Rollin took the paper.
“Anything else?” Malloy asked.
“Nothing else significant.”
Malloy stood up and shook his hand. “Good work, Wells.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?” Malloy opened the door and saw Lance waiting outside for him. “Take that partner of yours with you.”
“We have too much work to do this afternoon.”
“That’s why you’re my top detective, Rollin. You never quit.”
Malloy shut the door behind him, and Lance stepped forward, a black box tied with a gold ribbon in his hands.
“Did Malloy tell us to go home?” Lance asked.
“I turned him down.”
“You never want to have fun.”
“Getting the Cardano family behind bars is a good time for me.”
Lance shoved the box at him, and Rollin saw his name on the lid.
“What’s this?” he asked.
Lance thumbed back toward the front door. “A messenger delivered it a few minutes ago, but he didn’t stick around.”
Rollin untied the gold ribbon and tipped back the cover to see a dozen pieces of candy, each one neatly wrapped in silver foil.
Lance dug for one of the chocolates. “You got a secret admirer?”
He eyed the note taped to the inside of the cover. “Apparently it’s not so secret.”
Lance grabbed another piece of chocolate as Rollin opened the note, reading the short sentence twice. He ripped the note into shreds and dropped them into his pocket. Then he grabbed the jacket on the back of his chair. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
Lance’s mouth was stuffed with chocolate when he spoke again. “Can I go with you?”
Rollin shook his head. “Not this time.”
CHAPTER 4
Pastries and fancy breads lined the glass shelves in the bakery window. Powdered shells of cannoli stuffed with ricotta cheese and chocolate shavings. Crème puffs. Rum cakes. Sugar cookies iced with pastel pinks and greens.
Rollin eyed the pastries and the CLOSED sign hanging inside the door. The sidewalk was empty for a moment so Rollin ignored the sign and pushed open the door.
She was waiting for him back in the kitchen, her black chiffon dress rustling from the breeze of a fan. The bags under her eyes matched the color of her dress and the feathers that sprang up from the back of her hat. Twenty years ago she may have been a striking woman, but she’d fallen hard from her diva position. The years—and her husband—had erased most of the beauty from her skin.
He took the iced glass of lemonade she offered him but didn’t take a sip. “They killed Leone last night,” he said.
“I doubt the Puglisis are crying.”
“Maybe not crying, but they’ll be hopping mad.” He set the lemonade on a stainless steel counter. “Did you know they were going to kill him?”
“I suspected it.” She took a long sip of her lemonade and seemed to be contemplating her next words. “Who exactly killed him?”
“It was dark, and there were a lot of guns.”
“Antonio didn’t do it.”
He nudged the lemonade glass an inch. “He may not have killed Leone, but he orchestrated it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “This isn’t about Antonio.”
Rollin crossed his arms as he stopped his retort. He knew exactly who this was about, but he had to tread softly with her. She was like an alley cat—one wrong move and she would either pounce with her sharp claws or disappear. He wanted to make sure she pounced, and when she did, he wanted to make sure she was leaping in the right direction.
Rollin brushed his hand across the worktable. “Why did you want to meet me?”
“They planned to take out Leone in secret so the Puglisis didn’t retaliate.”
“And now they are worried?”
“Antonio is searching for the leak in the ranks,” she replied. “We can’t meet again until he stops looking.”
“He won’t stop until he finds the leak.”
“Perhaps not.” She tapped her fingernails on her glass, the lemonade swirling inside. “But he has bigger things on his mind right now.”
He glanced over at the back door and then toward the front entrance. No one was nearby but still he stepped closer to the fan so the sound would drown out his words. “What is Antonio planning next?”
Her gaze drifted over her fingernails, over the trays of cookies on the counter. Seconds passed, and then she looked back at him. “I’m not sure.”
He met her eye, and she looked away again. He hated it when people lied to him.
“I’ve only heard bits and pieces,” she said. “Something about a meeting.”
Two years ago the Cardanos and Puglisis tried to coordinate a meeting of the Unione Siciliana at a hotel in downtown Cleveland, but before they met, the management had grown suspicious and called the police. Rollin and the other cops took in a few men wanted by the law and spooked the others away from the hotel. As far as he knew, the criminal society had never tried to meet again to unite.
Now that the Cardanos and Puglisis were enemies, maybe Salvatore and Antonio were organizing some sort of meeting without their rivals.
“What kind of meeting?” he persisted.
She shrugged, her shoulders swishing the chiffon. “Antonio doesn’t talk about things like that when I’m home.”
Lie number two.
“I heard him say something about a creek.” Rollin stepped closer to her. “Sugar Creek.”
Her face paling, she set her lemonade beside his and rubbed her arms like she was cold.
“What is happening at Sugar Creek?” he pressed.
Instead of answering, she stepped toward the door. “I must go home now.”
His hand reached out to her shoulder, stopping her. “What are you hiding from me?”
She turned slowly, her weary eyes narrowed into small slits. “I’ve never heard of Sugar Creek.”
“Too bad,” he said as he released her shoulder. “Something big is going to happen there.”
“There’s enough going on around here without worrying about a creek.”
“Maybe Antonio will mention something tonight.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “It will be weeks before I can contact you again.”
With that, she turned, and her heels clicked against the tile floor as she walked away.
The screen door slammed behind her, but Rollin stayed staring at the place she had stood, like maybe she’d left the truth behind.
*
The porch swing rocked under her, and Katie leaned back as far as she could to watch the hundreds of stars lighting the night. God’s display delighted her soul, and in a strange way, it comforted her as well. God had placed each of these stars in the right place, and with perfect precision, He had placed her and Henry here in Sugarcreek as well. A place they could belong.
A cow bellowed from the pasture, and the crickets chattered like women preparing for a Sunday lunch. Every summer night, after her chores were done, she snuck out to the front porch to enjoy the Lord’s creation and thank Him for all He had done. For bringing her here.
The front door opened with a soft creak, and Erma Lehman stepped outside. Her silver hair glistened in the starlight, and the planks groaned under her as she crossed the porch and took her place beside Katie on the swing.
Erma pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up her nose. “Is Henry asleep?”
“He nodded off while he was washing his face.” Katie smiled at the memory of her son’s chin resting on his chest, water spreading like soft butter across his shirt. “I had to carry him to his bed.”
“You won’t be able to do that much longer.”
“I’ll do it as long as I’m able.”
Erma patted Katie’s knee. “I’d still carry my boys around if I could.”
Katie pushed the swing again with her heels.
“You should have seen Henry today
.” She leaned back on the swing again to see the sky. “He watched that airplane with a mix of fear and awe like it was a tornado whipping up over the hills.”
“He should be afraid,” Erma said. “It was the first time he saw a machine fly.”
“I’ve never seen him so fascinated about anything before.” She sighed. “He was still mumbling about it when I carried him to his room.”
“It’s neiya, Katie. It will pass.”
“I hope so,” she said, trying to sound confident. Erma hadn’t seen the wonder in Henry’s eyes or heard him shout. “Is Isaac feeling better?”
“He’s recovering,” Erma said. “I made him a tea with ginger root, oregano, and garlic.”
“That sounds dreadful.”
“And a teaspoon of honey,” Erma added before she laughed. “But it still tastes terrible.”
No matter the ailment, Erma always seemed to be able to concoct the right remedy. Tonight Isaac was suffering from body aches and a sore throat that stole his voice, but if his wife’s concoction soothed his pain, Isaac would continue drinking the foul-tasting tea.
Silence drifted over them, and there was comfort in the quiet. Even though Erma was an expert at patching up people, her aunt could never fix Katie’s problems, but it didn’t stop her aunt from loving her.
Nothing seemed to frighten Erma Lehman, not even progress or the question of what would happen in the future. Katie wished her aunt could brew a tea to eliminate her fear as well. She’d drink whatever Erma recommended if it would calm the anxiety that clenched her chest so tightly some days that it felt like it was about to suffocate her.
Katie pushed her feet on the porch, the swing gently rocking under them. “Jonas stopped by today.”
“Ya, I saw him.”
“I forgot we were supposed to have dinner at his parents’ house.”
“He cares for you very much.” Katie heard Erma breathe in the night air. “And Henry as well.”
“I know.”
In the distance she could hear the creek trickling over the rocks and the gentle clip-clop of horses pulling a buggy up the road that ran in front of the house. Behind them, the windmill rotated in slow, deliberate turns. “Isaac and I would be pleased to see you and Jonas marry.”
She took a deep breath. “Do you want me to leave?”
“Of course not, dochtah.” Erma patted her knee again. “We would be very sad to see you go.”
She loved it when Erma referred to her as a daughter.
“I would be sad to go too.”
“But we both want what is best for you and Henry.” She gently pushed the swing again. “Someday you will have to make a decision about your future, Katie.”
Katie rubbed her hands over the edge of her apron. “That’s exactly what Jonas said.”
“He’s right.”
Jonas was always right. In fact, in the eight years she’d known him, she had never seen a single flaw muddy his character. Not once. She admired his sense of perfection, envied it even, but she could never live up to the standard of perfection that he placed on himself and everyone around him. Jonas’s bar was way too high for her to reach, and she wasn’t sure it was right to place those expectations on Henry either.
But then again, Jonas’s high standards might be good for her son. It would give him something to strive for. A role model to follow. She could almost see Henry following Jonas’s steady footprints across the fields and roads. Jonas’s footsteps always knew where they were going—and where they came from.
Henry would thrive with a father who would teach him how to harvest corn and care for the farm animals and raise a barn—Jonas could be exactly what she needed to protect Henry and her both from the future’s uncertainty.
Henry would thrive, but what about her?
Jonas Miller thought he knew her, but he didn’t. Her past would muddy his impeccable reputation and perhaps even his character. Would he risk marrying her if he knew the truth?
“You have to give Jonas the option,” Erma said. Without Katie ever saying the words, her aunt had an uncanny ability to read her mind. “If he knows the truth, he can make a decision—and so can you.”
“He’ll fly away faster than that airplane.”
“Perhaps.”
Katie pushed her heels against the wooden porch. “And if he does, what will happen to Henry?”
“Jonas might waver at first, but he’ll make the right choice.”
“Really?”
“Jonas is an honorable man, and you would bring him honor as his wife.”
Katie put her arm around Erma’s shoulders and squeezed. “You bring me honor.”
Erma shook her head, and Katie imagined the older woman’s cheeks were shaded red in the darkness. Isaac and Erma saved her life, but they were too humble to acknowledge their role in her salvation.
“The bishop won’t let you marry Jonas until after you’re baptized.”
She sighed. “I keep hoping he’ll make an exception.”
“No Amish man can marry a woman before she’s taken the vows.”
The word vow made Katie shiver. It was so ominous. Permanent. Once she joined the church, she knew in her heart that she would never leave. It should be what she wanted to do. Joining the Amish church would give her a lifetime of peace and unity and contentment. And it would put an end to her fear of change.
But even stronger than her fear of change was her fear of losing Henry. When he grew up, what if he decided not to join the church and left Sugarcreek instead? And what if he did get baptized into the Amish church but then disobeyed the regulations set out in their Ordnung? The bishop could shun him for life.
No matter what the church did, she could never ban her son from her home or from her heart.
She wrung her hands together in her lap. “It’s just too hard.”
“No matter what you decide, Isaac and I will always love you.”
“Thank you,” Katie whispered.
“We are your family, Katie, but Jonas is not. He shouldn’t have to wait for your answer any longer.”
She’d told Jonas over and over not to wait for her to decide, but still he waited. Did she need to be firmer with him? Or maybe she needed to tell him a definite no.
But she didn’t want to tell him no, and that was the problem. She didn’t know what she wanted.
Erma brushed her calloused fingers over her apron. “Last church service, Ruth told me that Greta Hershberger has been following Jonas around like he was the Pied Piper.”
“He should marry Greta.”
Erma shook her head. “Jonas Miller should marry you.”
Katie’s gaze wandered across the front lawn of the house to the treed hills beyond. A couple miles up the road was the farm Jonas had purchased two years ago. When he bought the property, he’d implied that he was buying it for her. For them.
Sometimes she envisioned herself in his kitchen, in his yard. She could see herself planting the garden and hosting the church service in the barn. But there was one place she couldn’t begin to imagine herself, and that was in Jonas Miller’s bedroom.
A brilliant light streaked the black as a star fell from the sky.
Erma was right. She shouldn’t keep Jonas waiting any longer. She would tell him the terrible truth about her past, and then together they could decide if she would become his wife.
CHAPTER 5
Cleveland’s Main Library towered above the city like a boulder jutting up from the sea. Its columned façade fortified the rows of trees and businesses along Superior Avenue and reminded Rollin of the Château de Versailles he’d seen outside Paris. Inside the lobby, electric lights glowed off the marbled floors, and carved balusters accented the staircase that climbed to the top stories of the massive building.
The lobby was quiet on a Saturday morning. The only patron was snoring on a bench beside the front door, his mouth drooped open, his felt bowler hat hiding his eyes.
Rollin tapped Lance’s shoulder. “Wake up, soldie
r.”
Lance jumped to his feet and patted down his thigh, searching for his holster. Rollin grabbed both his partner’s wrists and secured them until Lance’s eyes focused on his surroundings.
His confusion quickly turned to a glare. “You told me to be here at eight.”
“The trolley never came.”
“You could’ve paid for a cab,” Lance muttered as he stood.
“I needed the walk.” Rollin glanced at the clock high up on the wall. It was almost eight thirty.
“Then let’s move it,” Lance replied. “I’ve got a date with my golf clubs this afternoon.”
Lance followed him through the lofty doors at the side of the lobby. Books were stacked almost to the pressed tin ceiling, and the musty smell of paper and leather permeated the air.
As they walked toward the reference desk, Rollin scanned the rows of books written by novelists such as Louis Bromfield, Zane Grey, and Sinclair Lewis. Before she passed away, his mother read mounds of books, but reading fiction wasn’t much of an escape for him—he was too busy fighting against real crime and corruption.
He did enjoy reading about history on the occasional Sunday afternoon when he wasn’t working. As King Solomon once said, there is nothing new under the sun. Corruption and betrayal shaded every new century, and people could learn a lot about the present if only they’d take the time to learn about the mistakes and regrets of the past.
Behind the reference desk was a skinny young man with short brown hair and smeared spectacles. When Rollin flashed his badge, the man sat up straighter and looked over Rollin’s shoulder like a gangster was about to mug all of them.
He tucked the badge back inside his jacket. “I’m looking for a librarian named Quincy.”
The man scanned the vacant room before he focused back on Rollin. “I’m Quincy.”
He lowered his voice. “Captain Malloy said you could help us.”
Quincy’s hands shook as he reached for a pencil and scrap of paper. “It depends on what you need.”
“Malloy also said you knew how to keep quiet.”
The man tugged on his tie. “As long as you’re not asking me to do anything illegal.”
The Silent Order Page 4