A Marriage for Meghan (14 page)

It took Thomas a moment before he caught the joke. “Come on, Sheriff. You know stockades aren’t politically correct. Let’s flog ’em with a cat-o’-nine-tails, run ’em out of town on a rail, and be done with it.”

The sheriff laughed. “I think we’ll get along just fine. Tell me, Agent Mast, did you draw the short straw at the bureau yesterday?” The lines around his eyes deepened into a web.

“No, sir.” Thomas smiled graciously. “My boss just thought I needed to round out my background experience. Why don’t you give me particulars in each incident? Then I’ll check into a hotel. I think I saw a Best Western on the corner of Beale Street. Because I plan to nose around at night, I don’t want a two-hour drive home after work.” He pulled out his notebook and pen.

The sheriff carefully detailed the three crimes and provided names and addresses of victims and witnesses, along with numbers for those owning phones. Then he mentioned the incident at the schoolhouse. “It’s most likely unrelated, but I’ll give you the names of the teachers in case you want to check it out. They live at one of the vandalized farms.”

Mast took notes and asked appropriate questions, all the while thinking the perps were probably long gone and on to the next place to impact with their charm. Rising to his feet, he extended a hand. “Thanks, Sheriff. I’ll take a look around, ask some questions, and touch base tomorrow or the next day. You have my cell number.”

Strickland shook hands heartily. “Thanks for coming down, Agent Mast. We welcome help from the big dogs. Just one thing to remember while you’re here—the name of our fair city does
not
rhyme with ‘rooster.’ Think of the second and third letters as one ‘u.’ And that street you drove in on is pronounced ‘bell,’ like what’s inside a belfry. We can’t have folks laughing behind your back on your first day.”

“I appreciate that.” Thomas donned his shades as he walked outside into the winter sunshine. Across the street three attractive young women left a restaurant that, according to its name, had once been the town jail. Two out of the three gave him a second glance. He smiled politely, glanced at his watch, and crossed the street to his sedan. If he didn’t dawdle while checking into the hotel, he’d have time to interview the school teachers before they left for the day. He wanted to determine for himself whether the trashing of a school was related or not. And they might feel more comfortable being questioned there rather than surrounded by family later on.

He knew he’d feel more comfortable. There was something about the Amish that intrigued him yet made him wary at the same time.

“Catherine?”

The head teacher heard the voice before the child stuck her head into the schoolroom.

“Annabeth, I thought you left with the other children.” Catherine turned her attention from her stack of papers to be graded to the girl.

Annabeth sidled back up the aisle. “I saw Meghan leave right after the bell and thought you might need some help.”

“Thank you, but I’m fine. Meghan will sweep up in the morning. She went home to help our
mamm
with dinner while I grade today’s work. Then tomorrow we’ll switch and I’ll leave right at the bell.” She smiled at the girl’s shyness. “Doesn’t your
mamm
need
your
help?”

“No, I have five older sisters who can do chores much better than me.” The dark-eyed girl looked crestfallen as her lower lip quivered.

Catherine smiled, knowing instinctively the child needed some extra attention. “In that case,
jah
, we can sure use your help. You’ll find the broom and dustpan in the corner.”

Annabeth ran to start sweeping as though bestowed with a great honor. But Catherine had barely begun grading the papers when her concentration was again broken.

“Miss Yost?” A soft, low voice spoke from across the room. “Catherine Yost?”

With a start she glanced up to see a tall
Englischer
in the doorway with very dark hair, cut short and combed straight back from his face. “Yes, I’m Catherine Yost.” Bracing her palms on the desk, she rose to her feet.

“I don’t mean to disturb your work, but I need to ask a few questions about the damage done to the school.” He strode toward her desk, taking in the room, her helpmate, and
her
with a few pointed glances.

She hesitated, confused. “Sheriff Strickland has already been here asking questions.”

When he reached her desk, he removed the shiny sunglasses that obscured his eyes and extended a hand. “How do you do? I’m Special Agent Thomas Mast of the Cleveland office of the FBI. Sheriff Strickland called me down strictly as a consultant on the case.”

Her eyes bugged out in disbelief as they shook hands. She was familiar enough with the outside world to know the FBI was an important branch of English law enforcement. “You drove down from Cleveland because an Amish boy became angry with his new teachers?”

He laughed, a warm friendly sound. “There might be a bit more to it than that.” He looked directly at Annabeth Selby, who stood watching like a barn owl from the rafters. “Perhaps tender ears shouldn’t hear our conversation.”

Catherine shook off her bafflement. “You’re right, Mr. Mast.” She turned to the student and said, “
Danki
for your help, Annabeth, but why don’t you come early tomorrow to help Meghan clean the classroom?”

The girl looked from one to the other and blinked. Then she set down the broom and dustpan exactly where she stood and fled. The man seemed to have scared her.

Agent Mast pulled out a student’s bench and straddled it with his long legs. “I just left the sheriff’s office, Miss Yost, and he filled me in on things happening in your community—farm fields rutted by four-wheel-drive vehicles, fence rails damaged, mailboxes destroyed, and then your classroom turned upside down.”

“My father said the sheriff planned to stop at the Shockley farm to talk to Owen.”

The agent shifted on the bench, leaning a bit closer. “Yes, ma’am, and he did so. Owen didn’t like the change of guard to yourself and your sister. Apparently, the previous teacher let him slide in his studies during the final semester because the young man possessed no academic interest whatsoever. He resented your attempt to turn him into a serious scholar.” His blue eyes sparkled as he grinned.

Catherine saw nothing amusing. “I don’t mean to sound disrespectful or unappreciative, but the Amish don’t need the FBI intervening with unruly students.” She stiffened her back and stood taller.

“No offense taken, and I agree with you wholeheartedly.” His words sounded as smooth as warm butter. “The Shockley boy was pretty tight-lipped and admitted no wrongdoing to the sheriff. If Owen was your culprit, the sheriff feels he won’t be repeating his mistake. His parents also seemed determined about that. But the Shockley boy had nothing to do with the other criminal activity here.” He stared boldly at her without the decency to avert his eyes.

She broke the tense moment by gathering her papers into a tidy stack. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“I understand the first set of knocked-down fences belonged to your family and that your brothers…” He paused to flip open a spiral notebook. “That James and John were two of the men assaulted in a Shreve parking lot.” His gaze bored through her once more.

Catherine swallowed hard, blushing to the roots of her hair. “Yes, that is true.” She glanced at the door, longing to be on her way home to a warm kitchen and a hot supper.

“Has something happened to a member of your family? A run-in that might invite any kind of retaliation? There’s a chance your family might be the target, especially if the Shockley boy wasn’t our vandal.” He stood with the easy grace of those athletically inclined but kept watching her.

Catherine began to wilt under the lawman’s perusal. Shaking her head, she said, “No, I can’t think of a reason anyone would be mad at us.”

He carefully buttoned his long wool overcoat. “More often than not, unfortunately, these things turn out to be relationship oriented. Forgive me for prying into your personal business, but have you just broken up with a…boyfriend or a suitor, perhaps?” For the first time, the agent looked embarrassed and uncomfortable.

Catherine shook her head vehemently. “No, I’m betrothed to a man who goes to school in Kentucky. We shall marry later this year. He’s the only man I’ve ever courted—” She paused abruptly. The recollection of some incident showed plainly on her face.

The federal agent, sent down from the big city into Amish country, didn’t miss her change in demeanor. “What is it, Miss Yost? Please help us. Anything you say will be kept in complete confidence. Did you think of someone with an ax to grind?”

Catherine fought the impulse to run down the road after Annabeth. “My sister Meghan, the other teacher…she recently had a fight with her beau. He wants to get hitched, and she wants to work for a few years before settling down.”

Agent Mast waited to see if more was forthcoming. When she remained silent, he asked, “Did he threaten her? Issue some sort of ultimatum?”

Something tightened in her chest. “Goodness, no. Jacob Shultz would never behave like that. He’s a fine young man who comes from a good family.” She wrung her hands as though they were laundry straight from the tub.

“But he became pretty mad when she broke up with him?” He moved the bench back in place with his knee.

Catherine shook her head. “She didn’t exactly ‘break up’ with him. Dating isn’t the same here as it is in your English world. Meghan knows she’ll probably, eventually, marry him—everybody figures that. But she’s not ready to take that step yet. She truly wants to be a teacher.” Catherine met his gaze. “Jacob lost his temper because he’s ready now and doesn’t want to wait. I’m sure he regrets blowing his stack with her.” She felt as though she were walking on a narrow precipice.

Agent Mast stared for a moment. His expression confirmed he didn’t understand their courtship ways. “Do you know where this Jacob Schultz lives?” He took a pen and pad of paper from a pocket.

“Of course I do, over on township road 148. They have the second farm on the left, north of County Route 518.” The precipice began to fall away.

“And you can’t think of anyone other than Mr. Shultz who might hold a grudge?” he asked while jotting down the details she had just given him.

“You’re not listening to me, Detective Mast. I can’t think of
anyone
, period. Jacob would never trash the Miller pastures or beat up my brothers and their friends. Besides, the boys who did that were English, not Amish.” She tried her best to control her temper.

He slipped his notebook back into his pocket. “It’s
Agent
Mast, ma’am. I don’t think the same person or persons committed the crimes, but I need to follow all possible leads. You have my word that I’ll tread lightly and keep as low a profile as I can while I’m here.”

Catherine mumbled a polite “Good evening,” shoved the rest of the ungraded papers into her tote bag, and hurried toward the door.

This FBI agent’s chance of keeping a low profile was akin to a draft horse doing the same at a tea party.

T
homas awoke with a crick in his neck and a sour taste in his mouth. He left the bed, pushed back the drapes of his hotel room, and gazed out on a parking lot and a few commercial buildings in the distance. But considering the very reasonable price he’d paid for the comfortable room, he hadn’t expected much of a view.

The stiff neck stemmed from falling asleep bolstered by too many pillows, while the acid reflux was due to too much spicy, starchy food the night before. Eating an entire pepperoni pizza for dinner hadn’t been a good idea for someone whose diet normally consisted of lean meat, plenty of salads, and occasionally some fresh fruit. But how could he question Mr. Santos, a man trying to make a living with a restaurant in a bite-sized town, without ordering something to eat? And pizza in Shreve wasn’t sold by the individual slice.