by Marta Perry
“Now, Allison.” Mac perched himself on the corner of the table and pulled out a notebook. “Tell me just what Ralph said.”
“On the phone, you mean? Or when I found him?”
That jolted Mac off the table. “He spoke to you before he died?”
She nodded. “Not much. Just a few words.” She frowned, as if determined to get it right. “He said, ‘sorry.’ He said it a couple of times. And then he said, ‘Evelyn.’ And he said he was sorry again. Something about how he didn’t mean something.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense. I tried to ask him about my grandmother, but he...” Her voice trailed off.
Mac stared at the words he’d written down, as if he could wrest meaning from them. “Okay.” The whine of another siren, followed by the sound of tramping feet, had his head jerking around. “I’ll have to get out there. Look, I think the best thing would be for Nick to take you back over to Mrs. Anderson’s. When I’m done here, I’ll have to ask you some questions.”
She nodded, seeming to understand that he didn’t want an audience for this part of the investigation. “All right. I’ll be ready whenever you need me.”
“Okay.” He took a step toward the door and turned back. “The building will have to be closed tomorrow, maybe longer. Depends on what we find. You’ll have to come into the station tomorrow to make a formal statement and sign it.” He hesitated. “You aren’t planning to go anywhere in the near future, are you?”
“No.” Allison’s voice was firm enough, but Nick found it too easy to read the bleak fear in her eyes. She had just realized how bad this situation could be.
* * *
ALLISON HAD EXPECTED to be awake for what was left of the night after the questioning that went on until the early hours. Instead, she sank deep into slumber the instant her head hit the pillow, for all the world as if she’d been hit by a rock.
She didn’t know how long she’d have slept if not for Hector.
He’d leaped on the bed, walking on her chest and meowing for his breakfast, forcing her awake. The instant her eyes opened memories came flooding back, and she swung herself off the bed. It was nearly nine. What had been happening while she’d been dead to the world?
Going barefoot to the window, Allison pulled the shade an inch or so aside and peered out at the building next door. Surrounded by orange tape, it had been transformed into an object of curiosity. Several people stood at the gate, peering at the building as if it could tell them something. A patrolman stood guard on the porch. Other than that, she could see no sign of activity. Did that mean the police had wrapped up their investigation of the property? She suspected that was a bit too optimistic.
Allison ran her fingers through her hair, glaring at her image in the mirror as she turned away from the window. A shower would help, but she doubted anything would hide the shadows like bruises under her eyes or the haunted expression.
Forty-five minutes later, showered, dressed and made up, she was sitting at the table in the sunroom at the rear of the house, trying to fend off Mrs. Anderson’s curiosity as best she could without offending her. Presumably she thought food the best answer to an emergency, since she’d prepared enough breakfast for half the town.
“The police cautioned me not to talk about it,” Allison said for the third time, removing Hector from her lap before he could snag a piece of bacon from her plate. “And it was so terrible to find Ralph that way...” She let that trail off, shuddering in the hope that would discourage the woman.
Before Mrs. Anderson could launch into more questions, the doorbell sounded. She made an exasperated noise. “Been ringing all morning. That Hardesty boy from the newspaper was here before I’d even had coffee, wanting a story from you for that paper of his. I gave him a piece of my mind, I can tell you that.” She marched off, militant, apparently ready to repel anyone who had a similar idea.
But when she returned a moment later, it was to usher Sarah into the room. “Look, here’s Sarah,” she said unnecessarily. “I’ll get another coffee cup.” She disappeared kitchenward, and Sarah came to hug her, face worried.
“Ach, I couldn’t believe it when I heard. Ralph dead, and you finding him that way. It must have been terrible.” She gave another squeeze.
Allison nodded, her throat suddenly tight. “How did you find out?”
“Nick came by first thing this morning. Now Mamm wants you to come and stay with us, for a few days at least, until things get back to normal.”
Somehow she doubted that was ever going to happen, but she tried to hide the feeling. “It’s lovely of your family. But I’m not sure...”
“You don’t have to decide now.” Sarah slid into a chair. “Come anytime. The room will be ready for you.”
“Thank you,” she said again, quick tears springing to her eyes. “I appreciate it.” So, Nick had stopped by Sarah’s parents’ place this morning. He hadn’t come here. She tried to think what that meant, if anything.
Sarah glanced toward the window. “It seems strange not to be able to go into our own shop. What are they doing in there?”
Allison shrugged, unsure. “I guess trying to find something to tell them whether Ralph’s death was an accident.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “But what else could it be? Poor Ralph. He was so...so harmless.”
“I know.” She kept her voice even with an effort. “But he called me a few minutes before he died. He was upset. Distraught might be a better word. He kept saying that he had to see me, to tell me something. He wanted me to come over to the shop, but when I got there, he was dying.”
Sarah nodded, eyes wide. “Nick said he was lying at the bottom of the steps. I thought he fell.”
“Maybe he did. But the police have to be sure.” Ironic, in a way, that they were now doing the investigation she’d thought they should have done when Evelyn died.
“I’m sorry.” Sarah spoke softly, touching her hand. “You won’t want to talk about it.”
“It’s not so much that, but the police told me not to discuss it with anyone.” She smiled at Mrs. Anderson, who reappeared with another mug and a carafe of coffee. She had no doubt that the woman had been listening from the kitchen, but she hadn’t said anything that probably wasn’t general knowledge by now.
“Denke.” Sarah held the mug while Mrs. Anderson filled it.
“Sarah, you’ll have some apple walnut coffee cake, won’t you? I’m sure it’s not as good as your mother’s, but it’s not bad if I do say so myself.”
“It’s delicious,” Allison said quickly. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry I’ve put you behind with everything. I guess no one’s getting much work done today.”
“That’s certain sure, since we can’t get into the shop. Nick has been calling people, making sure they know they can’t get into the building. He put a sign up on the gate telling anyone who comes where to call for the offices.”
So Nick had been busy, even if he hadn’t been in touch with her. “That’s good of him. I didn’t even think of it.”
“Ach, folks will understand. After all, nobody can argue with an emergency like this one,” Sarah said.
“That’s right,” Mrs. Anderson chimed in loyally. She chased Hector and her tabby off one of the chairs. “Now just you stop it, you naughty cats. You think we’re too busy to notice, but we’re not.”
“They were taking advantage of our distraction,” Allison said, and then realized that Mrs. Anderson was staring past her, toward one of the large back windows of the sunroom. “What?” She turned to see someone peering through the window at her.
“That boy from the paper!” Mrs. Anderson marched to the closet, grabbed the broom and headed for the back door. “I’ll show him I mean what I say.”
Before Allison could say anything, Mrs. Anderson had charged out the door, brandishing the broom and advanc
ing on the reporter like a fury. Well, like a short, pudgy, graying fury, she amended. As Mrs. Anderson charged, the tall, lanky young reporter backed up, holding up his hands in defense. His mouth moved, as if he were trying to argue, perhaps to cite the freedom of the press. The broom swung, and he turned and bolted, abandoning his dignity. Allison caught Sarah’s eye, and they both dissolved in helpless laughter.
“Who would think she had so much fight in her?” Allison gasped the words out, trying to control herself before Mrs. Anderson came in.
“We don’t believe in violence, but I have to admit, I want to clap for her.” Sarah wiped her eyes.
Mrs. Anderson had disappeared around the side of the house, apparently in pursuit of the reporter. When she came back, through the front, she had company, since she was busy scolding whoever it was. They came through to the sunroom, and Allison saw that Mac was the object of her lecture.
“...what good are the police if you can’t stop reporters from trespassing and bothering people in their own homes, tell me that.”
Mac, wisely, chose the path of least resistance. “Sorry, Mrs. A. The officer next door should have noticed what was going on before you had to handle it yourself.” If his lips quivered slightly, he managed to suppress it. “If you notice anyone around who doesn’t belong, you give the officer a shout right away. He’ll come and help you.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Anderson,” Allison put in. “I’m sure I’m the one he wanted to see. I don’t want to bring trouble on you.”
“No trouble at all,” Mrs. Anderson seemed mollified. She eyed Mac. “I suppose I’d better make some more coffee.” She headed for the kitchen again.
“That is all the more reason you should come and stay with us for a couple of nights,” Sarah said, her tone persuasive. “Just until things settle down.”
“I don’t want to bring reporters in on you, either. Besides...” She glanced at Mac. “I have to get permission from the police before I make any moves.”
“What?” Sarah sounded as outraged as she was capable of being. “What are you going on about, Mac? Have you lost your senses?”
Mac raised both hands, palms out, much as the reporter had done. “Now, Sarah...”
“Ralph’s death changes everything, you see.” Allison spoke the truth she’d been realizing since the previous night. “I’m not a bystander or a victim any longer. I’m a suspect.”
“A witness,” Mac corrected quickly. “Look, we don’t know yet if Ralph’s death was an accident or...something else.” He seemed reluctant to use the word murder. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Well, you don’t need to treat Allison that way.” Sarah was still not satisfied.
“I understand,” Allison said, before the situation could become even more awkward. “Mac has to follow the rules.” She managed a smile for him. “Do you have more questions? Should Sarah leave?”
“No, no.” He sent Sarah a wary glance. “I just wanted to ask you to come by the station around two to make a formal statement.”
Allison nodded, relieved that was all. “I’ll be there.”
Mac turned to leave, then glanced over his shoulder. “I’m sorry about this.”
So am I, she thought, watching him stride out. So am I.
Sarah reached over to clasp her hand. “I don’t understand it.” Her voice was troubled, her forehead wrinkled. “All this wickedness coming out since...”
“Since I came?” Allison asked.
“I was going to say, since Evelyn died. That day she told me about finding something wrong—maybe I should have done more. If I’d asked her...” She hesitated, shaking her head. “She just wasn’t a person you could question.”
“I’ve gathered that.” Would she have liked her grandmother, if they’d had a different start? Or would it have been better if Evelyn had never thought of her at all? She’d never have come here, never met Sarah, or Krysta, or Nick. Her heart stuttered at the thought of Nick.
She hadn’t heard from him since he’d brought her to the bed-and-breakfast last night. He hadn’t even come with Mac for that late-night questioning.
What had she expected, that he’d ride in to rescue her? If she needed rescuing, she’d do it herself. Besides, the mayor could hardly take sides in what might be a criminal case, especially not when his brother was the chief of police.
* * *
BY LATE AFTERNOON the next day, the reporter still sat in his car, parked at the curb in front of the bed-and-breakfast. Allison turned away from the downstairs window and set her overnight bag on the floor. She couldn’t drive to Sarah’s with a reporter on her tail. She might not know a great deal about the Amish, but she felt sure they wouldn’t relish that type of publicity. No one would.
Allison glanced at her watch. Maybe he’d get hungry and leave long enough to pick up something to eat. And maybe not. Persistence was probably a good quality in a reporter, but at the moment it was simply annoying.
She considered the possibilities of speaking to him, but everything in her shrank from the idea. Besides, what could she tell him? Mac had cautioned her repeatedly not to reveal anything that had happened for fear of jeopardizing the investigation.
The door to Mrs. Anderson’s quarters in the rear of the house opened, and she beckoned to Allison, her eyes wide with suppressed excitement. “Come along and bring your case. We have a way out for you.”
We? Allison grabbed her bag and followed the woman into the kitchen. Nick was obviously waiting, glancing toward the backyard. His face lightened at the sight of her.
“Good, you have your bag. My car’s parked in the next street. I’ll drive you to Sarah’s while our ambitious young reporter sits there watching your car.”
She hesitated, her thoughts churning, remembering her vow of independence.
“Go on, dear,” Mrs. Anderson urged. “Hector can stay here with us. He’ll be fine. I’ll go up and switch the light on in your room so that reporter will think you’re there.” Her lips twitched. “It’s no more than he deserves, bothering people like he is.”
When Allison still didn’t move, Nick grasped her arm, took the bag and hustled her toward the door. “We have to go now. He paid a kid to keep an eye on the back, but the kid got bored and went home a few minutes ago. We need to leave before he comes back.”
Who was she kidding? She might not want to accept help, but at the moment, she needed it. “All right. Thanks.” She turned to give Mrs. Anderson a quick hug. “Thank you. And I’m sorry—”
Mrs. Anderson waved away the rest of that sentence. “Most excitement I’ve had in ages. You go along now. Come back when things have calmed down. Your room will be waiting.”
If things calmed down, Allison amended. Surely once Mac had announced the preliminary results of his investigation, the interest in her would wane. She hoped.
Nick led her quickly across the back lawn and around the garage, careful to keep the house between them and the reporter. “This way.” Skirting an arbor in the adjoining lawn, they hurried along in the shelter of a row of overgrown lilacs and emerged onto the street that ran parallel to Main Street.
Nick’s car was parked at the curb. He ushered her inside, tossed her bag in the trunk and they were off. “Bend over and tie your shoe until we get farther down the block, so he can’t see us through the gaps in the houses.”
“My shoes don’t tie,” she pointed out, but she bent over, anyway. She glanced up at Nick, seeing his face foreshortened from below and noticing a quirk to his lips despite his frown of concentration. “You’re enjoying this,” she accused.
His face relaxed in a grin. “Maybe so. First time I ever had a chance to play James Bond.”
“Whatever your motives, I appreciate the thought.”
“Better thank Mac, then. It was his idea.” The car stopped, presum
ably at the stop sign at the end of the block, and then moved on. “Apparently the reporter was nosing around the police station, as well. I think it’s safe to sit up now.”
“Mac?” Her face was warm from the effort of practically standing on her head. “Why would he care?” She couldn’t help the slight edge to her voice. When she’d complained to Mac about the reporter following her to the station when she gave her statement, he’d said that he couldn’t interfere as long as the man stayed on the public street.
“He felt bad about not being able to protect you from the press.” Nick gave her a quick glance. “But the newspaper would jump all over him for bias in conducting the case if he interfered.”
“I understand. His image as a public official—”
“Image!” He muttered something under his breath that she probably wasn’t supposed to hear. “Look, let’s get something straight. The reason Mac kept me from sitting in on his questioning, the reason he insisted that Mom not invite you to our place and the reason he couldn’t help you with the reporter are all the same thing. He feels that the county district attorney is just itching to take over the case. If Mac makes the slightest slip in conducting an impartial investigation, he’ll pounce.” His face was grim. “Trust me, things would be a lot more unpleasant if someone else was running the case.”
“I see.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “Does that mean the district attorney thinks I killed Ralph?” She waited for an answer, holding on to her courage by a thread.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“IF HE DOES, he’s an idiot.” Nick’s voice was strong with confidence, and something that had been tight in her chest relaxed.
“Thank you.” She forced the words out around the lump in her throat.
He nodded, then reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Don’t forget, we know exactly when Ralph called you, and your call to me was just a few minutes later. The doctor is bound to confirm that Ralph’s injury couldn’t have taken place much earlier or later than we think, since we were on the scene almost immediately. You didn’t have time. Or a motive.”