by Marta Perry
“You can—”
But he was destined never to know what his father might have said. A police car, with a wail of the siren, pulled up in front of the school. The driver got out—Guy Smethers. But it was the man who emerged from the other side that engaged his attention. Davis Moreland, detective with the Harrisburg Police Department and the man who’d worked so hard to gather enough evidence to bring charges against him.
So Alan had been right. They were investigating all over again, and they’d followed him here.
“Michael—” Daad said his name, but Michael couldn’t turn to look at him. He could only stare at the two men who were advancing on him.
They came to a stop. “Get in the car, Forster.” Smethers didn’t bother to be polite.
A glance told him that Guy was itching for a chance to manhandle him. Moreland must have seen it as well, because he stepped between them.
“We need to have a talk, Forster. Let’s not create a fuss here. Just get in the car quietly, and there’ll be no trouble.”
No trouble. Michael had an insane desire to laugh. What did the man call trouble if not coming here, siren and all, to take him in, in front of his family and neighbors?
He could feel his father, standing behind him, could imagine how his face would look. He’d take it as a personal humiliation. Michael couldn’t look at him.
Instead he bent to give Allie a gentle hug. “I have to go and talk to these men,” he said. “Aunt Verna will take you home, and I’ll see you later.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and hoped he was telling the truth.
CHAPTER TEN
MICHAEL STAGGERED AS Guy gave him a none-too-gentle shove into the backseat. The doors slammed, and he took a quick look back for Allie. She still stood with Daad, and he had pulled her and Ruthie to his side in a protective gesture. But the face he turned toward Michael was implacable.
So much for any hope he might have had for reconciliation. Now that it had been snatched away, he realized he had been hoping...actually wanting to find his place in the family again. He’d never know what Daad had been going to say.
The police car moved past silent groups of Amish, all looking at it...at him...with solemn expressions. Except for Cathy, who looked stricken. She caught his eye and made a pitiful attempt at a smile. Then they were gone, swinging out onto the main road and heading for town.
Michael forced himself to focus on the men in the front seat. Not Guy—he fancied himself a big deal, but it was the Harrisburg detective who called the shots in this situation.
“What is it you want from me, Detective Moreland?” He kept his voice even. Aggressiveness wouldn’t pay.
“We just have a few questions to go over with you, Mr. Forster.” Moreland’s gaze met his in the rearview mirror and flickered away.
“I can’t imagine there’s anything you haven’t asked me at least a dozen times.”
Guy moved slightly, as if he wanted to speak, but a glance at the detective kept him silent.
Michael leaned back, folding his arms. “I’m here. Go ahead and ask me.”
“We’ll wait until we have a little privacy.”
“Privacy?” Anger threatened to overpower him. “Your method of setting up a talk wasn’t very private.” Bad enough in front of the people who trusted him—worse in front of half the church, to say nothing of his father.
He caught a quick, sidelong look from Moreland that wasn’t hard to interpret. He’d make a guess that coming to the school had been Guy’s idea.
The anger surged again, but he was prepared for it this time. He wouldn’t let it take over. Doing so just gave credence to the idea that he was a man who’d let emotion turn to violence.
As he’d assumed, they were headed to the police station. He got out as soon as the door was unlocked, walking ahead of them up the three steps to the entrance.
Chief Jamison was waiting, his face expressionless. He opened the door to his office and gestured them in, but when Guy attempted to follow, he shook his head.
Balked of his obvious desire to participate, Guy moved away from the door, but not far.
Jamison closed the door firmly and headed for his chair. Now it was the detective’s turn to shake his head.
“There’s no need for you to sit in, Chief Jamison.”
“My jurisdiction,” he said. “My office.” He sat down behind the desk.
“Certainly, if you have time.” Moreland covered his reaction smoothly. “Sit down, Mr. Forster.” He indicated a seat to Michael, but then sat on the edge of the desk so that he loomed over him.
Michael sat, planted his feet firmly and crossed his arms again. He vaguely remembered his attorney advising against that position, saying it implied a negative attitude. If so, then it implied just what he was feeling.
He met Moreland’s gaze, not blinking. Moreland had wanted this. Let him do the talking.
“Let’s just go over again what happened on the day your wife died.” Moreland’s tone was casual. He looked at Michael expectantly.
Michael answered with a frown. “We’ve already been over every minute of that day. If you have something new to ask me, ask. If not, let’s not waste each other’s time.”
“I’m in no hurry. Humor me. For instance, when did you tell your wife you were coming over that evening?”
Michael stared at him. Moreland knew better than that. Did he think Michael’s answer would have changed?
“She didn’t. I didn’t tell her.”
“Why not?” He shot the question.
Shrugging, Michael forced himself to go back. “It seemed to me she was avoiding setting a time for us to discuss the separation. I figured if I just dropped by, I’d stand a better chance of seeing her.”
“Sure you didn’t call her? How about a quick text, just to be sure she’d be home?”
“No.”
“Didn’t run into a neighbor and mention it?”
Michael’s frown deepened. Why the emphasis on this? “No. There was no occasion for me to see any of the neighbors. It was a workday. I was on the job all day, then I showered, grabbed something to eat and went over.”
“You went over. And then what? How did you get in?”
“She’d changed the locks.” That still rankled after all this time. “I got a screwdriver from the car and popped the lock on the garage door.”
“Carried the screwdriver in with you, I suppose.”
Michael stared at him. “No. Why would I? I put it down on the walk, thinking I’d pick it up when I left.”
“Tell me what happened after you stepped inside.”
“I’ve already told you.” He didn’t want to relive it again. It never got any easier.
“Tell me again. Everything you did.”
He sucked in a steadying breath, grasping the edges of the chair with his fingers, and began. He went through every moment, every action and almost every thought. When he’d finished, his palms were wet against the wooden edges of the chair.
“I see.” Moreland was unaffected, his face revealing nothing. “Let’s go over it again.”
“No.”
The detective stared at him for a moment. “If you’re as innocent as you claim, Mr. Forster, I’d think you’d want to cooperate with us.”
“Cooperate? After you burst into a gathering of families and kids at the school and haul me off in a squad car? I’ve cooperated as much as—”
“Hold on.” Chief Jamison stood, his square face reddening, his jaw tight. “A word with you, Detective.” He nodded toward the door.
Moreland rose slowly. “What’s the problem?” Resentment tinged his voice.
“Outside.” Jamison could be intimidating in his own way. The Harrisburg cop met his steely gaze for another moment and then nodded.
Left alone, Michael tried to assess what had just happened. Something had
lit a fuse under the chief, that was evident. He could hear the murmur of voices from the other side of the door. Then came something he could hear.
“Smethers!” The chief’s bellow could carry to the next building. “Get over here.”
Guy’s answering footsteps sounded reluctant. He said something Michael couldn’t hear.
“You’re telling me you took this officer to the workday at the Amish school? I said to drive him to the house to talk to Michael. Not to burst into an Amish gathering. You have any sense in that head of yours? You know how I worked to gain the trust of those people? You think our good relationship comes easy?”
Guy and the Harrisburg cop both seemed to be protesting at the same time.
“Enough.” A hand slapped the wall. “Smethers, get out on patrol. I’ll figure out what to do with you later. Detective Moreland, I think we’re finished here.”
“I’m not done questioning...” Moreland had raised his voice, but the chief ran right over him.
“I said I’d cooperate. I have. In my town, I decide when you’re done.”
A few more murmurs ensued, and footsteps retreated toward the outer office. Michael sat, waiting, wondering.
About the time he thought they’d forgotten about him, Chief Jamison came back in. “Sorry for the wait. Come on—I’ll drive you home.”
He’d refuse, but he wanted to get back to Allie as quickly as possible. At least he was going home. He followed the chief out to the police car. This time he was ushered into the front seat.
“Sorry about what happened at the school.” Jamison started the car and made a U-turn, narrowly avoiding pickups coming from both directions. “It shouldn’t have. I’ll be calling on the school board to deliver my apologies in person.”
“Thanks.”
He wasn’t going to say it hadn’t mattered, because it had. More than Jamison could know. But there was no undoing it. Still, as long as the man was in a conciliatory mood, maybe he’d be willing to open up.
“Would I be right in thinking something prompted Harrisburg to send someone up here?” He held his breath, half expecting to be slammed down by an official answer.
Jamison stared at the street ahead for a long moment. Then his face cleared. “Let’s say in general terms that wouldn’t be likely to happen without something new having come up.”
“He didn’t ask me anything new,” Michael observed.
“No. Well, again, in general terms you understand, I’d guess that either someone started pushing for action or they got a tip they thought was worth investigating. Or both.”
He suspected he wasn’t going to get anything more, but it was certainly enough to make him think. Either way, it meant that someone other than the police was behind this new interest in him.
Did that someone know anything? Or just want to cause trouble? Maybe he should see this as a positive step. If the police would stop focusing on him, they might be able to find the person who’d taken Diana’s life. No matter how bad their relationship was, he needed to see justice done, for Diana’s sake as well as for his daughter’s. Allie ought to be able to think of her mother without wondering and uncertainty.
Either way, it seemed living here quietly and keeping his head down wasn’t a viable option. He’d been kidding himself to think the past was over.
* * *
CATHY HAD BEEN shaken beyond anything she might have imagined when the police car drove off with Michael in the back. What did this mean? She hadn’t been near enough to hear what the men had said to Michael. One had been a familiar figure—Patrolman Smethers, who’d hassled Michael at the school. The other was a stranger.
She had to force herself to swallow, to breathe normally and to compose her face. Allie might need her. She should check on Allie.
The two girls still stood next to Michael’s father. Josiah had squatted down and was talking to them in a low voice. She hurried toward them, registering gratitude that Josiah seemed to be handling the situation well, at least where the children were concerned. What this would do to Sarah’s hopes of getting her father and brother back together, Cathy couldn’t imagine.
Before she could reach them, Verna got there, sweeping Allie up in a hug.
“It’s all right,” she was saying when Cathy reached them. “Daadi will be home soon.”
Josiah made an involuntary movement, as if he had doubts, and Verna impaled him with a glare. “Yah,” he said, patting Allie’s back with an awkward gesture. “He will. And you and Ruthie can come to the farm soon to see me. The barn cat has some new kittens you can play with.”
“That will be fun, won’t it, Allie?” Ruthie seemed aware that something was wrong, even if she didn’t know what, and she was trying to make it better. “Maybe we can name them. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Allie responded with a nod, but her face was closed, as if she’d locked and barred her real self to keep trouble away. From what she’d heard, Allie had been at the home of Michael’s friend the night her mother died. What would people have told her? How could anyone explain that in a way that wouldn’t leave overwhelming pain behind? Cathy’s heart ripped a little, and her throat grew tight.
“Denke, Ruthie.” She managed a smile. “It sounds like fun. You and Allie can look forward to that.”
Verna exchanged glances with her. “I think it’s best if Allie and I go home now. When they... When he gets a ride back, he’ll go there, most likely.”
Cathy nodded. “Is there anything I can do for you?” It was hard to feel so helpless when people you cared about were in trouble.
“Nothing.” Verna glanced at Josiah, then down at Allie, as if thinking that at least one good thing had come out of this day. Holding Allie’s hand, Verna headed toward her buggy. Lige was already harnessing up the mare, apparently assuming she’d want to go home.
Of course, she was right. She couldn’t imagine Michael walking back into the work party after having been taken away by the police. A wave of anger burned through her. Surely, whatever the police wanted, they could have waited. They hadn’t had to come here for him—he’d have been home in another hour.
The fact that they’d burst in on the work party looked like malice on someone’s part. Usually Chief Jamison bent over backward to avoid problems with the community’s Amish, something they appreciated. As a result, the Leit were more likely to go to the police in case of trouble than they would be in some places.
Josiah was still watching Allie and Verna walk toward the buggy when Sarah reached them. Her face was clouded, and she looked as if she held back tears. She looked at her father over the head of her small daughter.
“Daad, I—”
Josiah cut her off with a shake of his head. “No need to talk. You meant it for the best.”
Sarah blinked several times. “Yah. I did.”
Anything more she wanted to say could probably be said better without an audience. Cathy slipped away, trusting others would have sense enough not to butt in on them.
Maybe so, but she hadn’t gotten more than halfway to the school building before Lizzie Stoltzfus grabbed her arm. “Disgraceful. Having the police interrupting our work frolic. I never heard of the like. You should have done something.”
Suppressing the desire to ask what she or anyone else could have done, she just shook her head. “I have to check on something. Excuse me.”
But Lizzie had a firm grip on her sleeve. “You must—”
Whatever Lizzie thought she must do, she wasn’t destined to hear it. Someone grasped her other arm and turned her around. Joanna, of course. She smiled firmly at Lizzie even as she gently pushed Cathy toward Rachel Hurst, the other member of their little group of singles.
“Lizzie, you’re just the person I wanted to see.” Joanna was sweeping the woman away from Cathy with her usual brisk determination. “Come, we have to talk. I need your advice.
”
Rachel put a comforting arm around Cathy as she led her away. “We thought you needed rescuing.” Her voice was as comforting as her warm hug. “Komm inside. I think there’s some coffee left in the urn.”
Fortunately Rachel didn’t seem to expect her to say anything sensible, because her throat was tight and her mind a jumble of hopes and dread. Cathy gave a sigh of relief when the schoolroom door closed behind her.
She tried to speak, but discovered that her voice was too unsteady to trust. Rachel didn’t bother to speak, she just put her arms around Cathy in a warm hug.
“It will be all right,” she murmured eventually. “You’re not to worry. Nothing will happen to him.”
Cathy drew back, mopping her eyes. “How did you know?”
Rachel shook her head. “Do you really think you could love someone without Joanna and me seeing it?”
Pressing her hands against her cheeks, Cathy longed to sink into the floor. “I’m not... I mean...”
“Yah, you are.” Rachel patted her arm with a gentle touch. “It’s all right. No one else knows. Your secrets are always safe with us, ain’t so?”
Cathy nodded, her tension easing. If Joanna had been the leader and spokesperson of their little group, Rachel had always been the heart. She seemed born for the role of comforter, stepping in to mother her younger siblings when their mother passed away, always patient, always caring, even as her own life passed her by.
Sinking down on a desk, Cathy felt herself begin to think rationally. “There must be something I can do,” she murmured.
“What?” Rachel said, her tone practical. “Verna is taking care of the little girl. As for the police...well, that’s out of everyone’s hands.”
“True. I’m being foolish. There isn’t anything I can do except get on with the workday.”
“They are doing fine without you. Just stay here for a bit. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”
“I don’t need coffee.”
“No. But you need a reason not to go out and get caught by Lizzie Stoltzfus or someone equally talkative.” Rachel sugared the coffee and handed it to her. “This is a fine excuse.”