Where Secrets Sleep

by Marta Perry

  “Well, then.” She’d think that would be obvious to anyone.

  “The district attorney is a politician, and he’s up for reelection next year. I’d rather not rely on his common sense.”

  “You’re a politician,” she pointed out. “Can I rely on yours?”

  He winced. “Please, don’t call me that,” he said. “I was drafted by people who thought I was the least objectionable candidate, that’s all.”

  Allison had to smile. Nick could put on a facade of not caring about his status of mayor, but she’d seen how he cared about this town. It was important to him, just as his family was.

  “How is Jamie?” she asked. “I haven’t seen him lately.”

  “He’s fine.” Nick fumbled in the center console and pulled up a sheet of paper. “He made that for you.”

  “How sweet of him.” She unfolded the paper to see a bright crayon drawing that showed what appeared to be several animals standing in a slightly tipsy line. Below was a row of x’s and o’s and a straggling, uneven word. Jamie.

  “In case you can’t tell, that’s the dog, the goat, the chickens and Jamie’s teddy bear. He says they make him feel happy when he’s sad, so he thought they might cheer you up.” Nick glanced at the paper with a smile, but Allison was blinking back tears.

  “That’s so sweet of him.” She folded it and tucked it carefully in her bag. “Tell him I really appreciate it, and he was right. I do feel better.”

  “Good.” Nick sent her a sidelong look. “Are you feeling well enough to talk about what Ralph said?”

  “Of course, but didn’t your brother tell you not to discuss the case?”

  “He might be the police chief, but he’s still my little brother. He won’t speculate about what Ralph meant, but there’s no reason why we can’t. Have you been thinking about it?”

  “I haven’t been thinking of much else, but I don’t really have any answers.” She brushed her hair back with her fingers. “He just kept saying he was sorry. And my grandmother’s name.”

  Nick nodded. “The more I consider it, the more I think it has to have something to do with her death. Was he there that night? Did he see her fall? Did he push her? Was he the person she’d planned to confront, or did he know who that person was?”

  “Those are the possibilities. Or of course, he might just have been wandering mentally last night.”

  “He was dying,” Nick said bluntly. “I’d think whatever a person said in those circumstances was what was important to him. What do we know about Ralph’s recent behavior?”

  She considered. Going over it aloud seemed to clarify her thoughts, which had been spinning in reckless confusion. “We know that his shop was broken into and searched. And his house.”

  “That seems significant to me. An ordinary thief would have snatched the computer or the objects that were obviously valuable.”

  “True. And as far as we know, nothing was taken from the bookstore at all. If you were going to break into Blackburn House to steal something, there surely were more valuable targets than a bookshop.” She wasn’t sure what it amounted to, but it made sense.

  “There was the trap you fell into. We assumed it was part of a campaign against you, but what if it was intended for Ralph?”

  “It could be, I suppose. He was upstairs at some point, we know.” She shook her head. “It seems to be such a haphazard way of attacking an individual. Anyone could have fallen into it.”

  “Yeah, but if it was intended for a warning, it might serve its purpose no matter who was hurt. And don’t forget, Ralph was so upset he went home in the middle of the day.”

  Allison thought how little she actually knew about Ralph Mitchell. “If it was intended for Ralph, why? Are we really saying he knew something that made him a threat to someone? Is that likely?”

  “Sounds odd, doesn’t it?” Nick grimaced. “I’d say most people thought of Ralph as someone...well, negligible. He didn’t have power or money. But he was insatiably curious. He always had to know the latest gossip. Maybe he stumbled upon something related to Evelyn’s death.”

  “I suppose it’s possible.” She turned it over in her mind. “But don’t forget that Evelyn talked about there being something wrong going on at Blackburn House. How does that fit with Ralph? Surely he wasn’t the person she meant— I mean, what could he do?”

  “True,” Nick admitted. “He owned his own business, so he couldn’t be robbing the till. And I seriously doubt that he was dealing drugs in the back room.”

  “If he had been, he’d have had a younger clientele,” she said.

  He grinned. “The blue-haired set doesn’t usually go in for that sort of thing. But even considering what Evelyn said—isn’t it possible that she was after someone else entirely, and Ralph just happened to see something that made him a danger to that person?”

  “Wouldn’t he have gone to the police?” She hadn’t known Ralph well, but she’d have thought him too easily frightened to do anything else.

  “He might not have been sure. Or the person might just suspect Ralph knew something. Or Ralph might have wanted to hug the information to himself for a time. He was like that, you know. He took pleasure in knowing what other people didn’t.”

  “That makes more sense than anything else we’ve come up with,” Allison said. “But I don’t see a way of proving any of it.”

  “Don’t get discouraged.” He clasped her hand again, his grip warm and comforting. “Something may turn up in the lab results that points to someone. And Mac has been going through Ralph’s house with a fine-tooth comb. He may find some other indication.”

  It seemed unlikely to her that anything new was going to turn up, but she managed a smile. “I hope so.”

  Nick released her hand as he slowed to negotiate the turn into the lane at Sarah’s place. “By the way, you can tell Sarah that we’ve been cleared to get back into Blackburn House as of nine tomorrow morning.”

  “Really? That’s good.” A thought hit her. “I suppose I should call everyone and let them know.”

  “Don’t bother. Mac is having his office make the calls. Better, anyway—let him deal with the inevitable questions. That’s what he gets paid for.”

  Thinking about the repeated conversations and questions, she could only be grateful. “That’s a relief. It won’t be an easy day, but at least we’ll get it over with.” Another thought hit her. “But what about the cleanup?” She seemed to see again blood on the marble floor. “I’ll have to—”

  “You don’t have to do anything,” Nick said firmly. “I’ll stand over Fred Glick myself until everything looks like new.” He nodded to the lane ahead. “It looks like a welcoming party.”

  Sarah, her parents, even her brothers stood beside the porch, smiling, and Allison’s heart lifted. “It’s so nice of them. I don’t know why they’re being so kind to me.”

  Nick captured her hand again. “You’re pretty easy to be kind to, Allison Standish.”

  Her gaze met his, and she felt her cheeks warm at the look in his eyes.

  “I guess I can’t kiss you goodbye with all of them watching,” he said softly. “But know that whatever happens, I’m glad you came to Laurel Ridge.”

  * * *

  BEDTIME ON AN Amish farm came a bit earlier than Allison was used to, but she was exhausted enough that she had no desire to stay up later. She sat on the twin bed in Sarah’s bedroom, smoothing her hand over the Sunshine and Shadows quilt that covered it. The room was plain, she supposed, with white walls and green shades on the windows. The only thing on the walls was a calendar with pictures of scenes from the Grand Canyon, but the space certainly wasn’t bland. Colorful braided rugs glowed against the wide wooden floorboards, and each piece of furniture must have been made by hand.

  And then there were the quilts on the two beds,
each of which would probably bring in a thousand dollars or more at a high-end shop in the city. They were both Sunshine and Shadows, but done in different colors. The effect of the shades blending into each other from light to dark and back again was like sunlight moving across a field, casting alternating waves of sunshine and shadow.

  She watched as Sarah took down her hair. Released from the kapp and the tightly pinned coil, it flowed to her waist, rippling like water.

  “Your hair is so pretty, it seems a shame to keep it hidden,” she said, hoping that wasn’t treading on sacred territory.

  “Ach, it’s just hair.” Sarah wielded a brush vigorously. “You’re wondering why we keep our hair the way we do, ain’t so?”

  “I guess so. I realize it’s the custom, but I don’t know why.” Fortunately Sarah never seemed to take offense at her questions.

  “The scripture says that a woman should have her head covered when she prays, and I might want to pray anytime of the day.” Sarah parted the shiny flaxen mass and began to put in a loose braid. “And it seems to us that the worst sin is being proud and looking down on others. So if we all wear the same clothes and do our hair the same way, it helps to keep us from being prideful.” Her fingers slowed on the plait. “I think it must be very special for a man to see his wife with her hair down for the first time.”

  There was a tinge of sorrow in the words that touched Allison’s heart. Perhaps a younger Sarah had dreamed of the night when Aaron would see her this way. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “About Aaron, I mean.”

  Sarah shrugged. “It wasn’t his fault. He loved someone else. We can’t control who we love, can we?”

  “I guess not.” She thought of Nick, and her heart clenched a bit. But that wasn’t love, she assured herself quickly. Attraction, yes. Even caring and admiration. But surely not love, not so quickly.

  Sarah fastened the braid and started on the second one. “I have a happy life, anyway. I have family, and good friends, and work that I love. Many people don’t have all those things.”

  Could she adjust the way Sarah had, if her dreams had been shattered? Could she go on with living and find happiness in other things?

  Sarah was watching her, a question in her eyes. “You have feelings for Nick, ain’t so?”

  “Does it show?” She managed a smile.

  “When you look at him.” Sarah’s lips curved. “It’s hard to conceal love.”

  Love. There was that word again. “I’m not sure I’m in love with him.” She glanced down, tracing a quilt square with her fingertip. “I mean, I care about him, and I’m attracted to him. But love—” She shook her head. “You know about Jamie’s mother?”

  Sarah nodded. “I remember, not that we saw much of her around here. She didn’t like it here.”

  “I gathered that she was someone with big-city dreams. I can see it sometimes in Nick’s face, that he’s comparing me to her. I don’t know if he could get past it.”

  “She was a...” Sarah paused, her hands fluttering. “Like a butterfly. Or a moth, maybe, drawn to the light. She always had to have excitement. Nick knows you well enough to know you’re not like that.”

  “I’m not sure. I think he’d like to believe it, but every once in a while, I can see it in his face. And then there’s Jamie.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened. “But you like Jamie, and you’re so good with him. And he adores you, too.”

  “He’s easy to love.” She couldn’t help but smile, thinking of the picture he’d drawn for her. “But I don’t know if I could be a stepparent. What if I messed up? And even if I didn’t, would Jamie really be ready to share his daddy? Or would he feel left out?”

  She had a feeling Sarah understood the things she didn’t say. “I don’t know,” Sarah said. “No one can know for sure.” She hesitated. “But I think it can never be wrong to love, even if that love isn’t returned or doesn’t work out.”

  Allison considered the words. Was Sarah right? She’d always thought it was important to protect her heart. To keep her guard up, so she wouldn’t be hurt. But if Sarah’s way was better, she’d been missing out all along.

  Her phone beeped. She reached for it automatically, then hesitated and gestured with it, looking at Sarah. “Is it all right if I check my phone? If you’d rather I didn’t, I’ll shut it off.”

  “It’s fine,” Sarah said quickly. “We don’t try to control what other people do, just ourselves. And I’d hate to try and find out how many cell phones teenagers have among the Amish. Most parents turn a blind eye to that, until they’re baptized.”

  Allison scrolled through her messages. “I suppose teenagers are all pretty much the same, whether they’re English or Amish.” Her thoughts flickered to Krysta, hovering on the edge of adulthood and not quite sure which way to jump. She hoped it wasn’t into T.J.’s arms, even though it wasn’t her business.

  She stopped at a message and read it again. A grin spread over her face. She jumped up and plopped onto Sarah’s bed next to her. “Look at this. Just look.” She thrust the phone into Sarah’s hand.

  “What is it?” Sarah frowned at the tiny letters. “One of the quilts, ja?”

  “The quilt your mother made that we put up for sale on the internet. It’s sold—and look at the price. Twelve hundred dollars, and the buyer agreed without so much as a quibble!”

  Sarah gasped. “Twelve hundred? I can’t believe it. Who would pay so much for a quilt?”

  “Not just a quilt,” Allison corrected. “It’s a work of art. I knew someone would appreciate it if we just got it out there.” She tapped out a quick response to the buyer. “It’s a good thing we can get back into the building tomorrow. We’ll have to pack it up and get it ready to ship as soon as the payment clears.” She grinned. “Your mamm is going to be happy.”

  “Happy!” Sarah still seemed disbelieving. “Even after our commission, that’s more than she’s ever received at once. She’ll be wonderful glad to have the money. I bet she’ll want to buy another calf to raise. I can’t wait to tell her.” She clasped her hands together. “This is gut news, that’s certain sure.”

  A calf. Well, that was one way to spend money, she supposed, and Sarah seemed convinced that would make her mother happy. The Amish took such pleasure in simple, ordinary things, unaffected by the competitive consumer culture that had enveloped the rest of society. Even in the midst of being disappointed in love, Sarah had been able to find joy in her everyday life.

  Would she be able to accept disappointment as well as Sarah? The question recurred, demanding an answer. She certainly hadn’t so far in her life. She might resolve to do better, but could she? Her thoughts flickered to Nick. Actually, she might be in a place to find out.

  * * *

  WHEN ALLISON AND SARAH approached the building the next morning at nine, they found a cluster of people gathered on the porch, all apparently waiting for someone else to make the first move.

  Allison forced herself to smile. “Good morning.”

  A muted murmur of greetings answered her. They were skittish, she thought, noticing how they avoided each other’s eyes. If the residents were that bad, what would the reaction of their customers be?

  “Time to be sure we’re ready to open,” she announced, and pushed her key into the lock. Snatching a deep breath and aware of Sarah just behind her, Allison opened the door and stepped inside. Apparently that broke the spell, because the others surged in behind her.

  Allison’s stomach lurched as she looked toward the spot where she’d stumbled into Ralph’s body. The marble floor was spotless, and the stairs looked freshly polished. No one would have guessed that the area had been the center of a grim police investigation such a short time before.

  Either the police had cleaned up after themselves, or Nick had forced Fred Glick into Herculean efforts. At any rate, Blackburn Ho
use looked just as it should, and for that she was grateful. There were no lingering reminders of what had happened here, except in her mind.

  Sarah went ahead to unlock the shop, switching on lights as she did, but Allison lingered, watching as the inhabitants of the upstairs offices headed up the steps. They glanced nervously to the left and right, but at least they went.

  Richie Willis, the young attorney, stopped next to her, flushing a little as she met his eyes. He had to be at least her age, but his curly red hair and boyish face made him look about eighteen, and the way his fair skin showed a blush must have been a disadvantage in his profession.

  “Are you okay, Ms. Standish?” He seemed uncertain but determined to make an effort.

  She nodded, trying to manage a smile. “It’s a terrible situation. But probably the sooner we get back to normal, the better.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. When Mrs. Standish—your grandmother—well, when she passed away, it was sad. Upsetting, I guess. But this—” He stopped, shook his head. “Anyway, I wanted you to know if you need anything, I’m here.” He flushed again. “I’m not trying to drum up business. But I’d be glad to help.”

  “Thank you.” Allison was unexpectedly touched. She hardly knew him, but he seemed to take it for granted that he should be on her side. “I appreciate it.”

  He nodded, obviously glad to have that off his chest. “Okay, then. Off to work.” He strode to the stairs, moving with a springy step.

  It would take a little time, she assured herself, but the brief encounter had raised her spirits. People would become used to what had happened, and Ralph’s death would be just another incident in the long history of Blackburn House.

  She became aware that someone was standing at her elbow. She spun, startled. It was Emily, Ralph’s clerk, her eyes reddened with weeping. Here was someone who genuinely mourned Ralph.

  Allison clasped her hand. “Emily. I’m so sorry for your loss. If you don’t feel able to come in today, I’m sure that’s not a problem. You should take what time you need.”