by Marta Perry
Yellow light glowed from the windows of the farmhouse, but beyond it, all was dark. He stopped by the back door. Would Libby expect him to come to the stable or the house? No use wondering. He may as well go to the door.
Almost before he could get out of the car, Isaac appeared in the doorway, gesturing urgently. “Adam, komm schnell!”
Heart thudding, adrenaline soaring, he ran toward the house. Who? Esther? Libby?
He bolted into the kitchen. A figure in black slumped in a chair, fair hair spilling over the coat. For an instant he thought it was Esther, but it wasn’t. Libby—
He reached her, touched her, felt warm skin, heard shaky breathing and knew she was alive. “Libby. How bad is it?”
She raised her head, tried to smile. A red lump swelled on her forehead. Without a word, Rebecca lifted the compress she held to Libby’s neck and he saw the bruises, darkening quickly—the marks of a man’s hands.
“I’m all right,” she murmured, voice rasping. “Don’t…”
“Paramedics,” he said, yanking the cell phone from his pocket.
“We have already called,” Isaac said. “Our Leah knew how to use Libby’s phone.” He cast a glance at his oldest girl for confirmation.
“Where did it happen? Who?”
“In the stable,” Isaac said. “Libby, she came running out screaming, Mary Ann and I ran out. We got her into the house.”
His voice shook a little, and Adam realized that Isaac’s ruddy face was pale. The women were shocked and silent, save for soothing murmurs as they tended to Libby.
Adam knelt beside Libby, taking her hand gently. “Don’t try to talk, just nod. You were attacked when you went to the stable?” She’d gone to meet him, and he hadn’t been there.
She nodded. “He was waiting,” she murmured.
“Don’t talk,” he said again, wanting nothing so much as to put his arms around her and hold her close. “Do you know who it was?”
She shook her head slightly, hand going to her neck.
“Nothing that would give us an idea who it was?” He hated to persist, but time was slipping away. He ought to be securing the scene and looking for the assailant.
“No,” she whispered. “Bess saved me.”
He frowned. Was she out of her head?
“Bess is the Percheron mare,” Isaac said. “She was clean out of the stable when we got there. I tied her outside, thinking you’d want to see things first.”
Adam nodded, rising and flipping his cell phone open. Call for some help first. He couldn’t do this alone. Much as he wanted to stay right here holding Libby’s hand, he’d have to leave her to the women until the paramedics got here.
He called for the patrolman on duty, giving terse instructions, and then clicked off. “I need to have a look at the scene,” he said.
“I will go with you.” Isaac was already shrugging on his jacket.
“Good.” Adam allowed himself to touch Libby’s hand lightly, and then he went quickly outside, detouring to the car to turn on the headlights and grab a torch.
He and Isaac walked toward the stable, their flashlights moving, probing the darkness. He studied the ground for any signs, but now that he would welcome the snow cover, it was gone, and the iron-hard ground didn’t give up any clue.
A massive white form appeared ahead of them, resolving itself into the draft horse. The animal moved restlessly, as if resenting these unprecedented interruptions in her quiet night.
“I take it this is Bess.”
“Ja, we have the pair of Percherons.” Isaac wouldn’t want to display pride, but there was pleasure in his voice. “Libby said something about letting the mare out. She maybe did it when the man attacked her. Bess is big enough to scare anybody off.”
“Maybe so.” Adam shone his light over the animal, checking for signs of injury or blood, but there was nothing. “Was the door standing open like that?”
“Ja. Libby would maybe have left it open.”
“Good thing.” That might have meant the difference in getting away.
He stepped cautiously into the stable, stopping to swing his light around. The assailant wouldn’t still be here. He’d had plenty of time to get away. In fact, he’d probably come and gone the same way Adam had the past few nights.
Nothing. Aside from the stall door hanging open, the stable appeared undisturbed. He turned back. “I don’t want anything touched until my people get here with their equipment.”
“But the mare—” Isaac began.
“I’m afraid she’ll have to stay out until we’ve checked the scene thoroughly. Sorry.”
Isaac nodded. “We will do as you say. I think…I fear I am at fault. I did not believe that Esther was in danger, and now see what has happened.”
“I’m not sure it would have made a difference. Why did he attack Libby?” The question pounded at him. If anything, he’d have expected the assailant to try and get into the house.
“We…Mary Ann and Mamm and I…we were wondering. Talk is going around about how much better Esther is doing. She even came down for supper tonight. Anyone looking in the window could have seen.”
“And thought Esther well enough to start remembering.” He finished the thought.
“Ja. When Libby came out, at night, in the black coat and with her hair the same color as Esther’s, maybe he thought he was attacking Esther.” Isaac’s voice shook on the words.
“Maybe.” It made more sense than thinking the man had targeted Libby. “I didn’t realize Esther was doing so well. Has she said anything about the hit-and-run?”
They had started back to the house, and he saw the rescue truck pull in, closely followed by the township’s two police cars.
“She is not talking much yet,” Isaac said. “She has asked about what happened to her, but she does not seem to remember it herself.”
It would be too much to expect it would be that easy. And as long as the secret was locked in Esther’s mind, the danger existed.
He nodded toward the paramedics, who were heading toward the house. “If you’ll take care of them, I’ll get my people started.”
Without a word, Isaac hurried toward the paramedics. Adam resisted the desire to follow him. He had to get the stable area secured until the crime scene investigation team from the state police arrived. Had to behave as if this were just any investigation, no matter how much his instincts cried for action.
Only after Adam had seen the stable secured and started a search of the other outbuildings did he allow himself to head back to the farmhouse. Another vehicle had joined the police cars and rescue truck in the driveway. He recognized Geneva’s car. Good. It looked as if little Leah had been busy with the phone again.
He entered the kitchen to find it crowded with people. The paramedics were checking out Libby, while Geneva hovered and the Zook women busied themselves setting out coffee and shoofly pie.
Link detached himself from the group around his sister. “Did you find anything?” he asked. “Do you know who it was? What are you doing about this?”
Adam couldn’t resent the rapid-fire questions. That was how he felt himself. “No sign of him. He probably ran the minute Libby started screaming.”
“Thanks to Bess,” Isaac said, smiling a little. Adam figured that story would get a lot of mileage in the Amish community.
“Bess?” Link said, diverted.
“Your twin apparently turned a draft horse loose on her attacker,” Adam said. “Look, we’re doing everything that can be done. If he left any traces at all, we’ll get him.”
Link’s jaw tightened. “If I’d had any idea Libby’s staying here would really put her in danger—”
“You wouldn’t have been able to stop her,” Adam pointed out.
The paramedic turned from Libby just then, and Adam caught his eye.
“Are you transporting her to the hospital?” That would be the safest place for her.
“She refuses to go.” The paramedic shrugged. “And I can
’t really say she needs to. She’s going to be mighty sore for a few days, but she’d probably be more comfortable at home than in a hospital bed.”
“That’s right,” Geneva said. “We’ll take her home and get her into her own bed.”
Well, that wasn’t a bad choice, as far as safety went. Link would probably sit up all night making sure no one got to his sister.
“No.” The word was hardly more than a whisper, but it held a note of finality, and Libby’s face wore its stubborn look. “I won’t leave Esther.”
“Libby, he’s not going to try anything else tonight.”
She glared at him. “You don’t know that,” she murmured.
True, he didn’t. “Then let someone else stay.”
“I’ll stay,” Geneva said. “If that’s what it takes to get you home. Marisa can come and look after you.”
It was obvious to everyone in the room that Geneva wanted to be doing that herself. And he didn’t particularly want Geneva on guard duty, either.
“Seems to me the best answer is for me to leave an officer on guard.” He turned to look at Isaac.
Reluctance mixed with the guilt in Isaac’s face. The guilt was what Adam was banking on.
“Ja,” Isaac said finally. “A policeman may stay.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ADAM STOPPED AT Judith Waller’s house the next morning, his eyes gritty from lack of sleep. He’d been up half the night, making sure every inch of the Zook property was thoroughly searched and that the officer he’d left on duty was prepared for anything.
He could have waited, caught Judge Waller at the courthouse later, but he’d decided that an informal approach was better. What he had to say to her was difficult enough without a formal setting.
The Waller house was a fine old brick Victorian on Main Street, one of a row of similar houses. Some had been turned into insurance offices and apartments, but Judge Waller still lived alone in the house that had been in her husband’s family for generations.
He rang the bell and heard the sound of footsteps coming toward the door. This wasn’t going to be pleasant, no matter how he put it, and he didn’t have any illusions. Judge Waller would be a bad enemy to make.
She swung the door open, clearly dressed for the office in a wool skirt and jacket. “Adam, you’re out and about early. Come in out of the cold.”
Closing the door quickly behind him, she raised her eyebrows, obviously wondering what had brought him here at this hour. “There’s still coffee left in the pot. Would you like a cup?”
“No. Thank you.” He hesitated, but there was no good way to bring this up. He may as well plunge in. “I’d like to talk with you.”
Judge Waller’s face seemed to tighten, very slightly. She glanced at the grandfather clock that stood against the wall of the center hallway. “I can give you fifteen minutes before I have to leave for the office. Come into the study.”
Following her, he tried to assess her reaction. Had she been expecting this visit? Certainly Coach Albright might have called her, might have warned her as to what had passed between them.
The study was to the left of the hall, behind a formal dining room. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a huge old-fashioned globe stood on an oak pedestal in front of a side window whose heavy drapes were drawn back. Judge Waller sat down at the desk, waving him to a chair in front of it. The arrangement was obviously meant to put her in charge.
“What can I do for you?” Her tone gave nothing away.
He balanced his uniform hat on his knee, letting the question hang for a moment. Then he met her gaze.
“I understand from Frank Albright that you called him on behalf of Tom Sylvester’s application to the zoning board.”
She didn’t move a muscle. “Is that a matter for police investigation?”
“It may be.”
“I fail to see how. Unless you give me an explanation, I don’t see any point in discussing the matter.”
“You don’t have to, of course.” Admitting that was only the truth. “But the subject is not going to go away. You must have realized that as soon as Albright spoke, there would be questions.”
“And if I say that I made no such call?”
Her years on the bench had given Judith Waller a commanding presence. She sat here in a room that was a symbol of prestige, wealth and influence. In spite of all that, he sensed something in her that didn’t quite match her outward persona. Fear? Shame? He wasn’t sure what it was.
She was someone he liked; someone he respected. But he had to have the truth.
“If you say that, I’ll believe you are lying. And somehow, I don’t think you want to do that.”
She stared at him, expressionless, for a long moment. Then she let out a long breath. “Frank Albright told me about your conversation. He also told me that he discovered he couldn’t lie to you. It seems I can’t, either. Yes, I made the call. I didn’t offer anything to Frank, and he didn’t ask for anything.”
“What about Tom Sylvester? What did he offer?”
Pushing the desk chair back, she rose. If she was going to refuse to answer, there was nothing he could do about it. He could talk to the district attorney, of course. The matter would wind its way slowly and painfully to some sort of conclusion.
She stood, hands on the desk. Funny,” she said slowly. “I’ve always said I wanted to travel. Retire. See the world. But I could never bring myself to let go.” She shook her head slightly. “Or maybe I didn’t believe anyone else could do the job as well as I do.”
“Maybe not. You have a reputation for common sense and fairness. I’d have said it was well-earned.”
“Until now, you mean. All right. Tom Sylvester came to see me a couple of months ago. He said that he had a project in the works for a hotel near Springville, but that he needed a variance from the township zoning board to make it happen. He wanted me to use my influence with the board.”
Influence. The word was beginning to leave a bad taste in his mouth.
“What did you tell him?”
She turned toward him then. “I told him no, of course. And then he reminded me of something I’d prefer to forget.”
She paused for a long moment. He could feel her reluctance. He waited.
“Twenty-five years ago I was an ambitious young attorney bumping her head against the glass ceiling.” Her lips twitched. “Or maybe it would be better to say I couldn’t crack the old boys’ network, for obvious reasons. Then someone gave me an opportunity to join with a group of like-minded individuals who agreed to use whatever influence they had to further each other’s interests.”
His mind spun. “You’re talking about the Brotherhood. Allen Morgan’s version of a secret society.” Allen, Libby’s uncle, whose little group had led, inadvertently, to the death of Marisa’s mother. He’d thought they’d laid that to rest when he’d made a belated arrest in that case. It seemed not.
“Allen was a hobbyist. A history buff who’d let himself get carried away by what he read.” She sounded contemptuous. “I had no interest in secret symbols or handshakes or any of the rest of the trappings Allen was so fond of. But I did see an advantage to being involved with people who had a certain amount of power and were willing to use it.”
Judith Waller’s name had never come up in all the publicity that had surrounded the group when the story behind Marisa Angelo’s mother’s murder broke. The murderer had died before he could reveal anything further about it.
“So Tom Sylvester knew you were a part of that group, and he used the threat of exposing that as leverage.”
“A favor, he said. From one friend to another. I would help him get what he wanted, and he’d forget all about seeing me going into Allen Morgan’s house for a meeting the week the Angelo woman was killed.” She sat down, back still straight but a resigned look on her face. “I didn’t know anything at all about the murder, but after all the publicity that surrounded it…well, being connected no matter how peripherally would have me
ant the end of my career.”
“If the killer hadn’t died himself—” he began.
“He would undoubtedly have named names,” she said. “I had no illusions about that. But it didn’t happen, and I began to believe that I was safe. Until Sylvester came calling.”
He tried to untangle it all. Tried to make the attack on Esther Zook fit into it. He couldn’t. Tom Sylvester had broken the law, attempting to blackmail a judge, but how could Esther have possibly known anything about that?
“Did Sylvester ever mention Esther Zook to you?” he asked abruptly.
“Esther Zook? Is that what this is all about?”
“That’s what started it.” He’d pulled a string, and it seemed the whole fabric of the community had started to unravel.
“No. No, I’m sure he wasn’t involved in the hit-and-run. He’s been too busy with his own little crimes.” She paused. “I could resign. Maybe do that traveling I’ve always talked about.”
“And let Tom Sylvester get away with blackmailing a public official?”
She sighed. “No, I guess not. Your ethics wouldn’t allow that, and oddly enough, mine wouldn’t, either. I’ll prepare a full statement for the district attorney.”
There wasn’t anything else to say. He rose. Nodded. Walked out of the study and out of the house. Everything didn’t seem quite so black-and-white just now.
* * *
SAFE IN HER own bed, Libby had slept for fourteen hours, only rousing when someone changed the ice packs on her neck. But by midafternoon, she couldn’t hide under the covers any longer.
A hot shower eased away some stiffness. She frowned in the mirror at the black bruises on her neck. Those she could, and did, cover with a turtleneck sweater. The black eye that had started to blossom wasn’t so easy—makeup just seemed to make it look worse.
Well, she’d have to tell people she ran into a door. Come to think of it, that might be true…Bess’s stall door. Bess deserved a handful of carrots and a sugar lump. She’d have to see to that.
She went downstairs, hand on the banister, and followed the sound of voices to the kitchen. Link sat at the table, a mug of coffee in front of him, while Mom cut into what looked like an apple walnut cake.
