by Marta Perry
She clutched the back of the nearest chair as he reached her. “What is it? What’s happened?”
He took her arm, leading her a few steps away from the interested glances of the people at the table.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was low, for her ears only. “I don’t want to disrupt the reception, but I know how close you two are.” He paused for the space of a heartbeat, his hand firm and strong on her arm. “There’s been an accident. Esther Zook’s buggy has been hit.”
“How bad?” Her frozen lips could barely form the words.
“Bad,” he said, clenching his jaw. “She’s on her way to the hospital, but…it’s bad.”
* * *
IT HADN’T BEEN any part of Adam’s plan to bring Libby with him. But when she’d learned he was headed for the hospital after a brief stop at the accident scene, she’d been adamant.
He might have overruled her, but when Geneva found out what was happening she’d been equally insistent. He hadn’t been able to hold out against both of them.
Ripping off the tie that went with the tux, he tossed it into the backseat, glancing at Libby. She huddled into a thick winter coat—apparently not thick enough, because she was shivering. He flicked the heat up to full blast.
“It’ll warm up soon.”
She didn’t seem to hear him. The brief light provided by a passing car showed him the pale oval of her face, stiff and frozen. Only her lips moved silently, as if in prayer.
Would Carmody have done everything he’d told him? The kid was fairly new, but he seemed intelligent enough. Which probably meant he wouldn’t hang around long. The smart kids he got in the township police generally used it as a stepping stone to something else.
Well, he’d see for himself soon enough. The accident site wasn’t far from Springville.
What had Esther been doing out in her buggy at this hour, anyway? That was unusual, to put it mildly.
He turned onto the township road, slowing, wary of patches of black ice. Not far now. His mind ticked over all the things that had to be set in motion with a hit-and-run, but that wasn’t enough to distract him from the silent figure at his side.
“I’m sorry we have to stop at the scene. Maybe you should have had someone else take you.”
She shook her head, roused for the moment, at least. “We came from the house in the limo, remember? None of the family had a car at the inn. Anyway, I shouldn’t take them away from the reception. Esther is…” Her voice choked on the words.
He felt as if he’d been hit in the heart. “I know. You’ve been friends since you were kids.”
He had a quick mental picture of Libby as a child, hair so light a blond it looked like dandelion fluff dancing in the breeze when she and Esther darted among the apple trees behind the Morgan house, playing some fanciful game. Tonight her slightly darker blond hair was swept up into a complicated twist adorned with a wisp of lace that matched her bridesmaid’s dress.
“We couldn’t have been much more than four or five when her mother started helping at the house and brought her along.” Once she got started, Libby’s voice seemed to ease. “Mom was glad I had a girl to play with, instead of just my brothers.”
“Your friendship lasted even after you went away to school?” If he kept her talking, maybe she wouldn’t get that frozen look again.
“Nobody writes letters anymore, except the Amish.” She almost smiled. “Esther’s letters…I don’t know, I think they grounded me, in a way. Reminded me of home. They still do.” She sucked in a breath. “If the paramedics took her to the hospital, there must be hope. There must be,” she repeated, as if he’d argued the point.
He didn’t want to tell her what he’d heard. “The paramedics got to her quickly. I’m sure they would have a surgeon waiting when she reached the hospital.”
“Her injuries…what were they?” Her voice quavered, then steadied. She wanted the truth, he knew.
“Trust me, my guys aren’t experts on trauma. When you get to the hospital—”
“What did they say?” Her tone was uncompromising.
“She has what looks like a bad head injury.”
I figured she was a goner. That was what the patrolman on duty actually said. All that blood. He’d sounded a little sick. Adam could only hope Carmody hadn’t disgraced himself at the scene. This was the kid’s first bad crash…not that anyone ever got used to seeing mangled bodies at an accident scene.
Not just an accident, he reminded himself. A hit-and-run. That made the site a crime scene. He’d called for a crime scene investigation team from the state police. His tiny department didn’t have the resources for anything like that. The driver was bound to have left some traces behind.
Libby stirred. “Esther’s mother…has someone told her?”
He nodded. “I sent someone to pick up Bishop Amos to help break the news. They should be at the hospital by the time we are.”
The strip of black macadam went over another rise and he spotted the flares and reflective tape. Good. He didn’t want anything messed with before the crime scene team got here. He pulled to a stop and turned on his flashers.
Joe Carmody was at his door the moment he opened it, a little green around the gills over being first on the scene.
“Everything’s cordoned off, just like you wanted it, Chief. I had the volunteer firefighters bring along their battery lamps so we could see better.”
“Good thinking, Carmody.” He hadn’t expected that display of initiative from the kid.
The lights flashed on as soon as the words were out of his mouth, and the scene sprang to life—tangled wreckage of a gray buggy, its battery lantern still flickering, one twisted wheel sunk at an angle in the ditch a few yards down the road, the horse lying dead in a tangle of lines.
“The horse was still alive when I got here.” The kid’s voice shook despite his best efforts to steady it. “Pretty bad. I had to—” He stopped, leaving the rest unsaid.
Adam gave a short nod. “You did the right thing. Nothing else has been touched?”
“Just what the paramedics had to do to get in,” Carmody said quickly, obviously glad to get away from the subject of the horse. “I put the tape up right away after I made the calls. Hasn’t been any other traffic along the road, though.”
“Nobody else through at all?” That would be a break for the crime scene guys. Maybe they’d actually pick up something to identify the vehicle.
Carmody jerked his head toward the nearest lane, where a pony cart was pulled up, an Amishman leaning against it, staring morosely at the scene. “Just Paul Miller. He’s the one made the call. Seems like his teenage boy has a cell phone.”
Amish didn’t have phones in the homes, generally, but cell phones were becoming more and more common with the teens, and the parents usually turned a blind eye to that until the kids were old enough to join the church. A good thing, in this case.
“Did Miller see anything?”
Carmody shook his head. “Vehicle was long gone by the time he got out here. His wife sent out a thermos of coffee, if you want any.”
“Not now.” He walked along the edge of the tape, looking, not touching, just assessing. Esther had been headed toward Springville, and she’d been hit from behind. Those battery lights on the buggy—they could be plainly seen by anyone coming up from the other direction. Why didn’t the driver stop, or at least swerve? Looked like he’d hit square on.
Anger burned along Adam’s veins. “No excuse for this.”
“Drunk maybe. Or high.” Carmody seemed to know what he meant. He gestured down the road, the way the vehicle must have come. “There’s no curves or hills for a good hundred yards. He had to have seen the lights.”
A sound behind him like a choked-off cry, and Adam swung around. Libby stood there, staring at the horse, lips clamped together.
He grabbed her arm and turned her away. “Stay in the car, Libby. Please,” he added, softening his tone. “We need to keep the area clean for the cri
me scene people.”
“Crime?” She repeated the word, eyes searching his face.
“Hit-and-run is a crime,” he said. And if Esther didn’t make it, that would be vehicular homicide at the very least. Still, they had to find the driver first. “Libby…”
She took a step, wobbling a little on the macadam in those ridiculously high heels she wore. He held her arm securely. There was nothing much he could do here at the moment. He needed to get to the hospital, to see if Esther had said anything.
“Extend that tape along the road on either side for another fifty feet or so.” He spoke over his shoulder to Carmody. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and he swerved off onto the verge after the collision. I’m going to the hospital. I’ll be back.”
“Yessir.” Carmody looked as if he’d like to salute, but didn’t. The boy was recovering from his initial shock, and it would help him recover his dignity to be left in charge.
Adam propelled Libby to the car, not letting go until she was safely inside. If he hadn’t brought her—but that wouldn’t really change anything. He’d still have to run by the hospital, talk to the mother, find out if Esther had said anything and when she could be questioned. Or if.
Once they’d driven past the scene, he glanced at Libby. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
She let out a shaky breath. “Esther…she’d have heard the car, wouldn’t she? Known it was going to hit her?”
He couldn’t lie to her. “Probably. But it would have been very fast.” His fingers tightened on the wheel, and he felt a totally unprofessional surge of fury. “He must have been blind drunk not to see her lights.”
“Or he intended to hit her. That would explain it, wouldn’t it?”
He hung on to his exasperation. This was bad enough without making it worse. “Libby, no one would deliberately hit a buggy straight on like that. No one would want to harm Esther.”
“You don’t know that.” She snapped the words. “You can’t.”
“Look, I know you’re upset about your friend—”
She was shaking her head. “You don’t understand. Esther wasn’t just my childhood friend. She’s always been like a sister to me. We exchanged letters every week without fail, and we confided in each other. I told her things in my letters I didn’t tell anyone, and she did the same. And the last couple of times Esther wrote to me she was worried, upset. Afraid.”
“Afraid?” He seized on the word. “Of what?”
“She didn’t say.” Libby pressed her fingers against her forehead. “She wanted me to get in touch with her as soon as I got home, but I didn’t get here until nearly time for the rehearsal, and—”
“But what did she say? Had someone threatened her?” It happened, even to someone as blameless as an Amish schoolteacher. Some nut job, fixating on her?
Libby sucked in an audible breath. “Sorry. I’m not making sense.” She closed her eyes for a second, and then opened them. “Like I said, Libby wrote to me every week. The past few times, she’d sounded as if she were worried about something. I tried to find out what it was, but she didn’t say. Then this last letter came.”
She paused, and he thought she was visualizing it in her mind’s eye. “She said that something was very wrong in the Amish community. She talked about how they won’t go to the law, but said maybe in this case they should have. She said she was counting the days until I got home, because I’d understand the situation better than she could.” Her voice shook. “But I didn’t get here in time, did I?”
“Libby, you don’t know that.” He reached across to touch her sleeve. “Chances are her accident is nothing more or less than it seems. Car and buggy collisions do happen, especially at night.”
She jerked away from his touch, turning to stare at him. “Didn’t you understand what I said? She was afraid. Esther, afraid. Esther Zook was never afraid of anything.”
“If it was a situation she didn’t understand—” he began, but she didn’t let him finish.
“She said something was wrong in the community. And it must have involved outsiders, because she implied my experience in the English world would help.”
He weighed the words, weighed too his impression of Libby. She was strung up, distraught about her friend, but she wouldn’t make up the contents of Esther’s letters. Still, she might be exaggerating, making connections that weren’t justified.
“Do you think I could see the letters?”
“Don’t you believe me?”
He didn’t need to look at her to know that those dark blue eyes were snapping.
“I believe you, but I’d like to read her exact words for myself.” They were entering Lancaster now, and he could see Libby’s face a little better in the glow of the streetlights. In her fear for her friend, she would lash out at anyone who got in her way. Especially him.
Finally she nodded. “I brought the letters home with me, thinking I might show them to Mom to see if she knew anything helpful. She’s usually pretty up-to-date about what goes on in the Amish community. They’re at the house. I’ll show them to you. You’ll see I’m right.”
He didn’t suppose a word of caution would be welcome, but he had to try. “Look, even if Esther was concerned about some problem in the community, it doesn’t necessarily follow that her accident was deliberate. I’d need to know a lot more before I could assume that.” To his relief, the lights of the hospital gleamed ahead.
She bit her lip, probably to keep from telling him what she thought of him and his assumptions.
“Fine.” She snapped off the word. “Look at it from all angles. Investigate. Deliberate. And in the end you’ll find I’m right. Esther knew about something wrong going on, and someone made sure she couldn’t tell.”
CHAPTER TWO
THE LIGHTS OF the hospital glowed icily in the cold night. Adam pulled up to the emergency room door and stopped. Libby fumbled with the door handle, her fingers cold and stiff despite the heat that had poured from the car heater.
“Wait,” Adam said. “I’ll take you in.”
He was out his door and around the car before she could bolt for the emergency room entrance. He took her arm in a firm clasp.
“You don’t need to go in with me.” It was all she could do to prevent her teeth from chattering, whether from cold or fear she wasn’t sure.
He swept her inside, not bothering to answer, and strode toward the desk. She had to hurry, but she managed to reach the receptionist first.
“Esther Zook…how is she?” She gripped the edge of the counter.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t give out…” The woman’s denial faded away when Adam flashed his badge.
“Where is she?” he asked, his voice crisp with authority.
The woman consulted her computer. “She’s already in surgery. The family is in the third-floor waiting room.”
Ignoring the interested glances from the few waiting patients, Adam took Libby’s arm again, steering her down the corridor toward the elevator. The swags of plastic greenery that draped each door along the hallway were a dismal counterpoint to her feelings.
“You don’t need to hold on to me.” She tried to tug free of his hand. “I can walk.”
“In those shoes?” He sent a dismissive glance toward the heels that had been dyed deep green to match her dress, discolored now with slush from the road.
The elevator doors swished open and as promptly closed behind them. Not long now, and she’d know for herself how serious Esther’s condition was.
“That’s good, isn’t it? That she’s in surgery, I mean.” She wanted to, needed to, find a shred of hope.
Adam turned a grave face toward her. “I hope so.”
That was all. For a second she wanted to storm at him, demand that he say something encouraging, but false hope wouldn’t help. Adam would tell her the truth, or he wouldn’t speak at all. Anyone who knew him must certainly know that.
Would he tell her the truth about his feelings over what had happened between t
hem? The thought popped into her head, and she chased it away. Adam had clearly managed to forget it. To him, she would always be his best friend’s kid sister, nothing more. And maybe that was for the best. She’d embarrassed herself too many times where Adam was concerned.
The doors slid open, and Libby’s stomach tightened.
“The waiting room is to the right.” Adam put a hand on the door.
“I know.” She’d waited there a time or two with Mom and Dad, once when Link smashed up his motorcycle and again when Trey had appendicitis. She hurried her steps, but Adam’s long stride kept pace with her.
Libby pushed open the door, and the two figures in the room swung toward her, wearing identical expressions of fear. She blinked, identifying the faces above the dark Amish dresses. Esther’s mother, Rebecca, and Esther’s sister-in-law, Mary Ann Zook.
“Rebecca, I’m so sorry…” Libby took a step forward and was enveloped in Rebecca’s motherly embrace.
“Ach, Libby, I am ser glad you are here. Esther—” She stopped, seeming to choke on her daughter’s name.
“It will be all right,” Libby said, with no assurance that her words were true. Still, Rebecca had to have hope, didn’t she?
She took a step back, trying not to let tears flow. “I’d expected to see you on this trip, but not here.”
“Ja.” Rebecca closed her eyes for a moment, probably in prayer.
She had aged in the past few years. Her hair was almost entirely gray now, the center part widening as it so often did with Amish women after years of pulling their hair back tightly under their kapp, the small white covering over their hair. Rebecca’s faded hazel eyes were red-rimmed from crying.
The younger woman put her arm around Rebecca’s waist. “We must have hope, Mamm Rebecca.” She reached out to clasp Libby’s hand. “It’s wonderful gut that you are here. I know that Esther was counting the days.”
“Ach, what am I thinking?” Rebecca straightened, as if calling on some reserve of strength. “Libby, you remember Mary Ann, Isaac’s wife.”
