by Marta Perry
“Yes, yes, right away,” she muttered before turning to him. “I’m so sorry. If you wouldn’t mind waiting just a minute, I have to take care of this.”
She was escaping toward a hallway as she spoke. Apparently taking his silence as assent, she sped off on her errand.
Michael didn’t wait for her return. He went quickly up the stairs. Luck must be with him—he hadn’t even thought of a reasonable excuse to get himself past the receptionist.
The first door he faced on the second floor bore frosted letters, Bernard Wilcox, President, Wilcox Industries. A few quick strides took him to the door. He opened it to find a very businesslike woman looking at him in a manner that suggested no one just walked into this office. “Yes?”
“I want to see Bernard Wilcox.” Short and not so sweet.
“Do you have an appointment?” She didn’t bother consulting an appointment calendar, so the answer was obvious.
“No. It’s personal business.”
“I see.” Thinly arched eyebrows lifted. “Your name, please.”
Would Bernard have cautioned her about him? Maybe or maybe not, but it wasn’t a secret.
“Michael Forster.” His brother-in-law, he didn’t add.
“Just one moment, please.” She’d kept her polite demeanor, but she obviously knew who he was. “I’ll see if Mr. Wilcox is free.”
He beat her to the door by a hair, not wanting to take the chance of being escorted out before he’d seen Bernard. “He’ll see me,” he said and opened the door.
Behind a massive desk, Diana’s brother looked up with a frown that turned to alarm. “What do you mean by walking into my office?” He rose to his feet as he asked the question, a paunchy, slightly balding man who carried an air of affronted dignity at the moment.
“We need to talk.” Michael moved forward until only the broad expanse of the desk stood between them.
“I have nothing to say to you. Ms. Thatcher, call security.”
“I already have, sir.” She didn’t sound particularly alarmed, but she knew her job. Or maybe just her employer.
“Then I’ll talk fast.” Michael planted his fists on the desk. “The investigator you hired has been snooping around the Amish school.”
“How... What makes you think I did anything of the kind?”
So he’d guessed right. Bernard had nearly asked how he knew.
“The Amish school is out-of-bounds. And so is my daughter. He can poke around my life all he wants—he won’t find anything. Just keep him away from the children.”
Bernard’s face flushed. “You killed my sister. There’s proof somewhere, even if the police are too stupid to find it.”
“Did it ever occur to you that there’s no evidence against me because I’m innocent?”
No, it clearly hadn’t. Nor anyone else, it seemed.
Before he could say another word, he was seized from behind by two beefy security guards. Exercising more control than he’d thought he had, he didn’t struggle. He let them propel him to the door, where he stopped short, giving himself a moment for another word.
“Stay away from my child, Wilcox.”
They hustled him out. Well, he’d had his say, and a fat lot of good it had done him. Still, there was a certain amount of satisfaction in letting Wilcox know he knew.
By the time they got downstairs, Chief Jamison was coming in the front door. He surveyed Michael and nodded to the guards.
“Okay, boys. I’ll see Mr. Forster out.”
They walked out together, with Jamison not even going through the motions of taking his arm. Apparently the chief didn’t see him as a threat.
They walked in silence to Michael’s car, where Jamison leaned casually against the door. “Making yourself unpopular, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “I’ve never needed to try with the Wilcox family.”
“True enough, but what did you hope to gain by charging into Bernard’s office, other than to get kicked out?”
Michael’s fists clenched. “He hired a private investigator who’s been snooping around. He was probably the person spying on the Amish school.”
“You have any proof of that?”
“Not that he was the man at the school,” he admitted. “But I was told about the private investigator by one of my neighbors in Harrisburg. And the man actually stopped Cathy on her way home from school and tried to question her. But can you think of a better explanation for the guy at the school?”
Jamison shrugged. “I don’t see what he’d hope to gain by doing that.”
“I don’t either, but I don’t want anyone like that around my child.”
The chief was silent for a moment before he gave Michael a sharp glance. “You think he wanted to question little Allie?”
Michael shrugged, wishing he’d avoided any hint of that. “That’s the only reason I can come up with. It wouldn’t do them any good anyway. Allie wasn’t there when it happened.”
“I know.”
Of course he’d know. He’d probably made himself familiar with every aspect of the case.
“Did the cops in Harrisburg talk to her?”
“Certainly not. Do you think I’d let them upset her? She’s had a hard enough time losing her mother without being asked a lot of questions she can’t answer.”
“It’s probably just as you say.” Jamison’s tone was mild. “Still, there might be a way of having someone she trusts talk to her without upsetting her.”
That was so close to what had actually happened that he could only pray his face didn’t betray him. Jamison saw too much. That soft-spoken way he had got under a man’s guard.
His mind flickered briefly to the man Allie had glimpsed. Would it do any conceivable good for Jamison to know about it? He couldn’t see how. The chances that the man could be identified by a child’s tentative impression were slim to none. All it would do was give a motive for him to have a violent argument with Diana.
“Well?”
He’d been unresponsive for too long, and that in itself must have roused the chief’s suspicions.
“Allie’s finally recovering from what happened. I’m not going to risk that to satisfy somebody’s curiosity.” He reached past the chief to grab the car door handle.
“Okay, okay.” Jamison moved away from the car. “Just one thing.” He put a hand on the door as Michael started to open it. “I’ll look into this private cop business. If someone like that is in my town, I want to know it. Meantime, you stay away from Bernard Wilcox.” He moved back with a fraction of a smile. “I’ve got better things to do with my time.”
Michael got in the car with an unexpected sense of satisfaction. He’d gained nothing from Bernard, and if anything, just put him on his guard. But Chief Jamison showed a surprising willingness to look at matters with an open mind. Maybe that justified a glimmer of hope in a dark world.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BY LATE AFTERNOON, it seemed likely that everyone in the community had heard about Michael being kicked out of Wilcox’s office. When the third person stopped at the nursery ostensibly to get plants but really to ask about it, even Aunt Verna’s temper was growing short.
“Put up the closed sign,” she snapped. “I’ve had enough of nosy folks with nothing to do but mind other people’s business.”
Michael pulled the sign into position. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause problems.”
“I told you...” She clamped her lips shut. “Ach, well, I guess you had to see the man, at least. Folks will get over it. So long as he doesn’t mean to cause trouble.”
“Most likely he doesn’t want talk any more than we do.” He expected that would be Bernard’s attitude, but he couldn’t know for sure.
Allie came running toward them then, putting an end to the conversation.
It was just as well, he gu
essed. There wasn’t anything else he could say to reassure her, not that Verna was one to expect the impossible. If he’d realized how much trouble it would cause when he came back here, he’d have thought longer, though in the end he didn’t see what else he could have done.
“Can I help with something, Daadi?” Allie looked at him hopefully. The past few evenings she’d helped him with some simple chores—the sort of thing an Amish child took for granted, and she seemed to love it. There was something to be said for expecting a child to participate in the work of the family.
“I’m thinking we should get the weeds out of the strawberry patch. How about giving me a hand?”
“Yah.” She grabbed his hand. “Show me.”
“Be sure he shows you which ones are the plants,” Aunt Verna said, her good humor restored.
Allie nodded, understanding the message. “I’ll be really careful.”
Leading the way to the berry patch that spread behind the toolshed, Michael realized he’d begun to look forward to moments like these. Working side by side seemed to encourage sharing confidences, and he’d learned more about his small daughter in recent weeks than he had in all the time Diana was alive.
What had it been in Diana’s nature that hadn’t allowed her to share him with their own child? Or maybe it was that she hadn’t wanted to share Allie with him. Either way, she’d arranged their lives to give him a minimal amount of time with Allie, and he hadn’t even realized it until too late.
He should have, and he blamed himself as much as Diana. At least he had a second chance, and he was determined not to mess it up.
“This is easy,” he said, kneeling at the first row of berry plants. “You can see which ones are the plants. See what the leaves look like? And there are the tiny berries, ready to get big and sweet.”
“They’re green.” She touched a berry with her finger.
“That’s because they’re not ripe yet. When they’re ready for us to pick, they’ll be bright red.”
“Like the ones in the stores.” She nodded to show understanding.
“But better.” He smiled at her. “You’ve never tasted anything sweeter than a fresh-picked berry. You’ll see.”
She looked a little doubting, but she nodded. “So I just pull up these little pieces of grass, ain’t so?”
He nodded. “Everything except the berry plants.” He started pulling the weeds, making a pile on the edge of the row.
“Okay.” Allie worked steadily for a few minutes, her fingers nimble as she pulled grass from around the plants. Then...
“You didn’t come to meet me and Teacher Cathy today,” she said. “Why didn’t you? We looked for you.”
“Did you?” But it was Cathy he was thinking of. Had she looked for him?
“Yah. We wondered. Where were you?”
“Onkel Lige and I were working on the greenhouse. When we’re up on the ladders it needs both of us.”
Which was true enough, but not the reason he hadn’t shown up. He’d been avoiding Cathy. That was the least he could do for her. He’d done enough damage with that kiss. Now it was up to him to make sure she understood that there wasn’t anything between them.
Maybe he was flattering himself. Maybe she didn’t think that at all, just that he’d been too forward and embarrassed her.
Either way, staying away from her was the only thing he could do.
“I like it when you meet me after school.” Allie moved on to the next row. “And I like walking home with Teacher Cathy, too. We talk.”
He could imagine Cathy drawing Allie out of her shyness. “I know. But school won’t be in session for too much longer, you know,” he pointed out. “Before you know it, you’ll be on summer vacation.”
Allie drooped—there was no other word for it. She looked like a plant without water. “I don’t want it to be summer vacation. I’d rather be in school every day.”
He couldn’t recall ever feeling that way himself. “You’ll like vacation. You’ll have more time to play and to help around the greenhouse. I know you like to do that.”
“Yah. But Ruthie...”
He should have realized seeing Ruthie every day was part of the appeal of school. “You’ll still see a lot of Ruthie. I’ll talk to Aunt Sarah and Onkel Lige about it. She can come over here and help, and you can go over to her house.”
At least he hoped so. Sarah and Lige would understand why he couldn’t just leave things alone, wouldn’t they? Diana’s death was hanging over his head like a heavy limb about to fall. He had to do what he could to avert disaster, even if it meant treading on toes.
“I want to see Cousin Ruthie. And my other friends. But mostly I’ll miss Teacher Cathy.” Her lower lip trembled. “I like it when we talk while we’re coming home. She makes me feel...safe.”
The word hit him in the heart. He’d known she was attached to Cathy. That was obvious. But by the look on her face, it was a lot more than that. She needed Cathy. She trusted her. She loved her.
He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Allie hadn’t had all that many people to love during her short life. Cathy was special. Maybe he’d been blinded by his own needs, but he knew that. Cathy was very lovable.
He needed to stay away from her, for both their sakes. But he couldn’t deprive his daughter of someone who meant so much to her.
“Suppose we make sure you can see a lot of Teacher Cathy over the summer. Will that be okay?”
“Could I?” Her smile lit up her face. She didn’t need any words to communicate how much it meant. Then she drooped again. “But how? If we don’t have school...”
“Maybe we could ask Teacher Cathy to help you with something over the summer.” He was fishing, looking for some way Allie could spend time with Cathy, even knowing the more he saw her the harder it would be to resist the strong appeal she had for him.
“Aunt Verna said she’d teach me to make a doll quilt this summer. Maybe Teacher Cathy could do that.” Allie’s eyes lit with her idea.
“Don’t you think Aunt Verna would be disappointed if you didn’t do the sewing with her?” he asked gently.
“Oh.” He watched her process the thought. “I don’t want to hurt Aunt Verna’s feelings. Not for anything. But I need to see Teacher Cathy.” Her lower lip trembled.
“We’ll find something,” he said, hurrying to avert tears. “Suppose we asked her to help you learn Pennsylvania Dutch? I know you’ve picked up a lot of words, but she could help you really understand and speak it.”
“Yah, that’s it.” The threat of tears vanished. “Oh, Daadi, can we ask her? Will you explain so she’ll want to do it?” Hands clasped together prayerfully, she looked at him.
He was a goner. He couldn’t resist Allie, that was for sure. The question was, if life kept throwing them together, could he resist Cathy?
* * *
AT THE END of school the next day Cathy lingered a bit longer in the classroom than usual. Allie, bending over a picture she was drawing, was intent and occupied. Cathy slid a notebook into the canvas bag she carried back and forth and then took it out again. That wasn’t the notebook she needed—she was getting absentminded.
That might do as an excuse, but the truth, if she admitted to herself, was that her mind was on Michael. It was fruitless, but she couldn’t seem to stop.
He hadn’t shown up to meet them when she walked Allie home yesterday. Lying to herself would be foolish—she’d been disappointed. Chances were good he wouldn’t be there today either. That kiss had changed everything between them.
Strange, that a kiss could have the power to turn life upside down. She’d known, in that moment, the thing she didn’t want to admit. She loved Michael. Not in a comfortably caring kind of way either. This was the kind of loving that made her heart turn over at a touch, that made her willing to sacrifice for his well-being, even if she couldn�
�t have him.
And she couldn’t. Even if she’d been willing to give up her faith to marry him, which she wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter. Diana had apparently destroyed any possibility of his loving again.
She’d begun to think of Diana in that light—as someone who destroyed everything she touched. Being ashamed of her attitude didn’t seem to help. She couldn’t understand the woman, and she never would.
Cathy brushed a hand across her forehead in an attempt to chase away the idea. Moving slightly, her glance caught the window, startling her. The day, already cloudy, had darkened appreciably. If it was going to rain, she’d best get Allie home right away.
“Better put your crayons away, Allie. It looks as if rain is coming, so we must leave.”
Allie looked as surprised as she had been, but she obediently started putting crayons back in the box.
The spelling book...she didn’t need that, but she’d better take the upper grades history text home to plan for the next day. She reached for the spot where she normally kept it and realized that, with the perversity of inanimate objects, it had migrated to the edge of her desk. As she picked it up, her fingers touched a folded paper that lay beneath it.
Sliding the book into her bag, she flipped open the paper.
And froze. It wasn’t a piece of schoolwork, as she’d supposed. It was a roughly printed message. An unsigned message.
Everyone knows about you and that man. He killed his wife. Stay away, or he’ll do the same to you.
The paper slid from her fingers, closing to blank out the words. It didn’t help. She could still see them—imprinted on her mind. Ugliness seeped from the words, staining everything it touched.
Who had done this? And how?
A rumble of thunder sparked a quick movement from Allie. “Teacher, the storm—”
“It’s far away. We have time to get home.” Reassuring Allie, she forced herself to pick up the paper and shove it in the bag. She couldn’t leave it here for anyone to see. Little as she wanted to carry it with her, she’d have to consider the possibilities before setting a match to it.