by Marta Perry
“I just gave her an engagement ring,” he protested. “She wouldn’t want more jewelry, would she?”
“You really are hopeless, you know that?” She considered smacking him again, but that might lead to all-out war, and as tempting as it was, she didn’t have time for it now. Still, she had to grin, remembering the series of practical jokes they’d played on each other the last time she was home.
“Listen carefully,” she said. “No woman, especially one newly engaged, wants an appliance for Christmas. She wants something that reminds her you love her. What about a watch? Marisa always wears one, and you could have it engraved with something romantic.”
“Good idea.” His face brightened. “You want to go shopping and help me pick it out?”
“Can’t. I’ve got to go to the hospital to see Esther. But do it today, or you’ll never get it engraved by Christmas. And make it something small and delicate and feminine.”
“Right, I will.” His face sobered. “Listen, it’s not going to bother you that Adam Byler is joining us for Christmas, is it?”
It took an effort to keep her face from changing. “I didn’t know he was.”
Link nodded. “Him and Leo Frost.”
Leo Frost was the family’s attorney and an old friend. His inclusion didn’t surprise her.
“Why did Mom decide to invite Adam?”
“You know Mom.” He shrugged his shoulders. “She can’t stand the thought of anyone being alone on Christmas. She invites him every year, and this time he said yes.”
Okay, she could handle this. “Why would you think it might bother me?”
He avoided her eyes. “Look, I know how you felt about him when we were in high school, remember? And it seems to me sparks have been flying since you’ve been back this time.”
“That’s your imagination.” She caught his look and knew he didn’t believe her. “Whatever sparks you see are the result of our disagreeing over what happened to Esther.”
He held up his hands, evidently wishing he hadn’t asked. “Okay, if you say so. But just remember, sparks can sometimes cause a fire. Give my best to Esther’s family, will you? Is there anything I can do?”
“Not unless you can figure out who did this to her.”
“Afraid not,” he said, his voice slowing. “But something did occur to me after we talked last night—something that’s happening in the township that affects both English and Amish. Still, I don’t see how Esther could be involved.”
“Tell me,” she demanded, mind racing. Was she actually going to learn something helpful?
Link frowned. “Like I say, I don’t see how it could affect Esther. But there’s been a lot of talk going around about a new motel being built on a piece of prime Amish farmland. Nobody can understand how the builder got permission to build there. Not a word of it leaked out until it was a done deal and he broke ground. Word has it several Amish farmers had an eye on that piece of land, just waiting for it to come on the market.”
She didn’t see how Esther could be concerned in that, either, but it was the sort of thing she might ask Libby’s advice on.
“Who’s the builder?” She set her mug down. The coffee had cooled while they’d been talking.
“That’s just it. It’s Tom Sylvester. I can’t imagine him doing anything sleazy to get a project through.”
“I thought he retired and went to Florida. Isn’t that why you’re running Morgan Construction now?” She remembered Tom, of course. He’d run the family’s construction business for what seemed most of her life.
“Retiring was all he talked about.” Link’s frown deepened. “It was kind of odd, now that I think about it. He came back after just a few weeks, saying he couldn’t stand doing nothing. He didn’t want his job back—just said he’d be taking on a few small jobs on his own. Next thing we knew, he was digging the foundation for a new motel just this side of Springville.”
She nodded. “I saw that something was going up there. I can’t imagine any reason Esther would be interested, but it’s worth looking into.”
“But Tom—” Link’s face showed his doubt.
She had never been as impressed with Tom Sylvester as the boys had been. His bluff, hearty manner didn’t seem quite real, and his habit of calling her “little princess” annoyed her. That was for Daddy to say, no one else.
“It might be worth taking a look at this new project of his. I’ll stop at the site on my way to the hospital and see if Tom is there.” She stood, abandoning her half-eaten breakfast. “See you later. Do that shopping today.”
He grinned. “I will. And you be careful.”
“I will,” she echoed. But what could happen to her?
* * *
ADAM SHOVED HIS chair back from his desk with an impatient movement. Reports, reports and more reports…all negative. The canvass of local garages for repairs hadn’t produced a thing so far, but he didn’t have the manpower to do it any faster. His two part-timers had been let go at the end of the tourist season, leaving him with only three officers.
The state police were circulating a request to all garages in the tricounty area, but they knew, as he did, that there were places that would do repairs and conveniently forget if questioned.
The lab tests on the paint had narrowed the possibilities down slightly. They were looking for a late-model black van or pickup truck, American made. Unfortunately that wasn’t enough to point in any particular direction.
He moved toward the door. He may as well join in the check on garages as sit here. There weren’t any other investigations pressing—winter was the quiet season in their little corner of the county.
He reached the dispatcher’s desk in time to see the outer door open. Jason Smalley, one of the three township supervisors, came in, wiping his shoes carefully on the mat.
Jason was always what the old-timers called “finicky” in his actions…maybe the result of growing up with a mother like Sandra. Too bad his flawless exterior didn’t match up with his inside. Adam looked at him and saw, not the successful real estate developer, but the bully who’d made an elementary school career out of taking lunch money from younger kids.
Once his shoes were clean enough to suit him, Jason brushed a melting snowflake from the sleeve of his navy wool coat and strode toward Adam, smile wide and hand extended.
“Adam. Just the person I wanted to see.”
He nodded, unable to feel any matching enthusiasm. “What can I do for you, Jason?”
Jason shot a glance at Ginger, the dispatcher, who promptly turned back to her keyboard.
“Let’s go into your office.”
Since Jason, as a township supervisor, was in a sense Adam’s boss, he could hardly refuse. He stepped back, gesturing Jason in, and thinking fleetingly of the day he’d put an end to Jason’s bullying by giving him a bloody nose. He’d been the one to get into trouble for it, of course, but it had been worth the detention.
He closed the door and returned to his desk, nodding at the visitor’s chair. “What is it, Jason? I was just heading out to join the search for the hit-and-run car.”
“The accident, of course.” Jason sat. “I came by to see how the investigation is coming along. On behalf of the supervisors, of course.”
Adam sat motionless, studying Jason’s face for a clue to his thoughts. The township supervisors, three elected officials, generally concerned themselves with keeping the township roads clear and following up on decisions of the township planning commission. He couldn’t remember a time when they’d asked for more than the latest department statistics.
That stare must be making Jason nervous. He crossed his legs, swinging one foot in quick, jerky motions.
“The department is following all the leads to the driver,” he said.
Jason frowned. “We’d like a few more details than that. The supervisors are responsible for the police department.”
He’d guess the bully was still there, hidden behind that glossy facade. Still, he didn’t really have a rea
son to refuse.
“We know that the vehicle was a late-model van or truck, black, American made. There must have been considerable damage to the front end of the vehicle, so we’re checking all the garages in the township. The state police have circulated a request for information to all repair facilities in the tricounty. There’s really not a lot more we can do from that angle.”
“Of course, of course.” Jason’s lips twitched in a smile. “You’re doing all you can. No one can fault us if you’re not able to arrest the driver. Probably someone from out of the area, driving too fast on an unfamiliar road. Likely you’ll never know.”
That smug assumption of failure got under Adam’s skin. “It may not be as simple as that.” He hesitated. Better not to mention Libby. “We’ve learned that Esther wrote several letters which hinted that she was worried about a problem that apparently involved the English community. There’s a suggestion the crime was connected with that.”
“Crime?” Smalley looked startled. “You mean the accident.”
“Hit-and-run driving is a crime,” Adam said. He didn’t believe in sugarcoating wrongdoing. “The driver faces a stiff penalty, even if Esther recovers.”
“Yes, well, I suppose you’re right. But these letters…” He paused, eyes narrowing. “They were to Libby Morgan, I suppose. I should have known the Morgan family would be involved somehow.”
His fingers tightened around his pen. “What do you mean by that?”
Jason seemed to sense he’d gone too far. “Nothing, nothing. I suppose the Morgans have gotten used to being the big fish in the pond, but times are changing. People like the Morgans aren’t so important these days. You don’t have to pursue a pointless investigation just to please them.”
Resisting the urge to throw his pen, Adam put it down carefully. “I follow where the evidence leads. That’s my job. I won’t ignore any leads, no matter how slight.”
Jason stood, shoving the chair back, his face stiff. “We know where you stand, don’t we?”
Adam rose and planted his fists on the desk very deliberately. “You keep saying ‘we,’ Jason. Somehow I wonder if you really represent the other supervisors. Or if they even know about your attempt to influence the investigation.”
Anger flared in Jason’s face. “I see it’s useless to talk to you.” He walked to the door and paused for a parting shot. “You always were the Morgan family’s little pet, weren’t you? The trash they picked up from the gutter to do their dirty work for them.”
He was gone before Adam could react.
That was a good thing. Adam unclenched his fists, a finger at a time. He might have bloodied Jason’s nose for him again, and if he had, the consequences this time would be considerably more serious.
Stupid to let anger steer him away from the central point. He didn’t believe the other supervisors knew anything about Jason’s visit, or if they did, they hadn’t instigated it. So what was Jason up to?
CHAPTER SIX
LIBBY SLOWED THE car as she neared the outskirts of Springville, watching for the building site Link had mentioned. She didn’t share Link’s high opinion of Tom Sylvester, and it had been obvious to her that her brother had some doubts, even if he didn’t want to admit that.
Just what strings had Tom pulled to get permission to build on what was apparently prime farmland? The township planning commission would be the body that ruled on such a question. Her reporter’s instincts kicked into gear. Too bad she no longer had press credentials to back them up.
She stepped on the brake pedal. The raw, unfinished construction site, barely yards from the road, stood in stark contrast to the simple Amish farms tucked back on their narrow lanes.
Spotting a gravel access road into the site, Libby turned in, parked and stared at the building, speculating. Based on what Link had told her, the first anyone knew about the project work had already started and was moving fast, odd enough at this time of year.
Speed was smart on Tom’s part, though, if he feared a challenge. The zoning commission would be less likely to reverse its decision if the building was already up.
Funny, how all the things she’d heard her father say about the importance of the land came back to her now. Dad had considered it a family responsibility to protect the township from the kind of haphazard development that had occurred elsewhere in the county.
She slid out of the car, zipping her anorak against the cold wind. She’d borrowed a small digital camera from her mother, mainly because she didn’t feel right without one, though she could snap photos on her cell phone if need be. She dropped the camera into her pocket and picked her way through patches of snow and half-frozen mud toward the building.
It was going to be two stories, and much bigger than she’d imagined. She’d pictured Tom Sylvester putting up a little mom-and-pop operation to amuse himself in his retirement, but this place was big enough to rival the more upscale chains.
Pulling the camera out, Libby snapped a few photos. No point to it, maybe, but still…the situation was odd, to put it mildly.
She’d convinced herself that whatever had upset Esther, it had to be something that involved both English and Amish in some way. This project apparently qualified, even though she couldn’t see what Esther’s connection to it might be. Her family didn’t live near enough that Isaac would have been trying to add acreage.
Look for the connection. She’d heard that often enough in the newsroom. So, she’d look.
A couple of wooden planks laid together over a trench seemed the only access to the building itself. No one was here. She wouldn’t get a better chance to have a look inside.
She started up the slanted planks. Hiking boots would have been a better choice than the leather ones she had on. She took another step, her foot sliding, and flung her arms out for balance, breath coming quickly.
Okay. Worst-case scenario was that she’d fall into the trench and end up wet and muddy. No need to panic. Inching her way, she reached the top and stepped inside.
The first floor was already partially partitioned off. If she was interpreting it correctly, there was going to be a restaurant as well as the hotel lobby in this area. Frowning, she snapped off a few more pictures. Where did Tom Sylvester get the funds to put up something this extensive?
She walked around another partition, trying to visualize the layout. Her boots echoed on the wooden subfloor, the only sound. Eerie, how quiet it was. The snow that still blanketed the earth seemed to muffle ordinary noises.
A chill slid down her back. She ought to be at the hospital, seeing how Esther was, instead of playing girl detective. Even if this building was what had Esther upset, she wouldn’t learn anything by looking at it. She’d have to dig deeper than that.
She turned back the way she’d come, camera still in her hand, and froze. Footsteps. She wasn’t the only one here.
For a moment Libby couldn’t move. Then she shook her head. Stupid. It would be one of the workmen, or maybe a watchman who’d seen her car and come to investigate. Well, there was nothing to be done but to brazen it out.
“Hello?” She strode toward the exit with more assurance than she felt. “Is someone there?”
No answer for a few seconds. And then a burly figure stepped from behind a partition into her path, filling it entirely, a dark silhouette against the rectangle of the entrance beyond him.
“What are you doing here?” He growled the words, taking a step toward her. “This is private property.”
“Just having a look around. There’s no harm in that, is there?” She forced herself to move toward him.
Big, though not as big as she’d thought in that first instant. He was hefty rather than tall, wearing faded jeans that sagged below his belly and a camouflage jacket. The stains on the jacket and the stubble on his face suggested that he didn’t care much about his appearance.
“Private property,” he growled again.
“Yes, I get that. I understand Tom Sylvester is putting up this building.
When is it scheduled to be finished?”
He blinked. “If you know Mr. Sylvester, you better ask him yourself.”
“I’ll do that.” She started past him, moving briskly.
“Hey, what are you doing with that camera? You can’t go around taking pictures in here.” He reached for the camera.
She skittered past, headed for the ramp. If he chased her—
He took a few menacing steps, raising his hand, and she realized that he held a hammer.
“Stay away, ’less you want to get hurt. You hear?” He took another step.
Libby went down the planks considerably faster than she’d gone up them. Don’t give him the satisfaction of running, but don’t dawdle, either. She went quickly toward the car and opened the door. Then she looked back.
He was turning, apparently satisfied that he’d chased her off.
“Hey!” she shouted.
He spun. Raising the camera, she snapped off a picture of him and slid into the car.
Smart. Too smart, maybe, because the wheels spun uselessly in the slush, and he was coming toward her, the hammer raised—
The wheels caught, and she spun out the gravel lane and lurched onto the road.
She took a deep breath, then another. She’d been too cocky for her own good, probably, but she didn’t like being scared.
And whatever the man had intended, he’d just succeeded in rousing her curiosity. Tom Sylvester didn’t know it, but he was about to have a visitor.
* * *
A FEW MINUTES later, Libby was trying the doorknob at the small storefront office that was apparently the headquarters of Sylvester Construction. It was locked, and no one seemed to be stirring inside. Shielding her eyes with her hand against the glare, she peered in.
Sylvester’s new business didn’t look particularly prosperous. A battered aluminum desk, a chair, a filing cabinet. No phones, no computers, nothing much to suggest that business was conducted here.
She eyed the filing cabinet. Lacking a computer, Sylvester’s secrets might be found there, but she could hardly break in.
