by Marta Perry
That distracted her, as he’d been sure it would. For a moment she looked stricken.
“I should have done that the minute I arrived. But after I heard what she had to say, I knew I had to reach you before she changed her mind about talking to you.”
“I know. I appreciate what you did.” For a perilous moment they were too close, too much in sympathy, and he had to step back. “I doubt she’d have said anything to me about it if it hadn’t been for you. But right now…”
“Right now you want me to leave you alone to deal with your investigation.” Amusement sparked briefly in her blue eyes. “All right. I’ll work on Rebecca. But don’t you dare leave without touching base with me.”
“You’ve got it.” With a sketchy salute, he made his escape.
The staff on duty wasn’t able to add much to what he already knew. The night nurse Rebecca had spoken to had apparently not taken the incident seriously enough to do anything, certainly not calling security.
He considered, his jaw tight. Little though he liked to admit it, the staff hadn’t done anything wrong. They had no reason to think that Esther Zook was anything other than an accident victim. Maybe it was time to change that.
He leaned on the counter, trusting his size and his uniform to make an impression on the nurse who’d been answering his questions. “Call the security office and ask the officer in charge to come up here right now. We need to talk.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and she grabbed for the phone.
Ten minutes later Adam was closeted in a miniscule waiting room with Lew Thomas, the hospital’s security chief. His first sight of the man had reassured him. Thomas was obviously retired military…he’d seen the type too often to mistake it. Stocky and muscled, even his gray hair didn’t detract from the sense that here was someone to be relied upon in a tight spot.
“Trouble is, the hospital’s security cameras don’t cover this hallway,” Thomas was saying. “I recommended total coverage, but…” He shrugged. “You know the answer to that.”
“Budget won’t allow it. Right.” That was an issue everyone in public service faced.
“You think someone actually penetrated the hospital with the intent of silencing the victim?” Thomas’s tone made it a question.
“I think what happened last night is potentially too serious not to take precautions.”
“Right.” Thomas seemed to be collecting his thoughts, or maybe marshaling his resources. “I can have a camera moved up here from one of the less sensitive areas, and I’ll take a look at the footage we do have from last night to see if any anomalies show up.”
“Good. They might have caught someone leaving the building that shouldn’t have been here.” Although he doubted the man would allow a camera to film him.
“Trouble is, I only have two men on at night, and they have to cover the whole place. I’ll rearrange their routes to bring them through here more often, but otherwise…” Thomas shrugged.
“I’d appreciate it.”
But it wasn’t enough. Adam knew that, even as he thanked the man and headed back toward Esther’s room. He needed more, and his manpower shortage was as bad as the hospital’s was.
He eased the door open to find that only Libby sat next to the hospital bed.
Libby was talking to her friend, he realized, and he stood where he was, not sure whether he wanted to advance or retreat.
“…the time we pretended we were spies and followed the boys all the way to the quarry? Trey and Link and Adam. They thought they were so clever, and they never knew we were there.”
Actually they had. He remembered that day—a fall Saturday, the leaves turning red and yellow and orange, drifting down to crunch underfoot as they made their way toward the forbidden quarry. They’d spotted the two little girls following them, creeping from tree to tree under the illusion they hadn’t been spotted.
Link had wanted to turn the tables and scare them; Trey had wanted to lecture them and send them home. But he’d persuaded them to play along with the little girls. It had been—
Libby’s voice cut off abruptly, and she swung to look at him, as if she’d sensed his presence.
“Adam. What did you find out?” She rose and came quickly toward him.
He let the door swing shut. Hadn’t they recently had a discussion about the fact that he couldn’t share details of the investigation with her? Unfortunately, none of the rules seemed to apply when it came to Libby.
“Not much more than you already know.” He kept his voice low, though it seemed impossible to disturb Esther. “The security chief will increase patrols, but—”
“That’s not enough. She needs a guard on the door all night. Don’t you see that?”
He held on to his patience with an effort. Give Libby an inch and she’d take a mile, especially where someone she cared about was concerned.
“That would be the best solution, but he doesn’t have the manpower, and neither do I.”
“We’ll hire someone,” she said instantly. “Just give me the name of a reputable firm.”
That, he thought, summed up one of the differences between him and the Morgan family very neatly. Libby had no idea of the cost of putting on a security guard, but that didn’t matter.
“That’s not necessary. I’ve got a friend in the Lancaster city police who owes me some favors. I’ll bring them in on this, since the hospital is in their jurisdiction. They ought to be able to spare an officer for nights, and that’s the crucial time. Somebody’s always with her during the day.”
“Good.” She hesitated, frowning a little. “I suppose you heard me talking to Libby when you came in.”
He nodded.
“Silly, I guess.” She folded her arms around herself defensively. “But she might be able to hear. She might be comforted.”
That momentary switch to vulnerability touched him. “She might,” he agreed, though he doubted it. “You’re a good friend, Libby.”
She looked up at him, those dark blue eyes shrouded with misery. “Not good enough.”
She said the words softly, but they set up a reverberation in his soul. There was no point in expecting Libby to stay out of this. She couldn’t.
And as much as he admired that loyalty of hers, it scared him to death.
* * *
LIBBY STEPPED OUT of the hospital room the next day, hearing the spate of Pennsylvania Dutch erupt in her wake. It was the day before Christmas, and Esther’s family was there in force. She’d begun to feel very much the fifth wheel.
She paused, frowning, her hand still on the door. It had been more than that, though. There’d been an undercurrent in the room…something she didn’t understand but that somehow affected her. She’d caught the sideways glances, heard the soft whispers.
Libby gave herself a shake. She should be concentrating on the positive, not the negative. Esther had been better today…it hadn’t just been her mother’s imagination. Her coma seemed lighter, she stirred more often, one almost had the feeling she’d open her eyes and join the conversation.
That wasn’t likely. Libby had sat with Rebecca when the doctor talked with her. Nothing he’d said had been promising as far as getting the Esther they’d known back, but she was breathing without the breathing tube for short periods. They’d cling to every small positive sign.
Christmas was a time for hope, after all. Libby turned and walked quickly toward the elevator. Christmas Eve, and she had a ton of things to do before the festivities began.
The elevator doors swung open before she reached it, and a lone Amish man got off, probably yet another visitor for Esther. She nodded in greeting, and the man stopped, staring at her.
Was he someone she should know? She gave him a tentative smile. She’d been away so long, and naturally she didn’t remember everyone from the Amish community. The length of his dark beard put him in middle age, and his narrow face and piercing eyes didn’t rouse any hint of recognition.
“You are Elizabeth Morgan.”
His voice was harsh and guttural, the accent strong.
She nodded, opening her lips to apologize for not recognizing him, but he swept on.
“You are the one who has brought this trouble on us.”
She blinked. Had she really heard that? “I don’t know what you mean.”
“The police,” he said, his stare intensifying. “I have heard. You are the one. You brought the police here, at the very sickbed of one of our sisters.”
What on earth? “Esther was the victim of a hit-and-run. That’s a crime. No one can keep the police from being involved.”
He dismissed that with an abrupt, chopping gesture, taking a step closer. “There was a policeman standing at Esther’s door last night. All night. I have been told of this.”
So that’s what his antagonism was about. In a way, she supposed she was responsible for that, but didn’t he realize it was for Esther’s safety?
“I’m sorry if you disapprove, but the policeman was there to keep her safe.” Libby shot a quick glance around. The corridor, usually so busy, was empty right now except for the two of them.
“It is not a question of what I think. It is the Amish way. We do not go to the law with our problems. Esther’s life and her safety are in the hands of God.”
Anger boiled up in her, washing away the faint traces of anxiety. “That policeman might be God’s way of protecting her. Did you ever think of that?”
The moment the words were out, she regretted them. She had no right to criticize Amish beliefs.
The man took a step closer, his face mottling an unpleasant shade of red. “You cannot—”
He cut off abruptly as the elevator doors slid open behind him. Libby’s breath went out in a whoosh of relief that startled her. She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath.
“Owen.” She greeted Owen Barclay with a warmth that was probably a mistake. “How nice to see you.”
“Libby, I hoped I’d run into you here.” He gestured with the shopping bags he carried, one in each hand, emblazoned with the inn’s logo. “I told you I’d drop off a meal, and this seemed like a good day to do so. I’m sure Esther’s family is getting tired of the cuisine at the hotel cafeteria.”
Almost before he got the words out, the Amish man stalked off, leaving the air frosty with disapproval.
Owen looked after him. “What did you do to get Ezra Burkhalter so upset?”
“Is that who he is?” She knew the name, if not the face. Burkhalter was one of the ministers of the Amish congregation. “I’m afraid he didn’t approve of my part in…”
She let that sentence die. In her relief, she was saying too much.
Owen didn’t seem to notice. “Some of the Amish don’t approve of friendships with the English, I’ve heard. And he’s apparently pretty strict.”
That attitude was actually rare among the Amish in Lancaster County, who had lived for generations in such close proximity with their Englisch neighbors. It would be more common in some of the remote settlements out West of very conservative Amish. But she didn’t want to get into a discussion with Owen.
“I suppose that’s it. I’m sure the family will appreciate the food. There are several people in with Esther right now.” She gestured toward the door.
“How is she doing?” Owen’s face assumed an expression of appropriate gravity.
“She seems a little better today.” Libby tried to force some enthusiasm into her voice. “As if the coma isn’t as deep.”
“Well, that’s very good news. I’m delighted to hear it.”
She suspected that if his hands hadn’t been full, Owen would have attempted to hug her.
“She has a long way to go, of course. And I’d better get going, or I won’t have all my errands accomplished. Merry Christmas, Owen.”
He nodded. “Give your family my best. Merry Christmas.”
Libby stepped into the elevator, feeling a sense of relief when the doors closed and she could stop trying to smile. Merry Christmas.
How merry a Christmas could it be for Esther’s family, with doubt about her recovery hanging over their heads? To say nothing of the expense of her treatment—the Amish didn’t believe in commercial insurance. The family and the church would take care of their own.
Was there any way her family could help? The Zooks wouldn’t accept charity from outsiders, but maybe her mother could think of something.
Still, whatever happened, the faith of Esther’s family was strong, and they had a belief in God’s will that wouldn’t be easily daunted. But an attacker might take advantage of that belief.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CANDLELIGHT FROM THE branched candelabra mounted at the ends of the pews cast a radiant glow on the faces around Libby. The organist launched into “Oh Come All Ye Faithful,” and the congregation rose, the movement sending the candle flames flickering.
The candlelight service in the small clapboard church in Springville didn’t seem to have changed since she’d been a small child, breathless with excitement. She remembered standing on tiptoe between her brothers to peer between the bodies ahead of her, trying to see the Baby Jesus in the manger.
A lump formed in her throat, making it more difficult to sing the familiar words, and she tried to think of anything other than the fact that it was Christmas Eve, and Dad was not here for the service.
She was squeezed between Link and Mom, with Link’s fiancée, Marisa, on his other side and their guests, Leo Frost and Adam, sitting beyond Mom. Libby had done a certain amount of shuffling as they’d filed into the pew, determined to be sure she wouldn’t be sitting next to Adam. She didn’t want to be that close to him at a time when her emotions were as near the surface as they were tonight.
The carol ended, catching her by surprise since she’d been singing the words somewhat automatically, and she sat down half a beat behind the others.
The small sanctuary was as full for Christmas Eve as it would be for Easter Sunday, maybe more. The candlelight service was a tradition in Springville, and even those who never darkened the door of a church the rest of the year seemed to show up. It was almost like a reunion, with kids and grandkids home to visit. She’d already spied half a dozen people from her graduating class.
The reading of the next lesson began, and she tried to corral her straying thoughts. None of Spring Township’s Amish were here, of course. Christmas Eve was a quieter observance in their homes, and Christmas Day was a time of worship and reverent celebration. The next day, Second Christmas, was the time for visiting and gift-giving. The holiday would be even quieter for Esther’s family, probably.
Her thoughts formed a silent prayer for Esther…for her safety, for her recovery. And for light to be shed on the darkness that surrounded her injury.
It hadn’t done all that much good, maneuvering herself away from Adam. She was still too aware of him, sitting on the other side of her mother. His strong hands, tanned even at this time of year, were within view each time she let her gaze slip that way.
The choir began to sing “The First Noel,” and she had to blink back tears. That had been her father’s favorite carol, and he’d belt it out in a mellow baritone at odd times during the holiday season.
Was her mother thinking of him, too? Impossible to tell. Geneva Morgan came from a tradition which said that a lady did not show her sorrow in public, no matter how much she might weep in private.
It was stupid, Libby told herself, to resent the changes time had brought here. After all, she was the one who’d moved away. She could hardly expect that everything would stay the same, waiting for her return.
The service moved through the familiar passages…the angels, the shepherds, the kings. Finally the congregation sang one final triumphant verse of “Joy to the World” and, clutching their candles, moved out into the cold night.
Libby was so intent shielding her candle flame from accidental contact with someone’s coat in the crowd that she’d reached the sidewalk before she realized it was snowing.
“As long as no one decides to ignore a patch of ice and plows into a tree.” Adam’s deep voice was so close that her hand holding the candle jerked, setting the flame flickering wildly. Fortunately he seemed too intent on checking his cell phone to notice.
“Don’t tell me you’re on duty Christmas Eve,” she said.
Adam shrugged. “I’m always on duty. Have you forgotten how small the township police force is?”
She watched him slide the cell phone into the pocket of his heavy jacket. Even when Adam wasn’t in uniform, he wore that air of being in charge like a second skin.
“But surely someone else could be on call tonight,” she protested.
“I gave them the night off. They’ve got family or girlfriends to spend Christmas with. Since I don’t have either—” He cut that short, as if he regretted saying it. “Anyway, it’s just a matter of taking any calls that come in.”
In all the years she’d known him, she’d never heard Adam speak, even obliquely, about his family. His father was buried in the church cemetery, just as hers was, and the falling snow rendered all the markers anonymous.
“Do you ever hear from your mother?” The question was out quickly and just as quickly regretted when the mask came down over Adam’s expression.
“No.” The word was so curt that it was almost painful, and Adam’s lips twisted. He seemed to make an effort to turn away from whatever bitterness burned toward the mother who’d been more interested in herself than in protecting her son from his drunken father.
“Sorry. I wish…” She let that trail off, because there was really nothing she could say.
“Were you thinking about your dad in there?” Adam jerked his head toward the sanctuary, his voice gentle.
