Danger in Plain Sight (23 page)

Libby held her breath when the wheelchair was lowered from the van. Esther drooped in the chair, her face white. She blinked against the light of a watery sun reflecting from the snow. Getting her to her bed suddenly seemed an enormous job.

Isaac, at a word from Mary Ann, simply bent and scooped his sister up in his arms, blanket and all. In a few quick strides he was at the daadi haus door. One of his children held it open, and he swept inside.

Rebecca and Mary Ann scurried after him with murmured thanks to Libby’s mother and the van driver.

Libby pulled out her suitcase and hugged her mother. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Her mother kissed her cheek. “This is a good thing you’re doing, dear. Either Marisa or I will be here tomorrow afternoon to swap the phones. Be careful.”

“I will.” She’d need to be, if they were right about the danger to Esther. She went to the door, held open by a small girl who was a miniature replica of Mary Ann with her soft brown hair and blue eyes.

“Thank you. Denke.” She tried the Pennsylvania Dutch word, wondering if the child was old enough to be comfortable speaking English. Amish children spoke Pennsylvania Dutch at home, but began learning English in school when they were six.

The little girl gave her a shy smile, but didn’t speak.

The others had gone upstairs, but Libby paused for a moment, orienting herself. The daadi haus had a kitchen and living room downstairs, with a bathroom and pantry between. The staircase was wide enough for easy access, although Esther would have to be carried if and when she came down. As frail as she was now, Isaac had handled her as if she were a feather.

Libby went up the stairs, vaguely uneasy. If she was remembering the layout of the farmhouse correctly, Isaac and Mary Ann’s bedroom was on the other side of the house from the daadi haus, meaning they weren’t within earshot. Nice for privacy, but not for possible emergencies.

Upstairs the two bedrooms were on opposite sides of another bathroom. Nostalgia swept over Libby as she moved into Esther’s room. A hospital bed with a hand crank had replaced one of the twin beds, but otherwise, this looked just like the bedroom Esther had in the farmhouse when they were children…an oval braided rug between the beds, a sturdy oak chest, a handmade rocker, with wooden pegs along one wall to hold clothing. The doll cradle and dolls had been replaced by a business-like desk and bookcase where Esther had undoubtedly prepared her lessons.

Libby’s heart twisted. Teaching had meant so much to Esther. Would she ever be able to do it again?

Isaac retreated, having lowered his sister to the bed, and Libby hurried to help Mary Ann get her settled. She glanced at Rebecca, realizing that the woman looked nearly as exhausted as Esther.

“We must get her to rest,” she murmured, and Mary Ann nodded.

“I know.”

But at the moment, all of Rebecca’s attention was on her daughter, and Mary Ann probably knew as well as Libby did that she wouldn’t rest until she knew Esther was.

Libby spread the handmade Log Cabin quilt over Esther, and Rebecca tucked it into place. Esther touched its edge, moving her fingers along it. She smiled.

“Home,” she murmured, and drifted into sleep.

If the lump in Libby’s throat got any bigger, she wouldn’t be able to speak. She blinked away tears.

Mary Ann put her arm around Rebecca’s waist. “Komm, Mamm Rebecca,” she said softly. “Esther is resting, and you must rest, too.”

“Someone must stay with Esther,” Rebecca protested. “And you have supper to cook.”

“Folks have brought so much food that I won’t have to cook for a week.” Mary Ann nudged her gently toward the other bedroom.

“I’ll stay with Esther,” Libby said. “Please, go and rest.”

Rebecca smiled faintly. “If you two girls gang up on me, I guess I must.” She crossed the hall, and Libby heard her bedroom door close.

Mary Ann smiled, looking relieved. “Denke, Libby. She’ll do better, now that Esther is home.”

“I’m sure she will.” But would Esther?

“We have an upstairs wheelchair here,” Mary Ann pointed out. “And a portable toilet seat. When Isaac’s daad was ill, everything was made easy for him, so I got those things back out. And I had Isaac put a twin bed downstairs, so Esther can rest there when she’s well enough to go down for the day.”

“You’ve thought of everything.” Libby firmly dismissed her doubts about Esther’s recovery. “You’re a good sister-in-law, Mary Ann. I hope I can do as well with my brother’s new wife.”

Mary Ann smiled, blushing a little, and she touched Libby’s arm. “I am glad you are here.” She went out of the room and down the stairs, and Libby could hear her hushing the children as she went. Then a door closed, shutting off the daadi haus from the outside, and she was alone with one elderly woman and one helpless one.

Libby touched the quilt. Esther slept, more peacefully, it seemed, than she ever had in the hospital, lips still curved as if she knew where she was, even in her dreams.

Under other circumstances, Libby would agree that this was the best place for Esther to recover, surrounded by her family’s love. But these were not normal circumstances.

She moved to the window, orienting herself. The outbuildings were much the same as they’d always been—dairy barn, chicken house, toolshed, twin silos, stable and a few others she couldn’t immediately identify. Beyond the stable were the woods lifting to the ridge, much of which was state game land. It was beautiful and peaceful, but it was also very isolated, even though the main road wasn’t that far away.

She’d have to come up with some believable reason for going out to the stable to meet Adam every evening. Tonight, at least, she wouldn’t have anything to report.

Adjusting the shade, Libby moved to the rocking chair, but she felt too restless to sit. She should have thought to slip some books into her bag.

A pitcher sat on the bedside table, along with a glass and a straw, but the pitcher was empty. Mary Ann had probably intended to fill it with water. Picking it up, Libby headed softly to the stairs.

She’d nearly reached the bottom when a voice spoke. She stopped, startled, and then realized that Mary Ann and Isaac were still in the kitchen. It must have been the children she’d heard going out.

“Was ist letz?”
Mary Ann asked.
What’s wrong?
The words weren’t intended for Libby’s ears. She obviously hadn’t heard Libby coming down.

Isaac said something she didn’t hear. She was about to say something, but his next words came loudly enough for her to hear. To translate and understand.

“…mistake to have her here, that’s certain sure. She might find out about it, and then where would we be?”

Libby froze, processing the words and the emotion that had underlaid them. There wasn’t a shadow of doubt in her mind that the “she” Isaac didn’t want here was herself. But what was it that she might find out about? And why did it upset him so much?

She moved silently back up the stairs. It looked as if she’d been wrong about one thing. She would have something to tell Adam tonight. She just didn’t know what it meant.

* * *

ADAM TURNED OFF the narrow blacktop road onto a gravel lane that was even narrower. As he’d told Libby he would, he drove his own dark compact, and in jeans, boots and a navy jacket he looked as far from being a cop as he could manage. He didn’t plan to be seen, but if he was, at least it wouldn’t look like an official call.

Slowing, Adam moved on, the lane narrowing until it wasn’t much more than the logging track it had once been. The car jolted to a stop at the last space wide enough to turn around. He got out, gripping a heavy flashlight. He’d have to use the light to get through the woods, but he’d make do without it as much as possible.

The snow cover lingered in patches here and there in the woods. He skirted what he could, not particularly eager to leave an obvious trail, and brushed his way through the mix of hemlock, pine and maples and around thick clumps of undergrowth where the trees weren’t thick enough to shade it out.

When he reached the narrow strip of cleared field behind the stable, he paused. The nearly full moon came out from behind a cloud, glistening on patches of snow. A yellow glow came from the windows of the farmhouse and from the second floor of the daadi haus, but otherwise there was no sign of life. It looked completely serene. He was losing his nerve, imagining danger here.

Finally, sure he couldn’t be seen from the house, he crossed to the stable, slid the door open just enough to slip inside and switched his torch on, covering the beam with his fingers so that the light leaked through.

Reassured by the quiet, he swung the light around. Several of the buggy horses moved, and one whickered softly. The huge pair of Percherons, in the farthest stalls, didn’t so much as flicker an eye.

He glanced toward the house. Right on time—the back door opened, and Libby’s figure in that red anorak was clearly visible. She turned, and her voice carried in the clear night. “I’ll just be a few minutes.” She closed the door and started across the lawn toward him, swinging a flashlight in her hand.

He stepped back a little as she entered, making sure that if anyone watched her from the window, he wouldn’t be seen.

“You made it.”

Libby set her flashlight down on a bale of straw and gave him a quick, preoccupied smile. “I’m here.”

“You’re sure no one’s going to come out after you?” He glanced toward the pale, narrow rectangle that marked the opening.

“I told them I was coming out to call my mother on the cell phone. No one questioned that.”

“No, I guess they wouldn’t.” He frowned, his worries renewed at the sight of her. “Maybe you ought to consider sleeping at home. You could just drive over during the day.”

He could see the set of her jaw even in the dim light at the admittedly stupid suggestion.

“What good would that do? Night is when she’s most vulnerable. But no one will get to Esther when I’m sleeping in the next bed.”

Not without silencing Libby first. Didn’t she realize that was what had him jumping at shadows?

“Libby—”

“Don’t waste time going over that again,” she interrupted. “I’m staying. Is anything new?”

He ought to have sense enough not to beat his head against a wall.

“Not much. I’m still trying to find someone who will talk about how Tom Sylvester got that zoning variance. And why Jason Smalley was so eager to see the investigation stopped.”

Libby tilted her head slightly, her hair moving, pale in the dim light. “Have you considered that Jason was just trying to assert himself with you? Lord it over you a bit that he’s a big deal township supervisor?” Her tone made it clear what she thought of that honor.

“No. I mean, in theory the township commissioners are responsible for the police, but in actual practice, the police department is autonomous. It wouldn’t be ethical to run it any other way.”

“I don’t mean the police,” Libby said. “I mean you personally. He’s always been jealous of you.”

For a moment he thought he’d heard her wrong. “Why would Jason be jealous of me?” For all his faults, Jason had had what Adam never did…a nice home, a father who put on a clean shirt and went to work every day, a mother who cooked his favorite meals.

“Because Jason was always a bully and a coward, and I don’t suppose that’s changed any. And because everyone knew you were…” She hesitated, as if searching for a word.

“Trouble?” he suggested. “From the wrong side of the tracks, if Springville had been big enough to have tracks?”

“No.” A quick step brought her closer to him. “Honorable. We might not have known the word then, but we knew what it meant.”

She’d taken his breath away, and he hadn’t thought anyone could do that.

He took his time responding, afraid of what his voice might give away. “Jason still likes to throw his weight around, that’s for sure. I still don’t see what his interest was in this particular investigation, though.”

“Neither do I,” she admitted. “But I’ve found out something.”