by Marta Perry
“There’s been a problem with it?” His interest was sharp.
“It hasn’t been paying off the way Bredbenner promised. Apparently, from what Rebecca told me, a number of others from the church invested, as well as Isaac. And Esther didn’t want her brother to get into it. Apparently she questioned this Bredbenner pretty intensely.”
Adam adjusted the flashlight to scan the papers, not speaking.
“And if you’re going to tell me that an Amish person wouldn’t run an elaborate scam like this—” she began.
“Quit putting words in my mouth,” he said, still focused on her notes. “I wasn’t going to say anything like that. Seems to me the Amish would be particularly vulnerable to being cheated by someone they trust, especially another Amish person. Did Isaac talk to you about this?”
“No, Rebecca did. Apparently he’s very sensitive about it. He certainly wouldn’t be happy if he knew she’d told me. Is there any way you can investigate it?”
He nodded, stuffing the papers in his pocket. “I know a guy with the state police who’s handled cases like this. I’ll start with him.”
“Good.” She shivered again. “The way Bredbenner looked at me—”
Adam jerked around, grabbing her shoulder. “What do you mean, looked at you? You didn’t go after him on your own?”
“Of course not. But he came here, he and his wife. They acted as if it was a friendly call, and they wanted to see Esther. I didn’t let them.” Cold snaked down her spine. “Maybe I’m overreacting, seeing menace from everyone who asks about Esther’s health. But I didn’t like it—”
The stable door scraped, and a light flashed on. Libby’s breath caught. Isaac Zook stood there, staring at them.
“So this is what you do when you say you are talking to your mother.”
It was over. Isaac would make her leave, and then Esther would have no protection.
“Isaac, I—”
Adam stood, his arm around her bringing her up, as well. He actually chuckled.
“Come on, Isaac. Don’t tell me you and Mary Ann never slipped off to the barn to steal a few kisses during your rumspringa, because I wouldn’t believe it.” His hand tightened on her shoulder, as if compelling her to agree. “Libby and I aren’t doing anything worse than that.”
Isaac took a step closer, his gaze going from one to the other. “This is true, Libby?”
She slid her arm around Adam’s waist. “Guilty, I’m afraid.”
Isaac’s face relaxed in a half grin. “Why? You two don’t need to hide, do you? Now, Mary Ann’s father—he figured she could do better than me.”
“Mary Ann knew her own mind,” Adam said easily. “As for Libby—well, she’s just not ready to tell everyone about us yet.”
“Ach, Adam, you could still find a better place for your sweet-hearting than a cold barn.” Isaac chuckled. “I won’t tell on you, but komm in soon, before you’re frozen.” He walked away, and she could hear his chuckle for another moment or two.
“That was close,” Adam said, his lips so close to her cheek that she could feel his breath. “Looks like he believes us.”
“Don’t laugh. I feel like a jerk, telling lies left and right, acting as if I…” She let that trail off, because it was coming too close to the truth.
She started to pull away, but his arm tightened, drawing her closer. “What are you doing?” She was suddenly breathless, and her heart had begun thudding.
“I wouldn’t want you to feel like a liar,” he murmured, and his lips found hers, catching them on a startled gasp and deepening the kiss.
For an instant she was stiff with surprise. Then she seemed to melt against him, feeling nothing but the strength of his arms around her and the warm, teasing pressure of his lips on hers.
Heat began to build between them, until she wondered how she could have thought she was cold. She wanted to yank off her jacket, press herself closer to him….
His lips moved across her cheek, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He drew back at last, and she realized that his breath was as ragged as her own.
“Good night, Libby.” His voice was husky. “Sleep well.” He dropped a light kiss on her lips, turned her around and pushed her gently to the door.
* * *
THE HIGH SCHOOL parking lot was almost completely filled with cars. Teenagers were obviously better-equipped than he and Trey had been, back when Trey had driven them to school in the beat-up old sedan he’d earned the summer between their junior and senior years.
Leaving the police car at the curb, Adam headed inside, trying not to get sucked back into nostalgic memories. Classes were in progress, and he could glance into the rooms as he passed. Here was the chemistry lab, where Danny had started a fire one fine May day; there the room where Mrs. Fredericks taught Principles of Democracy to reluctant seniors.
She was still there, still wearing her gray hair pulled back in a bun. They’d thought her ancient then, but she probably wasn’t more than sixty now. Even as he watched she slammed a textbook down on the desk of a kid who must be twice her size, jerking him to scared attention.
And then he was standing at the office door, feeling pretty much the way he had whenever he’d been hauled to the principal’s office. A different secretary sat behind the desk now. She glanced at his uniform and waved him into the inner office.
Frank Albright looked up, grinning when he saw who his unexpected visitor was. “Adam Byler.” He came around the desk, hand outstretched. “It’s good to see you, son. It’s been a while. Have a seat.”
“Thanks, Coach.” Adam didn’t suppose any of Coach Albright’s boys would ever call him anything else. He sat down in the chair usually reserved for parents in front of the gray metal desk.
“So what can I do for you today?” Coach sat in the swivel chair, leaning back. Light from the side window highlighted the gray in his hair and the lines in his face. “Some project you need volunteers for?”
“No, nothing like that.” He couldn’t sit here in front of the man he’d idolized, surrounded by plaques and photographs memorializing Coach Albright’s service to the community, and seriously suspect that this man had done anything wrong. Danny and Owen must have misinterpreted his reaction.
“Not one of our kids in trouble, I hope.” Albright’s eyes narrowed with concern.
Adam shook his head. There was nothing to do but push on with it. “I wanted to speak to you about the zoning board. There have been some questions raised about how Tom Sylvester got that land of his rezoned.”
“I see.” Coach looked down at his desk, but not before Adam had recognized the uneasiness in his face.
His heart sank. “It’s true, then. You had something to do with it.” He thought of what Jason Smalley had said about doing favors for influential people. “Doing someone a favor, were you?”
Albright planted his elbows on the desk, studying Adam’s face. “I suppose, in a way. That shocks you, doesn’t it?”
He stiffened. “I never thought you were a man to make decisions out of pressure. What happened to all those ideals you used to hold up to us, like honor and dignity and self-respect?”
I modeled my life on those. That was what he wanted to say.
Albright shook his head slowly, looking tired and old without his usual smile. “You’re not going to understand this, Adam. You only see things as right or wrong.”
Disappointment was an acrid taste in his mouth. “I’m a cop. In the law, there is only right and wrong. I thought that was what you believed, too. That was what you taught us. Or was it just talk?”
Something that might have been pain flickered in Albright’s eyes. “I taught you what I believed, but life is more than winning football games. Sometimes there are shades of gray.” He shook his head impatiently. “Look, if I approve a zoning variance, nobody gets hurt. I didn’t break any laws, and maybe the next time I need support for an after-school program or an extra teacher, I’ll find someone willing to go to bat for it.”
�
�Trading favors,” Adam said. What had happened to the man he thought he knew?
“That’s how the game is played.” Coach’s smile was a sad shadow of his usual confident grin. “It’s not as if I’m getting anything for myself. I’m trying to do my best for the kids.”
Adam wanted to turn the clock back, to return to what he’d thought he knew about Frank Albright. But he couldn’t. Albright wasn’t a hero, but he wasn’t a villain, either. He was just a man, trying to do his best for the most people.
He tried not to let his disappointment show in his face. “What would Tom Sylvester’s goodwill do for you?”
“Not Tom,” he said quickly. “I wouldn’t let someone who was petitioning the board influence my decision. But if an elected official calls and says the variance is a good thing that will benefit the community, I listen.”
Adam wasn’t even sure he wanted to know the answer, but he had to ask. “Who was it?”
Albright met his gaze for a moment, and then his eyes slid away. “Judge Judith Waller.”
Adam could only stare at him. Judith Waller, that fixture of the county judicial system. Why on earth would she take such a step for Tom Sylvester?
Influence. Trading favors. The more he learned, the more confusing the situation looked. And maybe none of it had anything to do with the attack on Esther at all.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ESTHER HAD COME downstairs that afternoon for the first time, and despite her worries, Libby joined in the general rejoicing. Esther’s little nieces and nephews were so excited that they couldn’t be still for more than an instant. At first Libby thought the children might be shy of the changes in Esther, but she soon realized they simply accepted her as she was.
Supper had been a happy meal, with the children vying to be allowed to help their aunt. Mary Ann finally stopped the wrangling by appointing the two oldest girls, Leah and Esther Jane, to sit on either side and help her.
Libby, glancing around the table at the happy faces reflected in the lamplight, couldn’t help but wonder at how normal it all seemed. Anyone looking at them from outside couldn’t know about the fears and worries they hid.
Once the meal was over, Isaac carried his sister into the living room, where the older children proposed to read to her from one of the Little House on the Prairie books, a perennial favorite with Amish children. It must be a hilarious project, judging by the laughter that echoed from the room.
Libby took a dishcloth from Rebecca’s hand. “Go and join them. I’m sure the children want you to hear them read. I’ll help Mary Ann finish up the dishes.”
“Ja, Mamm Rebecca, do.” Mary Ann plunged a stack of plates into soapy water. “Libby and I will visit, and the dishes will soon be done.”
“If you’re sure…” Rebecca began.
Libby gave her a little nudge toward the living room. “Go, please.”
She and Mary Ann exchanged smiles once Rebecca had hurried into the other room.
“Denke, Libby. Mamm Rebecca needs to take a little break now and then.” Mary Ann set a rinsed plate on the rack.
Libby began drying, the towel making soft squeaking sounds. “She’s been pushing very hard since the accident. But she looked so happy to have Esther back at the supper table.”
“Ja. That was gut.” Tears glistened in Mary Ann’s eyes. “When we went to town yesterday, everyone we met asked how Esther was doing. I started to worry that Mamm Rebecca was too optimistic in her answers, but maybe she was right.”
“She needs that optimism to help her through this, I suppose.”
But all the same, Libby couldn’t help a sense of apprehension at learning that Rebecca had been talking in public about how well Esther was doing. If the person who had driven the van that hit her believed Esther was well enough to remember, he might feel the need to stop her from talking.
Each time they’d attempted to convince Esther’s family that she might need protection, they hadn’t been willing to accept it. The refusal to allow a guard at the farm was typical. She was tempted to press the subject again, but if she pushed too hard, she might become unwelcome here.
Still, Libby had been here since Esther came home from the hospital, and nothing had happened. Two apparent attempts at the hospital, and nothing since—had the attacker been scared off? Convinced himself that she could never identify him?
What would Adam say if she asked him that? Probably he’d remind her that they didn’t have hard evidence that anyone had ever been after Esther. Just lots of fears and suppositions.
She glanced at Mary Ann, realizing that she had been quiet for a long time, but Mary Ann was humming softly as she worked. Then she met Libby’s gaze and smiled.
“You are thinking of your sweetheart, ain’t so?”
“Isaac told you,” she said, trying to buy time. She didn’t want to lie to Mary Ann, who had turned into a friend.
“Ja, he told me.” A smile played around Mary Ann’s lips. “I wasn’t surprised. I saw how Adam looked at you, those times at the hospital. And how you looked at him.”
“I guess I wasn’t hiding my feelings as well as I thought,” she said, resting a heavy cast-iron skillet on its edge to dry it.
“It is ser hard to hide love.” Mary Ann’s smile was reminiscent. “I remember. But you and Adam could tell folks. You don’t want to keep things from your mamm.”
“My mother knows how I feel.” That was true, anyway. “But Adam is my older brother’s best friend, and Trey is still away on his honeymoon.”
That sounded like a feeble excuse to her, but Mary Ann nodded, seeming to accept it readily.
“You’d want to tell him before you let everyone else know,” Mary Ann said. “I understand. We try not to tell folks until the wedding is published in church, but people always seem to guess, anyway.”
“As you said, it’s hard to hide love,” Libby said, relieved to move the conversation onto Amish wedding customs.
What would Adam say if he could hear this conversation? Well, this fictitious relationship had been his brainstorm, hadn’t it?
And it hadn’t exactly felt fictitious when they’d kissed.
“Ach, look at the time,” Mary Ann exclaimed as the last dish was put away. “I must start getting the young ones to bed.”
Libby glanced at her watch. It was not quite time for Adam to show up. Would he drive openly up the lane? He might as well, given that Isaac and Mary Ann both knew of his visits. Doing so would save him a trek through the woods.
Or would he even show up, given last night’s fiasco? She was suddenly restless, needing to see him yet half-afraid of how he might react. Or how she might react.
“I think I’ll step outside for some air,” she said, moving toward the door.
“Ja, some air would be gut,” Mary Ann agreed, eyes twinkling.
Sure she was flushing, Libby reached for the hook in the hallway where she normally hung her jacket, only to discover that it wasn’t there. She’d worn it upstairs when she’d come in earlier, she realized.
“What’s wrong?” Mary Ann paused in the doorway.
“Nothing. I left my jacket upstairs. I’ll run up—”
“Don’t bother,” Mary Ann said. “Chust take mine. It’s hanging next to the door.”
Libby grabbed the black wool coat from its hook. “Thanks. I won’t be long.”
“Take your time,” Mary Ann said, laughter in her voice.
Well, at least she was providing Mary Ann and Isaac with some much-needed humor in a worrisome time. She shrugged into the heavy coat, buttoning it against the cold, and stepped outside.
Light snow flurries dusted the shoulders of the coat almost at once, and she flipped the hood up. What was she doing out here? It was too early. Adam wouldn’t be here for another ten minutes, probably. Still, he’d been there before her each night.
She started across the lawn, the flashlight swinging in her hand. The snow wasn’t heavy enough to coat the ground, frozen hard from the January cold.
Would Adam mention what had happened last night? At least he hadn’t backed off and apologized after that embrace. That was a first. Maybe he was getting over this ridiculous idea of his that he wasn’t good enough for her.
She slid the stable door open, leaving it ajar. One of the buggy horses whickered a welcome. They must be getting used to her nightly visits by now.
But Bess, the big Percheron, moved restlessly in her stall, hooves the size of dinner plates thudding against the boards. Libby moved toward the stall with some vague idea of quieting the animal.
“Was ist letz, Bess?” she asked, using the dialect the animal was used to, her voice soothing. She leaned against the stall door. “Hush.”
Bess threw her head up, eyes white in the dim light. A board creaked. Gripping the flashlight, Libby turned.
Something struck her arm, knocking the flashlight from her grasp. Before she could react, hands closed around her throat.
For an instant panic overrode every other impulse. She clawed at the hands, frantic, trying to find enough breath to scream, but she couldn’t—couldn’t scream, couldn’t breathe, could see only blackness shot through with red—
The horse whinnied, huge hooves shaking the floor. Her flailing hand struck the stall door—the latch—if she could pull it over—
Please, please, help me. Please…
Her fingers hooked through the latch. She slid it, pulled with her last bit of strength, feeling herself sinking, falling—
The stall door swung open, carrying her to the side with it, the attacker stumbling, the grip of her throat easing, she could breathe—she had to run before he caught her again—
The mare charged through the open stall door. A high-pitched cry shattered the night.
She scrambled to her feet, forced her shaky legs to carry her toward the pale rectangle of the door; he could be after her—
She staggered out into the night, finally finding the breath to scream, over and over.
* * *
ADAM DROVE UP the narrow lane to the Zook farmhouse. Not much sense, as far as he could see, in trudging through the woods when the whole Zook family probably knew he was coming.