by Marta Perry
“Lower your voice,” Adam muttered. “You don’t need to tell the whole dining room.” Why had he thought he could talk about something discreetly with Danny?
Owen, with a glance of sympathy, sat down. “Adam’s right,” he said. “Let’s not advertise it when we’re talking about someone.”
“Yeah, right.” Danny didn’t look impressed. “I was just telling Adam that Frank Albright got really defensive about that decision, and it made all of us wonder what he had to do with it.”
Owen glanced at Adam, a question in his eyes. “Is this a police matter?” His voice had lowered even more.
“Not exactly,” Adam admitted. “It came up in connection with something else, and I’d like to clear it out of the way.”
Owen nodded as if he understood, which was more than Adam did himself. “I don’t know anything definite, but one does hear rumors.” He smiled suddenly. “At least ninety percent of which are nonsense, of course. But I’d have to agree with Danny on this. Frank did seem a bit overheated on the subject.” He shrugged, spreading his hands. “I’m not suggesting anything crooked, you understand. But sometimes people will let their decisions be influenced by others.”
“Any idea who those others might be?” Adam asked.
Owen shook his head, rising. “Not at all.” His tone suggested that if he did, he wouldn’t say so. “I have to get back to work. By the way, I suppose you know Libby is staying over at the Zooks’ place, helping with Esther. She’s certainly a good friend.”
Adam tried not to let any expression show in his voice. Owen was implying he was in on Libby’s plans, no doubt trying to needle him. He’d probably given away too much that day they’d both been in Owen’s office.
“Yes, she is a good friend.” He’d like to be able to say that Libby was someplace far, far away.
No, he wouldn’t. He wanted her right here. Safe. With him.
He wasn’t starting to think that was possible, was he?
* * *
A SMALL DISPUTE among the Zook family developed after lunch. Mary Ann wanted to take advantage of the sunny day to go to Springville for groceries, taking five-year-old Elizabeth, and she wanted her mother-in-law to go, as well.
“Komm, please, Mamm Rebecca,” she coaxed, helping her small daughter tie her black bonnet. “It will do you gut to have an outing. Libby and Isaac will both be here to see to things.”
“We’ll be fine,” Libby said. “If I leave the doors open, I can easily hear it if Baby Jacob wakes from his nap before you get back.”
“Ja, and I’ll chust be out in the stable while Bishop Amos shoes the other horses.” Isaac added his voice to the rest. “You need to get out a bit, Mamm.”
“If you’re sure you don’t mind…” Rebecca looked at Libby. It was obvious that she’d enjoy the outing and probably the return to a normal routine.
“Go, or you’ll make me think you don’t trust me,” Libby said.
Mary Ann didn’t waste any time at that sign of weakening. She had her mother-in-law hustled into her coat and bonnet and out to the buggy before Rebecca could change her mind.
“Denke, Libby.” Isaac hesitated at the kitchen door, almost as if he wanted to say something more.
Libby studied his face, the blue eyes so like his sister’s, the beard that hid his chin. What are you holding back, Isaac? Tell me.
He pulled on gloves. “Chust shout if you need me. Or ring the bell outside the door.” Not waiting for a response, he went out.
Strange, to be so alone in a house that was normally bustling with activity. It gave her the chance to do one thing she wouldn’t want anyone to see.
Libby went straight to the drawer from which Rebecca had taken the investment brochure. There must be more paperwork about the project somewhere, if Isaac had invested money in it. She slid the drawer open.
Apparently this was the storage space for such papers as the Zook family might need. It held several manila folders, all neatly labeled in what she recognized as Esther’s hand. Dairy company agreement, tax records, children’s medical records, bank receipts. And one labeled Investments.
Libby slipped the file out and flipped it open with only a passing pang of guilt. If this contained a clue to what had happened to Esther, she wouldn’t let anything stop her from investigating.
The folder contained only two things: a prospectus on the investment and Isaac’s investment agreement. She whistled under her breath at the amount. The dairy farm must be doing better than she’d expected, and it was probably an amount Isaac could now ill-afford to lose, with Esther’s hospital bills looming. No wonder he seemed worried.
She started to look through the prospectus and realized another paper had been stuck inside. It was a letter dated December 3, addressed to “Dear Shareholder.” In it, Eli Bredbenner apologized for the delay in delivering the returns he’d promised, blaming endless delays with the government paperwork necessary for setting up the corporation. He asked for patience, insisting that shareholders would begin to see a return on their money by spring, at the latest.
Libby turned the paper over in her hands. The letter was obviously computer-generated, and again she had the sense of some sophistication at work that she wouldn’t have expected.
A sound from outside drew her attention to the window. A buggy was coming down the lane. Quickly she jotted down the particulars from the prospectus on a notepad from the counter, ripped it off, and shoved it into her jeans pocket. She could hear the creak of harness now and the clop of hooves. Shoving papers back into the file, she slid it into the drawer and closed it just as someone knocked at the door.
Breath coming quickly, Libby smoothed her sweater down over the pocket and opened the door. An Amish couple stood there, the woman with a basket over her arm.
She managed a smile. “Are you here to see Isaac and Mary Ann? Mary Ann is out, I’m afraid, but Isaac is in the stable.”
The man nodded. “Ja, I see Bishop Amos’s buggy parked there. We have komm to ask about Esther. You are Libby Morgan, her Englisch friend, ja?”
“I am.” She held on to the door, not certain whether she should invite them in or not. “I’m sure Mary Ann will be sorry she missed you.”
“My wife has brought pies for the family.” The man put his hand on the door. “Mary, chust put them on the counter.”
Before Libby quite knew how it happened, they were both inside the kitchen. The woman set her basket on the table and lifted out two pies, moving them to the counter.
“That’s lovely,” Libby said. The pies were works of art, perfectly browned and crisp-looking, with an intricate flower design forming the top crust vent. “Who shall I say brought them?”
The wife didn’t speak, but the man took off his hat, putting it on the table as if he expected to stay. “I am Eli Bredbenner, and this is my wife, Mary.”
That was almost too coincidental, to have them show up so promptly after most of the family had left. Or maybe it wasn’t coincidence at all. Maybe Bredbenner had planned it that way.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Interesting might be a better word, Libby realized.
So this was the Amish investment broker. He looked like any other Amish man she might see in town, wearing traditional black clothing. His beard was almost chestnut in color, full and bushy in contrast to his bald head. He was probably in his fifties, at a guess. His wife, pale and thin-faced, seemed intent on fading into the woodwork.
“We were pleased to hear that Esther was well enough to be out of the hospital already. When we heard, my wife insisted that we must visit and bring some of her pies. Esther especially enjoys them, and we wanted to celebrate her homecoming. How is she feeling?”
It was a good thing she recognized a snow job when she saw it, Libby decided. Bredbenner obviously wanted something, but what was it?
“Esther is doing better physically, the doctor says. The family is so pleased to have her at home.”
“And she is herself again?” His gaze seemed
to probe Libby’s face. “Back to talking with the family, remembering things?”
Remembering…the question everyone seemed to be asking.
What would he do if she asked him directly about the investment scheme? Or if she implied that Esther remembered everything about her accident?
She couldn’t. It wouldn’t be safe. A cold knot formed in Libby’s stomach. She was alone in the house with a sleeping toddler and a helpless woman. Isaac and presumably Bishop Amos were only as far away as the stable, but Eli Bredbenner stood between her and the back door, with the bell rope that hung right beside it.
“I’m afraid Esther doesn’t remember or communicate.”
She almost said “yet” and deleted it. Eli Bredbenner might be nothing more than an inept businessman who’d bitten off more than he could chew, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
“Too bad,” he said. “We would like to see her now, ja?”
Libby’s gaze flickered to the daadi haus door before she could stop it.
“I’m afraid not,” she said quickly. “She’s not seeing anyone but family.”
“But you are not family,” he pointed out.
“I’m only here to help with Esther.” She moved, positioning herself between them and the daadi haus door.
“But we are such old friends.” He took a step toward her. “She will want to see us.”
Libby stood her ground, but her heart was thudding uncomfortably. “I’m afraid not. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to let you see her when the family’s not here.”
“My wife can slip up for a moment.” Bredbenner caught his wife’s arm, pushing her forward. She certainly didn’t look as if she had any need to see Esther.
“Esther is sleeping. She can’t be disturbed.” An icy trickle fluttered down her spine. What would she do if he tried to walk right past her?
Bredbenner took a step closer, his smile seemingly forgotten on his face. Libby froze, fists clenched. It was one thing to practice self-defense moves in a gym and another to anticipate using them on someone in a quiet Amish kitchen.
The back door opened, and Bishop Amos walked in, wiping his boots carefully on the rag rug, and the tension in the room dissipated into nothingness.
“Ah, Libby, there you are. Isaac said there might be some coffee on the stove for me.” He nodded gravely to the other two. “Eli. Mary. Have you come to call?”
“Ja, but this Englischer won’t let us see our sister Esther.” Bredbenner spoke in the dialect, but Libby had no trouble understanding.
“Ach, Libby is the nurse, and we must mind what she says,” Bishop Amos said in English, his tone cheerful. “We will tell Rebecca that you came to call.”
Bredbenner stood for a moment, his face stiff. Bishop Amos never lost his smile, but something inflexible appeared in his face.
Bredbenner shrugged, taking a step back. “Ja, denke. Tell her that we wish her well in her recovery. Komm, Mary. We must go.”
Shepherding his wife ahead of him, Bredbenner went out the back door. Libby let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and met Bishop Amos’s gaze.
“I’m glad you came in when you did. He didn’t want to take my word for it that Esther was sleeping.”
Bishop Amos’s expression was unreadable. “Esther is fortunate to have such a loyal watchdog on duty, ja? I am glad that you are here, Libby Morgan.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LIBBY COUNTED THE minutes until eight o’clock. If Adam didn’t turn up tonight…
He would. She didn’t really doubt that. However much he might disapprove of her actions, he wouldn’t let her down.
She stepped into the enclosed porch, zipping her jacket. She patted her pocket, making sure the brochure and her notes were there. As she reached for the flashlight that hung from a nail, the door into the farmhouse opened. Isaac stood there, and she stiffened.
But he didn’t seem to be wearing his usual disapproving frown when he looked at her. “You are going out to call your mamm, ain’t so?”
Libby nodded. She held up her cell phone. Thank heaven she’d thought to slip it in her pocket. “I promised I’d be in touch every evening.”
“That’s gut. I…I think that you are going outside to call because I would not like the use of the phone in the house.” He seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say. “You are Esther’s friend. If you want to use your phone in the house, I do not object.”
For a moment Libby didn’t know what to say. From Isaac, this was a huge concession.
And all the while, she was lying to him by her actions. Saying she was doing it for Esther’s sake didn’t make her feel any better about it.
“Thank you, Isaac. That’s very kind of you. But I—” She glanced at the phone, still in her hand. “For some reason, I get better reception outside, anyway. But thank you.”
Managing a smile, she hurried out before she had to tell any more lies. She had no choice. But that didn’t make her feel any better.
Clouds had thickened, and a chill wind snapped at her cheeks. She’d really need the flashlight tonight. She headed across the yard.
Be there, Adam. I don’t want to carry this information alone any longer.
The stable door stood open a few inches. Isaac wouldn’t have left it that way, so Adam must be here.
Libby slid through the gap, swinging the beam of the flashlight around. “Adam? Are you here?”
A step sounded behind her, too close. She whirled, raising the flashlight as a weapon.
“Easy.” Adam caught her hand. “It’s me.”
Libby took a shaky breath. “Sorry. I guess I’m a bit jittery.”
“A bit?” He took the flashlight and set it on a straw bale. “What’s going on?”
Where to start? “Do you happen to know if Jason Smalley makes a habit of stopping at the coffee shop in Springville?”
“Maybe. I don’t follow him around. Why?”
“Because a thirtyish guy who looked like a businessman asked Esther’s physical therapist a lot of questions about her at the coffee shop this morning.”
Even in the dim light, she could see Adam’s eyes narrow. “Jason. That’s suggestive, especially after—” He stopped.
“After what?” He was trying to hold something back from her. She knew it. “Listen, if you’re going to start keeping secrets from me…”
“All right, all right.” He lifted both hands palms toward her in a gesture of surrender. “I had a little chat with Jason’s father today. Leonard actually tried to find out why Jason wanted the investigation stopped—maybe he feels he owes us something. Anyway, Jason’s answer was that he liked doing favors for influential people. What did the therapist tell this person?”
“Just something vague. He wouldn’t talk about a patient.” She shook her head, trying to shake off the nagging worry. “But Esther is doing better. She’s starting to talk. People are bound to hear about it, and that could increase the danger to her.” She shivered, rubbing her arms.
“Sit down here. You’re cold.”
Adam drew her down onto a straw bale. Reaching up to the row of hooks above her head, he pulled down a buggy robe and tucked it around her, then sat down beside her.
The warmth she felt was from him, not the blanket. She gave in to the temptation to slide a little closer.
“If Jason Smalley is involved somehow—” She stopped. “I just can’t imagine that. He doesn’t strike me as brave enough to do anything worth killing for.”
“No, but obviously he’s not too scrupulous about using his influence. Maybe trading favors with people.” Adam made a sound of exasperation. “Ever since that business your brothers got involved in, I’ve been looking at people differently. Who’s trading favors with each other, bending the rules in someone’s favor? It doesn’t matter to me whether they fancy it up by calling it a secret society, it’s still wrong.”
“The old boys’ network is just another version of it.” She considered. “I suppose, huma
n nature being what it is, people are always more ready to do something for someone they think can return the favor.”
“So who is Jason Smalley doing favors for? I wonder what he’d say if I asked him that.” Adam’s voice always had that edge when he spoke of Jason.
“I don’t think you’d better,” she said. “He does have some political clout.”
Adam seemed to draw away from her, even though he didn’t actually move. “That won’t keep me from doing my job.”
“Look, I’m not arguing with you.” Adam’s unbending allegiance to the law was admirable, but she didn’t want to see him sacrifice his career to it. “I’m just saying you don’t have any evidence that he’s done something wrong. Better wait until you do.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Some of the tension seemed to ease out of him. “Guess I’m feeling a little touchy on the subject. It’s beginning to look as if Frank Albright might be the person who swayed the zoning board in Tom Sylvester’s favor.”
“Albright? Wasn’t he your football coach in high school?” She could hardly forget that when Trey had spent four years quoting “Coach’s” advice on anything and everything.
“Yeah.” A muscle in Adam’s jaw twitched. “If there’s one person I figured was a straight arrow, it was Frank Albright. And your dad, of course.”
“I’m sorry.” What else could she say? “It’s tough to find that your idol has feet of clay. Are you sure?”
“No.” He snapped off the word. “I’m going to see him tomorrow.”
He obviously wasn’t looking forward to it, and she couldn’t blame him. Adam would follow the trail wherever it led, even when it hurt him, because that’s the kind of man he was.
“Something else happened today.” She pulled the brochure and prospectus notes from her pocket. “I found out what’s been troubling Isaac. He’s invested a considerable sum in a building project, mainly because it’s run by another Amishman, Eli Bredbenner.”