “Yes, well, of course I know that. I don’t expect the quilt will be in the shop that long. Such a unique item,” he murmured. “Several people are interested in it.”
Together, Sarah and Allison spread the quilt out. The individual blocks seemed to jump out at them—each one unique, but blending together in a pageant of birds, animals, flowers and trees.
“No figures of people,” Sarah said softly. “And none of buildings. I wonder if they agreed ahead of time on the design each would do.”
“What about the stitching?” Allison deferred to her knowledge.
“Very sound. A little variation here and there, but you have to expect that when a different person makes each block.” She bent to look more closely. “There’s a little repair needed in a few places, but that wouldn’t necessarily affect the value.”
“Extraordinary condition,” the shop owner said. “I don’t know when I’ve handled a finer quilt.”
Allison glanced around the shop. “You don’t seem to specialize in quilts.”
“No.” He looked a bit discomfited. “But I know what to look for in a quality piece.”
“Let’s turn it over to examine the back,” Allison said.
Sarah held her breath as they reversed the quilt. The stitches were easier to see on the plain backing, an intricate design that looked like the weaving tendrils of a vine reaching for the sun. And there, on the bottom right edge, were the embroidered words they longed to see. Margaret Herrington, for her wedding, April 4, 1875.
Excitement flooded through Sarah—to find the missing quilt so easily, and all because of Allison’s expertise with the computer.
“You can see how fine it is.” The man’s voice gained energy, probably because they couldn’t entirely hide their enthusiasm. “It’s worth every penny of the asking price, and I couldn’t possibly take any less.”
He turned over the ticket attached to the quilt, and Sarah’s breath caught at the price. It seemed astronomical, but Allison was nodding as if it was expected.
“Now, about the provenance of the quilt,” her friend said crisply. “You have documentation of its history, of course.”
He seemed to draw back a little. “Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to trace the history. I’m sure, given the name and date, it would be possible to learn more, but—”
“How did you come to have it in your possession without any documentation?” Allison’s eyes snapped.
“There’s nothing illegal about it.” He was beginning to get sulky. “I purchased the quilt at a country auction, and the auctioneer wasn’t able to tell me anything about the owner. Still, I could see the obvious quality.”
How much did he pay for it? Sarah found herself wondering. Probably nothing near the value.
“Where was the auction?” Allison seemed intent on keeping the pressure on him.
His face seemed to close. “My sources are part of my business. I really don’t feel inclined to give those to a stranger. Now, if you decide to buy—”
“Would you be surprised to learn that this quilt has been reported stolen?” She shot the words at him.
His lips moved several times before words came out. “It can’t be. I bought it from a reputable auctioneer. He wouldn’t deal in stolen goods.”
“I don’t know anything about the auctioneer,” Allison pointed out. “I just know that you’re in possession of stolen property.”
The shop owner paled. “The police...”
“Fortunately for you, we represent the owner, not the police. If you cooperate with us, it may not be necessary to bring in the police at all.”
“Of course, of course.” He drew a ledger from under the counter and began leafing through it.
Allison exchanged glances with Sarah, and Sarah knew they were thinking the same thing—that the man wouldn’t be giving in so quickly unless he’d suspected from the beginning that there was something fishy about his find.
He shoved the ledger over to Allison, pointing to a line item. “There it is. Those are all the things I bought at an auction house over near New Holland. It’s just a small place—the guy who runs it collects stuff all week and runs an auction every Saturday. That phone number is the only contact I have for him. But you talk to him. He’ll confirm I purchased the quilt in good faith.”
Copying the information, Allison made a non-committal sound. “We’ll be checking with him. In the meantime, I’d suggest that you take great care of this quilt until you hear from us. If it should disappear before this is straightened out, we’ll have to call in the authorities.”
Leaving the owner still mouthing his promises of cooperation, they left the shop. Once they were in the car, Allison looked at her, frowning. “Did you see the date on that sale?”
Sarah nodded. “Less than two months ago.”
“So if it disappeared during Julia’s move to her house, where has it been in the meantime? And if it disappeared two months ago...well, there aren’t that many people who could have access to Julia’s attic, are there?”
* * *
AARON FOUND IT took all the strength he could muster to trudge over to Ben Stoltzfus’s place in the early dawn. How did you comfort a man who’d had such a blow again?
Not the new barn this time, thank the gut Lord. That would have been even worse, he guessed. Probably the arsonist had thought the raw new wood wouldn’t catch fast enough. Instead, he’d struck at the tie stall barn where the cows were brought for milking. The building could be easily replaced, and at least no stock had been lost.
But the milk tank, the cooler, all the machinery needed to run a successful dairy operation—that was gone. How Ben was to cope with that financial loss, Aaron didn’t know.
Ben was momentarily alone, leaning against a fence post, a glazed look on his face. Aaron stopped beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Sorry. If only we could have saved something—”
“Not your fault,” Ben said, seeming to make an effort. “You folks did all you could. The building was old, so the wood was dry as tinder. All the firebug had to do was splash some kerosene around and toss a match.”
“Ja.” What was there to say? “We can take a dozen of your cows at our place to milk with ours. I’ll get people lined up to take the rest, for as long as you need. It’s no trouble. Until you can get the equipment replaced.”
Ben sagged, wiping his forehead and spreading a fresh layer of soot. Aaron knew he looked as bad.
“Don’t know if it’s worth it,” Ben muttered.
His expression wrung Aaron’s heart, but he had to find something encouraging to say.
“You’re down now. Things will look better after you get some rest. You know the church will help with the costs.”
Everyone would pitch in, giving as much as they could afford and maybe more. Ben and his family were part of them, and without insurance...well, that was part of being Amish. You accepted what the Lord sent and relied on your brothers and sisters.
“It’s not just that.” Ben’s voice was ragged. “You know as well as I do how hard it is to make a living farming, with land prices going up by the minute, it seems like, and taxes, too.”
True enough. Sometimes Aaron thought the Philadelphia suburbs and the Lancaster ones would spread out so much they’d merge, with no room left for any farms.
“We’re farmers. That’s what we do, ain’t so?” He tried to sound heartening.
“Might be easier to sell out. Pack up and go west to Ohio, or even south to Kentucky. Plenty of Amish have already done it.”
He couldn’t deny it, so he just patted Ben’s shoulder. “Get some rest. We’ll make arrangements about the cows quick as we can.” No matter what else happened, the cows had to be milked on time.
Spotting the bishop heading toward them, Aaron slipped away. He’d best find Jonah and Nick and go home. Daad would be trying to get their milking done by the time they got there, and no doubt by the afternoon milking, they’d have some of Ben’s herd to handle, as well.
He scanned the crowd—weary firefighters, neighbors flooding in to help with the stock, women pressing coffee and food on everyone. Where was his brother? Jonah had been out when the call came, but he’d made it to the scene by the time they had the hoses set up.
Then he saw his brother, standing a little apart from the rest. Mac and Fielding were there, as well, Mac looking stoic and expressionless and Fielding aggressive.
Heart thudding, throat tightening, Aaron strode to the trio, sloughing off his fatigue. He got there in time to hear Fielding shooting a question at his brother.
“...answer me. Where were you before the firefighters arrived?”
A glance at Jonah’s face told him that his brother was being sullen and uncooperative. To Jonah, all adults were the enemy just now.
“Can this wait?” Aaron said, dropping a hand on his brother’s shoulder and feeling the tension there. “We’ve been fighting a fire all night.”
Fielding transferred the antagonistic glare to him. “No, it can’t. You’d better advise your brother to answer my questions if he doesn’t want to land in serious trouble.”
“Jonah?” He met his brother’s eyes, willing him to listen. “Just answer the man’s questions so we can get home. You must be as tired as I am, ain’t so?”
But Jonah shrugged off his hand. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Why is he picking on me?”
“You arrived late at the fire scene.” Fielding interrupted him. “You’ve arrived late at the last few fires. Why didn’t you come with your brother?”
Please answer. Don’t make this worse than it is.
“I wasn’t home.” Jonah stared at the ground. “I was out.”
“Out where?”
“Out with friends.”
“Where? What friends? Where did you go?”
Jonah shot a resentful look at the man. “Couple of Englisch guys. They had a car. We were just riding around. We were gonna go get something to eat when I heard about the fire on their scanner. So they dropped me here.”
“Names?” Fielding’s pen was poised over a pad.
“Eric Conner,” Jonah muttered. “Joey Marino.”
The last two boys Aaron would have picked for his brother to hang out with. Older than he was, with a reputation for skating close to trouble.
“Been drinking?”
Jonah shrugged. “A couple cans of beer, that’s all.”
“You say they brought you here.”
“Ja. Well, they didn’t come up to the house. They dropped me off on the road, and I ran up here and got my gear on.”
Aaron couldn’t keep himself from speaking. “Eric and Joey—will they confirm what you say?”
“Sure.” He looked at Fielding, then at Mac. “You ask them. They’ll tell you.”
From Fielding’s expression, he didn’t think highly of two possibly drunk teenagers as an alibi, Aaron could tell. He clasped Jonah’s arm. “My brother has told you all he knows. I’m taking him home now.”
For a moment it hung in the balance, but then Fielding gave a curt nod. “Don’t take any trips.” He stared at Aaron. “You’re responsible for him. Make sure he shows up whenever we need to talk to him.”
Aaron nodded. “Komm, Jonah. Let’s go home.”
Something had to be said before they reached him. “Jonah.” He touched the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I know you didn’t do it. Soon everyone else will know, as well.”
Jonah resumed his study of the ground. But some of the misery had gone out of his face.
* * *
“I’LL SEE YOU LATER, Jonny.”
Sarah raised her hand to wave to her younger brother, who was looking very pleased with himself at being permitted to drive her to work the morning after the fire. Everyone had been up most of the night with the trouble at the Stoltzfus place, and she’d insisted that Mamm not attempt to come in early today.
Jonny drove off, handling the lines intently, not that the mare couldn’t have taken the trip herself, most likely. Stifling a yawn, Sarah headed for the back door of Blackburn House.
As if the fire hadn’t been bad enough, devastating Ben and Miriam so quickly after the loss of the barn, the news that Jonah King was under suspicion had spread like wildfire through the Amish community.
It was impossible, wasn’t it? She couldn’t believe that the boy she’d known since the day he was born could do such a thing. But those Englisch boys he’d been running with...
Sarah let that thought die off as she entered the building. She had no right to make judgments about boys she didn’t even know except by reputation. When she reached the deserted hallway she paused, waiting as Allison came down the steps.
“I heard about the fire,” her partner said immediately. “And about Jonah. How is he?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen any of the King family since then. I did hear that the fire chief said it would be best if Jonah took some time off until the whole thing was settled.”
“Poor Jonah. That must make him feel as if everyone is against him.”
Sarah loosened her bonnet strings and removed it, frowning a little. Worry over the situation had kept her awake for what was left of the night, and none of her thoughts made sense anymore. It was time to think of something else for a bit.