Buried Sins (14 page)

“Rachel, you’ve outdone yourself.” Cal took a biscuit and passed the basket to Grams. “This is wonderful.”

“Well, she had an incentive,” Andrea teased, with a sidelong glance at Tyler. “Tyler was coming.”

Tyler grinned. “Then you should thank me, right?”

“I guess so.” Andrea took a forkful of mashed potatoes and looked at Grams. “Can we tell Caro yet?”

“Tell me what?” She couldn’t help a spasm of apprehension. Most of the surprises in her life had not been happy ones.

“I suppose we’d better, since you’ve given it away,” Grams said.

“What?” Surely they wouldn’t all be smiling at her if it were bad news.

“We’ve seen how much you love dealing with the local arts and crafts,” Grams said. “So we thought a good addition to the bed-and-breakfast would be a crafts shop in the barn. Which you would run, of course.”

She could only stare. “But…that would be very expensive, renovating the barn, getting the stock. I don’t have any cash to put into a project like that.”

Thanks to Tony. If he hadn’t wiped her out, this might be a possibility. But if he hadn’t, she might never have come home and realized that what she wanted was right here.

“Your contribution would be your expertise,” Andrea said. “Grams will front the start-up costs with the settlement she received from the embezzlement of Grandfather’s business. And I’m sure I can get you a small-business loan for whatever else we need.”

Her mind whirled with possibilities, and for a moment she let herself hope. “But the renovations—”

“You have a carpenter and an architect right in the family,” Tyler said. “I’ve already drawn up some preliminary plans, but Cal and I need your input. We thought you might want some space for craft classes and groups to meet.”

She tried to combat the tears that welled in her eyes. “I can’t let you do all this for me. It’s too risky. There are other craft and gift shops….”

“You have access to Amish-made crafts that many others don’t.” Grams smiled, her eyes soft with tears. “Emma loves you as if you were one of her own children.”

“She mentioned the idea to begin with,” Andrea said. “Rachel and I just took it and ran with it.”

“So, Caroline.” Grams smiled through her tears. “What do you say? Will you do it?”

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t say anything in the face of this overwhelming love. She could only nod and put up her hands to try and stem the tears that overflowed, washing away the barriers that remained between them.

Zach had stayed away from Caro for several days, trying to forget that kiss. It hadn’t worked. Still, he’d managed to rationalize it to a certain extent.

They were attracted to each other, and they’d had a moment of closeness that took them both a little too far. More serious for him than for her. There was no actual investigation going on, so he hadn’t violated any regulations, but he knew in his heart that was a cop-out.

Attraction or not, he had a responsibility to check on her. Santa Fe PD might not want to involve him in their investigation of Tony Gibson, but he wouldn’t ignore the odd things that kept happening in Caroline’s vicinity.

At least, that was what he told himself when he pulled up to the side door of the inn. He wanted to touch base with Rachel. If she could talk her stubborn sister into moving into the house, he’d feel a lot better about Caroline’s safety.

But when he tapped at the door nearest the kitchen, it was Emma who answered. “Morning, Emma. Is Rachel around?”

“She has gone to New Holland for groceries. Is there some way I can help you, Zachary?”

Emma had moved to a first-name basis with him when her son had been injured last year.

“It’s nothing important. I’ll catch her later. What about Caroline?”

“Ach, she is not here, either. She has gone to the airport to pick up her friend who comes for a visit.”

That was the first he’d heard of a friend coming. Someone from her life in New Mexico? Maybe someone who knew Tony? “Was that her friend from Santa Fe?”

“Ja, the lady she worked for out there. I have the blue bedroom all ready for her.”

“Guess it wasn’t my day to find anyone home. Stay well, Emma.”

She nodded, shutting the door.

That was a pointless trip. Still, it was interesting to learn that her employer was coming. Francine Carrington—the woman who’d reported her missing.

He went down the steps, glancing toward Caroline’s apartment, and came to a stop. Caroline might not be there, but someone was. He caught sight of a flicker of blue, maybe a shirt, disappearing around the corner of the barn.

Could be nothing. Could be the person who’d been in the apartment a couple of times, back for another try.

He glanced toward the patrol car, but it would be faster on foot. He jumped lightly off the patio and ran across the grass.

Better this way, in any event. The prowler, if that’s what he was, would hear a car coming. This way, he’d catch him unawares.

It worked out just about that way. He rounded the end of the barn, moving quietly on the grass instead of the path, and there the man was, looking in the window.

“Police. Stop right there and turn around.”

Somehow he wasn’t entirely surprised when the man turned around. Jason Tenley, supposed photojournalist. He hadn’t bought that from the moment he’d met the man.

“Just looking for Ms. Hampton, Chief. That’s all.” Tenley held his hands up, palms toward him, as if to show he wasn’t holding a weapon.

Not that he expected a weapon. If the prowler had intended harm to Caro, he wouldn’t do it by making coffee.

“Looking in her window?” He shook his head. “You’ll have to do better than that, Mr. Tenley. Suppose we go back to my office and talk about it.”

Tenley looked chagrined. “You’re not really going to arrest me, are you? I suppose technically I’m trespassing, but…”

“
Prowling
was the word I had in mind,” Zach said. Something was off-key here. The man wasn’t reacting the way he should be, having been caught by the police.

“Guess maybe it’s time to come clean.” Tenley tried a disarming smile.

“It wouldn’t hurt.” He wasn’t disarmed.

“I’m not a peeping Tom. I’m an insurance investigator. Let me reach into my pocket, and I’ll show you my ID.”

Zach gave a curt nod. Insurance investigator. The words sounded more reasonable than the photojournalist bit.

Tenley handed over an ID folder. Zach studied it and then slid it into his pocket.

“You won’t mind my hanging on to this until I check it out.”

“Wouldn’t do any good arguing, would it? Especially since I’d like your cooperation.”

“It’s a bit late for that.”

“I guess it looks that way from your viewpoint.”

“From any cop’s viewpoint.” The guy might be legit, but that didn’t mean he was letting him off easily. “If you come into my jurisdiction on an investigation, you ought to know enough to check in with me. Now, why are you here?”

And what did it have to do with Caroline?

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have tried to take a short cut. The truth is, my company is on the hook for a substantial sum over a charity auction in Santa Fe, and they’re not eager to advertise the fact that they’ve been had. A very expensive piece of Native American jewelry that was donated for the auction has turned out to be a skillful fake.”

He didn’t need the man to connect the dots for him. “Caroline Hampton was, I assume, the jewelry expert on the gallery’s staff.”

Tenley nodded. “She’s the only one, so far as we’ve been able to determine, who had the skill to make such a convincing switch.”

“I take it you don’t have any actual evidence, or this would be coming from the police.”

“That’s about the size of it.” Tenley ran a hand over his graying hair, then massaged the back of his neck. “It’s been a real headache. Both the owner and the insurance company want to keep this a private matter as long as there’s a chance of regaining the object.”

“And what progress have you made?” He wouldn’t let himself focus on the Caroline he’d grown to know. He couldn’t.

“Precious little.” Tenley spread his hands. “Ms. Hampton hasn’t made a suspicious move since she’s been here. Only thing that might have caught my attention was that trip to Philadelphia, but since she went with you, I assume she wasn’t contacting any fences.”

“No.” He was tempted to hold the man until he’d checked out his story, but that would be more a product of his own irritation than good police work. “Where are you staying, Mr. Tenley?”

“White Rose Inn, out on the highway.”

“All right.” He gave a curt nod. “Stop by my office tomorrow afternoon. I’ll have checked this out by then. In the meantime, stay off this property. We clear?”

“Right.” If Tenley was relieved, he didn’t show it. “I’ll be on my way.”

He went quickly, rounding the end of the barn at a lope. A moment later his car bounced out the lane toward the road. Zach watched, automatically noting make and model, license number.

Now what? Go back to the office, check out the story Tenley told.

It would check out. Tenley wouldn’t make up something so easy to disprove. And then—well, then he was going to have to tread very carefully.

He’d begun to have feelings for Caro. But those feelings could explode and hurt both of them if she wasn’t the woman he thought her to be.

On the other hand, if she was innocent in all this, she’d feel betrayed when she learned he’d been investigating her. And she’d been betrayed too many times in her life to forgive that again. There was no possible happy ending in all of this that he could see.

“N
ow we’re getting into typical Pennsylvania Dutch country.” Caroline nodded toward the dairy farms spread across the rolling landscape. Once she’d picked up Francine at the airport in Philadelphia, she’d been eager to get off the interstate and out into the country again.

“Very pretty.” Francine barely turned her expensively coiffed ash-blond head to glance out the window.

“You didn’t look,” Caro accused, half laughing.

It was good to see Francine again, but rather odd, too. They’d had a good relationship, a friendship even, but she’d always been aware of their employer/employee relationship.

Francine gave an elaborate sigh. “Really, Caroline. You should be aware that I’m not a scenery person.”

“True. I’ve never known anyone who was more urban than you.” Even in Santa Fe, where most people gloried in the magnificent outdoors, Francine had looked slightly too sophisticated to fit in.

She’d been surprised that Francine hadn’t gone back to her native San Francisco after her husband’s death, but she’d been devoted to running the gallery and continuing Garner’s charities. There had been rumors of a suit launched by Garner’s children from his first marriage, contesting his will, but Francine had never mentioned it.

Francine touched her hand. “Now you know how much I care about you, to be willing to spend time in this rural wilderness. I suppose there’s not even a decent coffee bar in this small town of yours.”

“Well, no.” She tried to imagine one of the stolid Pennsylvania Dutch farmers picking up the latest mocha cappuccino before heading out to do the milking. “But my sister makes a fine cup of coffee.”

How long would Francine last here? Probably not for more than a few days, but she was touched that Francine would make the effort at all.

“I’ll defer judgment on your sister’s coffee until I’ve tasted it, if you don’t mind. Now tell me. Has anything more happened with regard to Tony?”

She’d been keeping Francine up to date at her insistence, so there wasn’t much new to tell. “Not since I talked with you after we found out about that safe-deposit box and Tony’s wife. Believe me, that was enough of a shock to last quite a while.”

Francine frowned for an instant and then smoothed the frown away, always careful to preserve her flawless complexion. “I’m not sure it was a good idea to take the local cop along on that expedition. Why tell the police something they don’t already know?”

“He’s all right.” She pushed the memory of that kiss away. “Anyway, I could hardly hide the existence of all that money. If Tony was involved in something illegal, I don’t want it in my possession.”

“I suppose not. But as for that first wife—well, darling, he should have told you about her, but I refuse to believe there wasn’t a divorce. Tony was hardly the type of man to commit bigamy.”

She had to smile, even though the situation wasn’t humorous. “Is there a type of man likely to do that?”

“You know what I mean.” Francine dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “I’m relieved nothing else has happened. Perhaps whoever was playing games has tired of it.”

“Maybe.” She wasn’t convinced she was at the end of this trouble, but maybe she was just being pessimistic.

“So, are you about ready to give up your rural solitude and come back to Santa Fe where you belong?”

“I don’t think so.” She couldn’t imagine how Francine was going to take her news. “As a matter of fact, my family wants me to create and run a crafts center and shop in conjunction with the inn.”

Francine’s head swiveled to give Caro the full effect of a disbelieving stare. “You’re not going to tell me you’re settling in here for good.”

“Well, maybe not forever. But for the foreseeable future, anyway.”

To her surprise, Francine didn’t jump into telling her what she should do, as was her usual practice. Instead she turned back, to stare absently at the winding road ahead for a long moment.

“Much as I hate to say this, maybe that’s the best thing for now.”

An odd note in her voice set Caro’s nerves on alert. “What do you mean?”

“That’s really the reason I came.” Francine didn’t seem to want to look at her. “I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but I feel as if I have to warn you.”

“Warn me about what?” Her hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“Something happened at that last charity auction we ran.” Francine’s voice was slow. Reluctant. “There was an elaborate turquoise and silver pin—an original design by a noted Zuni artist. Do you remember it?”

“Yes, of course I remember it. I set up the display and did the photographs.” She’d held the beautiful thing in her hands, marveling at the artistry and craftsmanship, knowing that however good she was, she’d never make anything that perfect.

“The new owner had it valued. It’s a fake.”

Her head spun. “How could that be? I worked on it. I know it was genuine. It was checked out by the insurance expert before it went on display. Surely they don’t think that the gallery had anything to do with the fraud.”

“Not the gallery,” Francine said. “You.”

Caroline narrowed her eyes, trying to make out the sign that was nearly hidden by a rampant growth of wild roses. It would be hard enough to see in the daylight; in the dusk it was nearly impossible. She had to come to a stop to read the sign, and even then it wasn’t reassuring. She wasn’t supposed to be on Twin Forks Road, was she?

She’d followed Emma’s directions to reach the Stoltzfus farm and arrived there without incident. Even now, several carefully wrapped quilts rested on the backseat, ready to be shown in the craft center once it opened. Now getting back home was the problem.

Maybe she was jumping the gun, collecting materials for the shop while it was still in the planning stages, but she wanted to be sure she had enough inventory to give her new project a chance of success.

Besides, it had been a distraction from the bad news Francine had brought with her when she arrived three days earlier. Since then they’d gone over the counterfeit backward and forward, exploring every possibility, without coming to any conclusion.

Francine had reiterated her support a number of times, but Francine was also concerned for her gallery’s good name. She wouldn’t sacrifice that for the sake of friendship, and Caro didn’t want her to. But where did that leave her?

She hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell her grandmother and sisters about this new complication. How long could she expect even their support to last?

Grams would say that there was Someone who was always there to support her. Emma had said that if God seemed distant, it was because she had moved away, not God. Maybe that was true, but if it was, how did she bridge that gap?

Lights flashed in her rearview mirror and she looked up, startled. Apparently she wasn’t the only one on this lonely road. Good. It felt a little less isolated. It must lead somewhere, hopefully to a road whose name she’d recognize before it was completely dark.

The driver behind her came up fast—too fast on this narrow road. His lights reflected in her eyes, and she flipped the rearview mirror to diminish the glare. Irritation edged her nerves. If he was in that much of a hurry, why didn’t he just pass her?

She eased ever so carefully closer to the side. There could be a ditch or a drop-off, hidden by the lush undergrowth. She raised her hand to motion him around—

The car rammed her, snapping her neck back and taking her breath away. Shock ricocheted through her, and she stepped on the gas in an automatic reflex.

The car surged forward, but he was right on her tail, bumping her again and sending the car fishtailing before she regained control. Crazy—he had to be crazy.

She clutched the wheel, hunched forward as if to ward off a blow, pressing down on the gas.
Please, please. Help me.

No hills to deal with, thank goodness, but she went shrieking around the bends blindly, terrified that she’d meet someone coming, but at least then she wouldn’t be alone out here with a maniac on her tail—

He came up fast, lights glaring, and rammed her again. She fought the wheel, but it did no good, she couldn’t regain control, she was losing it—

The car spun dizzyingly and plunged off the road. Her body was thrown backward, then forward as the car lurched to a stop in a mass of rhododendron bushes. The airbag deployed, muffling her. For a moment she couldn’t move, couldn’t even assess whether she was hurt.

But she had to move. She could hear the other car, coming back toward her, engine roaring. She had to get out, now, before he reached her.

She fumbled with the seat belt, freeing herself, shoving at the folds of the airbag, and slid across to the passenger door, shoving it open, clambering out.

Taking a quick glance toward the road, she saw the car stop, a dark figure get out. No time to see more; she just ran. Into the dark, anywhere away from him.

She stumbled through the undergrowth, brambles tearing at her clothes, and then burst into the woods where dry leaves rustled with every step.

She couldn’t worry about being quiet—he was too close behind her. She rushed through the woods blindly, panic harsh in her throat, breath dragging painfully.

She’d gained a little on him, hadn’t she? She could hear him crashing through the underbrush. Stop. Think. Once he got in the clear he’d overtake her easily.

She looked around, eyes adjusting to the dimness. There—that clump of trees surrounded by bushes. If she could get in there before he came any closer, she could hide.

Please, please.
She ran to the bushes, threw herself on her stomach and squirmed her way beneath, reaching back to ruffle the dry leaves so that she’d leave no telltale traces.

Just in time. She could hear him now, closer, so close she could hear the ragged gasps of his breath.

She curled into a ball, hiding her face against her knees.
Please, Lord. Please. If You’re there. If You hear me, protect me.

The footsteps came closer, crunching the leaves. A low chuckle chilled her bones. Did he see her?

A whisper, so soft it might have been a flutter of birds’ wings. It came again, a little louder.

“Caro.” A whisper, just on the edge of hearing. “Caro, come out. Come out.”

She pressed her face tight against her knees, clenching her teeth. He knew where she was, she would feel a hand grabbing her, dragging her out—

He turned. His feet rustled through the leaves, going back toward the road.

She let out the breath she’d been holding.
Wait, wait, don’t move yet, not until he’s farther away.

Finally she couldn’t hear him any longer. She crawled out. Don’t go toward the road, he could be waiting. The other way—that was the only safe thing. She moved slowly, cautiously, one step at a time.

Nothing. If he heard her, if he was coming, she’d know it. She hurried blindly through the woods, away from the road, falling, getting up, running, falling again, until finally she was in a field, the stubble of grass under her feet, and ahead of her the lights of a farmhouse.

The brightness of electric light, not Amish, then. They’d have a phone. She started toward the house at a staggering run. She was safe.

Thank You. Thank You
.

Zach sent a cautious glance toward Caroline as he drove down the lane from the Miller farm to the main road. “Are you sure you don’t want to stop by the E.R., just to be on the safe side?”

Caro shook her head, reaching up to lift a strand of hair away from the bandage that adorned her forehead. “You heard Mrs. Miller. Nothing but bumps, bruises and abrasions.”

“Margo Miller is used to patching up three accident-prone sons, but that doesn’t make her a doctor.”

She turned her head slightly to smile at him. “I’m all right, really. I just want to go home.”

“If you’re sure.” His stomach had been tied up in knots since he got the call from John Miller that Caro had turned up at his door. It began to ease, just a little, at the smile. “Have you thought of anything else about the car?”

She moved restlessly. “We’ve already gone over all that.”

They had, but he suspected she needed to talk it out before she reached the inn. “Sometimes something else comes back once the initial shock has passed.”

“I didn’t really get a good look—just lights in my rearview mirror.” Her voice tightened on the words, as if she didn’t want to relive those moments.

“What about when you got out of your car? Did you try to see where the other vehicle was?”

She glanced toward him, her breath catching. “You’re right. I did. It was just a dark shape, but I’m sure it was a sedan. I guess that doesn’t help much.”

“It eliminates all the pickups in the county,” he said lightly. “We might find something when we go over your car. When he rammed you, he might have left a paint chip that would tell us the color.”

“I didn’t think of that.” She shook her head. “I haven’t been thinking of much of anything, to tell the truth. Just…scared.”

“That’s not surprising.” It took an effort to keep his voice level when he thought of her in danger out on that lonely road. “You’re entitled after what you went through. Any chance you got a look at the driver?”

“It was dark. I couldn’t see anything about him.” Her voice tightened, alerting him. There was more, he was sure of it.

“Notice how he walked? Did he give the impression of a young man?”

“I didn’t see him, I told you.”

“Hear him, then. Did he speak?”

Her hands twisted together in her lap. This was it. She’d heard him.

“Not to say ‘speak.’ He…whispered.”

He wanted to reach out, to cover those agitated fingers with his, but he couldn’t. “What did he whisper?”

“My name.” Her voice was the whisper now.

“You’re sure?”

At her nod, his jaw clenched. It wasn’t a random thing, then. He hadn’t really thought it was, but there was always a chance. He glanced at her.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”