MICHAEL STAGGERED AS Guy gave him a none-too-gentle shove into the backseat. The doors slammed, and he took a quick look back for Allie. She still stood with Daad, and he had pulled her and Ruthie to his side in a protective gesture. But the face he turned toward Michael was implacable.
So much for any hope he might have had for reconciliation. Now that it had been snatched away, he realized he had been hoping...actually wanting to find his place in the family again. He’d never know what Daad had been going to say.
The police car moved past silent groups of Amish, all looking at it...at him...with solemn expressions. Except for Cathy, who looked stricken. She caught his eye and made a pitiful attempt at a smile. Then they were gone, swinging out onto the main road and heading for town.
Michael forced himself to focus on the men in the front seat. Not Guy—he fancied himself a big deal, but it was the Harrisburg detective who called the shots in this situation.
“What is it you want from me, Detective Moreland?” He kept his voice even. Aggressiveness wouldn’t pay.
“We just have a few questions to go over with you, Mr. Forster.” Moreland’s gaze met his in the rearview mirror and flickered away.
“I can’t imagine there’s anything you haven’t asked me at least a dozen times.”
Guy moved slightly, as if he wanted to speak, but a glance at the detective kept him silent.
Michael leaned back, folding his arms. “I’m here. Go ahead and ask me.”
“We’ll wait until we have a little privacy.”
“Privacy?” Anger threatened to overpower him. “Your method of setting up a talk wasn’t very private.” Bad enough in front of the people who trusted him—worse in front of half the church, to say nothing of his father.
He caught a quick, sidelong look from Moreland that wasn’t hard to interpret. He’d make a guess that coming to the school had been Guy’s idea.
The anger surged again, but he was prepared for it this time. He wouldn’t let it take over. Doing so just gave credence to the idea that he was a man who’d let emotion turn to violence.
As he’d assumed, they were headed to the police station. He got out as soon as the door was unlocked, walking ahead of them up the three steps to the entrance.
Chief Jamison was waiting, his face expressionless. He opened the door to his office and gestured them in, but when Guy attempted to follow, he shook his head.
Balked of his obvious desire to participate, Guy moved away from the door, but not far.
Jamison closed the door firmly and headed for his chair. Now it was the detective’s turn to shake his head.
“There’s no need for you to sit in, Chief Jamison.”
“My jurisdiction,” he said. “My office.” He sat down behind the desk.
“Certainly, if you have time.” Moreland covered his reaction smoothly. “Sit down, Mr. Forster.” He indicated a seat to Michael, but then sat on the edge of the desk so that he loomed over him.
Michael sat, planted his feet firmly and crossed his arms again. He vaguely remembered his attorney advising against that position, saying it implied a negative attitude. If so, then it implied just what he was feeling.
He met Moreland’s gaze, not blinking. Moreland had wanted this. Let him do the talking.
“Let’s just go over again what happened on the day your wife died.” Moreland’s tone was casual. He looked at Michael expectantly.
Michael answered with a frown. “We’ve already been over every minute of that day. If you have something new to ask me, ask. If not, let’s not waste each other’s time.”
“I’m in no hurry. Humor me. For instance, when did you tell your wife you were coming over that evening?”
Michael stared at him. Moreland knew better than that. Did he think Michael’s answer would have changed?
“She didn’t. I didn’t tell her.”
“Why not?” He shot the question.
Shrugging, Michael forced himself to go back. “It seemed to me she was avoiding setting a time for us to discuss the separation. I figured if I just dropped by, I’d stand a better chance of seeing her.”
“Sure you didn’t call her? How about a quick text, just to be sure she’d be home?”
“No.”
“Didn’t run into a neighbor and mention it?”
Michael’s frown deepened. Why the emphasis on this? “No. There was no occasion for me to see any of the neighbors. It was a workday. I was on the job all day, then I showered, grabbed something to eat and went over.”
“You went over. And then what? How did you get in?”
“She’d changed the locks.” That still rankled after all this time. “I got a screwdriver from the car and popped the lock on the garage door.”
“Carried the screwdriver in with you, I suppose.”
Michael stared at him. “No. Why would I? I put it down on the walk, thinking I’d pick it up when I left.”
“Tell me what happened after you stepped inside.”
“I’ve already told you.” He didn’t want to relive it again. It never got any easier.
“Tell me again. Everything you did.”
He sucked in a steadying breath, grasping the edges of the chair with his fingers, and began. He went through every moment, every action and almost every thought. When he’d finished, his palms were wet against the wooden edges of the chair.
“I see.” Moreland was unaffected, his face revealing nothing. “Let’s go over it again.”
“No.”
The detective stared at him for a moment. “If you’re as innocent as you claim, Mr. Forster, I’d think you’d want to cooperate with us.”
“Cooperate? After you burst into a gathering of families and kids at the school and haul me off in a squad car? I’ve cooperated as much as—”
“Hold on.” Chief Jamison stood, his square face reddening, his jaw tight. “A word with you, Detective.” He nodded toward the door.
Moreland rose slowly. “What’s the problem?” Resentment tinged his voice.
“Outside.” Jamison could be intimidating in his own way. The Harrisburg cop met his steely gaze for another moment and then nodded.
Left alone, Michael tried to assess what had just happened. Something had lit a fuse under the chief, that was evident. He could hear the murmur of voices from the other side of the door. Then came something he could hear.
“Smethers!” The chief’s bellow could carry to the next building. “Get over here.”
Guy’s answering footsteps sounded reluctant. He said something Michael couldn’t hear.
“You’re telling me you took this officer to the workday at the Amish school? I said to drive him to the house to talk to Michael. Not to burst into an Amish gathering. You have any sense in that head of yours? You know how I worked to gain the trust of those people? You think our good relationship comes easy?”
Guy and the Harrisburg cop both seemed to be protesting at the same time.
“Enough.” A hand slapped the wall. “Smethers, get out on patrol. I’ll figure out what to do with you later. Detective Moreland, I think we’re finished here.”
“I’m not done questioning...” Moreland had raised his voice, but the chief ran right over him.
“I said I’d cooperate. I have. In my town, I decide when you’re done.”
A few more murmurs ensued, and footsteps retreated toward the outer office. Michael sat, waiting, wondering.
About the time he thought they’d forgotten about him, Chief Jamison came back in. “Sorry for the wait. Come on—I’ll drive you home.”
He’d refuse, but he wanted to get back to Allie as quickly as possible. At least he was going home. He followed the chief out to the police car. This time he was ushered into the front seat.
“Sorry about what happened at the school.” Jamison started the car and made a U-turn, narrowly avoiding pickups coming from both directions. “It shouldn’t have. I’ll be calling on the school board to deliver my apologies in person.”
“Thanks.”
He wasn’t going to say it hadn’t mattered, because it had. More than Jamison could know. But there was no undoing it. Still, as long as the man was in a conciliatory mood, maybe he’d be willing to open up.
“Would I be right in thinking something prompted Harrisburg to send someone up here?” He held his breath, half expecting to be slammed down by an official answer.
Jamison stared at the street ahead for a long moment. Then his face cleared. “Let’s say in general terms that wouldn’t be likely to happen without something new having come up.”
“He didn’t ask me anything new,” Michael observed.
“No. Well, again, in general terms you understand, I’d guess that either someone started pushing for action or they got a tip they thought was worth investigating. Or both.”
He suspected he wasn’t going to get anything more, but it was certainly enough to make him think. Either way, it meant that someone other than the police was behind this new interest in him.
Did that someone know anything? Or just want to cause trouble? Maybe he should see this as a positive step. If the police would stop focusing on him, they might be able to find the person who’d taken Diana’s life. No matter how bad their relationship was, he needed to see justice done, for Diana’s sake as well as for his daughter’s. Allie ought to be able to think of her mother without wondering and uncertainty.
Either way, it seemed living here quietly and keeping his head down wasn’t a viable option. He’d been kidding himself to think the past was over.
CATHY HAD BEEN shaken beyond anything she might have imagined when the police car drove off with Michael in the back. What did this mean? She hadn’t been near enough to hear what the men had said to Michael. One had been a familiar figure—Patrolman Smethers, who’d hassled Michael at the school. The other was a stranger.
She had to force herself to swallow, to breathe normally and to compose her face. Allie might need her. She should check on Allie.
The two girls still stood next to Michael’s father. Josiah had squatted down and was talking to them in a low voice. She hurried toward them, registering gratitude that Josiah seemed to be handling the situation well, at least where the children were concerned. What this would do to Sarah’s hopes of getting her father and brother back together, Cathy couldn’t imagine.
Before she could reach them, Verna got there, sweeping Allie up in a hug.
“It’s all right,” she was saying when Cathy reached them. “Daadi will be home soon.”
Josiah made an involuntary movement, as if he had doubts, and Verna impaled him with a glare. “Yah,” he said, patting Allie’s back with an awkward gesture. “He will. And you and Ruthie can come to the farm soon to see me. The barn cat has some new kittens you can play with.”
“That will be fun, won’t it, Allie?” Ruthie seemed aware that something was wrong, even if she didn’t know what, and she was trying to make it better. “Maybe we can name them. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Allie responded with a nod, but her face was closed, as if she’d locked and barred her real self to keep trouble away. From what she’d heard, Allie had been at the home of Michael’s friend the night her mother died. What would people have told her? How could anyone explain that in a way that wouldn’t leave overwhelming pain behind? Cathy’s heart ripped a little, and her throat grew tight.
“Denke, Ruthie.” She managed a smile. “It sounds like fun. You and Allie can look forward to that.”
Verna exchanged glances with her. “I think it’s best if Allie and I go home now. When they... When he gets a ride back, he’ll go there, most likely.”
Cathy nodded. “Is there anything I can do for you?” It was hard to feel so helpless when people you cared about were in trouble.
“Nothing.” Verna glanced at Josiah, then down at Allie, as if thinking that at least one good thing had come out of this day. Holding Allie’s hand, Verna headed toward her buggy. Lige was already harnessing up the mare, apparently assuming she’d want to go home.
Of course, she was right. She couldn’t imagine Michael walking back into the work party after having been taken away by the police. A wave of anger burned through her. Surely, whatever the police wanted, they could have waited. They hadn’t had to come here for him—he’d have been home in another hour.
The fact that they’d burst in on the work party looked like malice on someone’s part. Usually Chief Jamison bent over backward to avoid problems with the community’s Amish, something they appreciated. As a result, the Leit were more likely to go to the police in case of trouble than they would be in some places.
Josiah was still watching Allie and Verna walk toward the buggy when Sarah reached them. Her face was clouded, and she looked as if she held back tears. She looked at her father over the head of her small daughter.
“Daad, I—”
Josiah cut her off with a shake of his head. “No need to talk. You meant it for the best.”
Sarah blinked several times. “Yah. I did.”
Anything more she wanted to say could probably be said better without an audience. Cathy slipped away, trusting others would have sense enough not to butt in on them.
Maybe so, but she hadn’t gotten more than halfway to the school building before Lizzie Stoltzfus grabbed her arm. “Disgraceful. Having the police interrupting our work frolic. I never heard of the like. You should have done something.”
Suppressing the desire to ask what she or anyone else could have done, she just shook her head. “I have to check on something. Excuse me.”
But Lizzie had a firm grip on her sleeve. “You must—”
Whatever Lizzie thought she must do, she wasn’t destined to hear it. Someone grasped her other arm and turned her around. Joanna, of course. She smiled firmly at Lizzie even as she gently pushed Cathy toward Rachel Hurst, the other member of their little group of singles.
“Lizzie, you’re just the person I wanted to see.” Joanna was sweeping the woman away from Cathy with her usual brisk determination. “Come, we have to talk. I need your advice.”
Rachel put a comforting arm around Cathy as she led her away. “We thought you needed rescuing.” Her voice was as comforting as her warm hug. “Komm inside. I think there’s some coffee left in the urn.”
Fortunately Rachel didn’t seem to expect her to say anything sensible, because her throat was tight and her mind a jumble of hopes and dread. Cathy gave a sigh of relief when the schoolroom door closed behind her.
She tried to speak, but discovered that her voice was too unsteady to trust. Rachel didn’t bother to speak, she just put her arms around Cathy in a warm hug.
“It will be all right,” she murmured eventually. “You’re not to worry. Nothing will happen to him.”
Cathy drew back, mopping her eyes. “How did you know?”
Rachel shook her head. “Do you really think you could love someone without Joanna and me seeing it?”
Pressing her hands against her cheeks, Cathy longed to sink into the floor. “I’m not... I mean...”
“Yah, you are.” Rachel patted her arm with a gentle touch. “It’s all right. No one else knows. Your secrets are always safe with us, ain’t so?”
Cathy nodded, her tension easing. If Joanna had been the leader and spokesperson of their little group, Rachel had always been the heart. She seemed born for the role of comforter, stepping in to mother her younger siblings when their mother passed away, always patient, always caring, even as her own life passed her by.
Sinking down on a desk, Cathy felt herself begin to think rationally. “There must be something I can do,” she murmured.
“What?” Rachel said, her tone practical. “Verna is taking care of the little girl. As for the police...well, that’s out of everyone’s hands.”
“True. I’m being foolish. There isn’t anything I can do except get on with the workday.”
“They are doing fine without you. Just stay here for a bit. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”
“I don’t need coffee.”
“No. But you need a reason not to go out and get caught by Lizzie Stoltzfus or someone equally talkative.” Rachel sugared the coffee and handed it to her. “This is a fine excuse.”
She wasn’t so sure, but the coffee, still hot from the insulated carafe, warmed her all the way down.
There’s nothing you can do, she repeated to herself. Maybe, eventually, Verna would send word that Michael was safe at home again. She couldn’t very well pester the police with questions about their actions.
Did this mean they had something new against Michael? Her fingers closed around the cup, seeking warmth. She didn’t know, and she couldn’t ask. She didn’t have the right to do anything where Michael was concerned. Except love him.
CATHY KEPT HERSELF busy inside the school as much as she could while the volunteers finished their work, afraid if she heard people talking about the police taking Michael away, she’d be unable to control her feelings. When she heard people begin to leave, she went back outside, knowing she needed to be there to show her gratitude.
It had been a shock to learn that Joanna and Rachel had guessed. She’d hardly spoken with them in the past week, but that didn’t seem to matter. Would she be as insightful if it were one of them? She hoped so, but she wasn’t sure. Still, it had been a relief to have someone know and sympathize. Rachel hadn’t even bothered to point out the problems involved in caring for someone who was no longer Amish. She’d just expressed caring, and that had been enough.
Sarah, chasing her daughter toward the family buggy, paused for a word with her. Sarah’s face was drawn with anxiety, even as she tried to smile. “I wish we’d hear something,” she murmured. “Surely they won’t keep him long.”
She felt more helpless than usual in the face of Sarah’s pain.
“I hope not. I can’t understand why they’d do such a thing. I’d think after all this time, the police would have moved on.”
She said it having no idea whether it was reasonable or not. Her limited exposure to the justice system was a disadvantage right now.
“Just when I thought...” Sarah didn’t finish, but Cathy knew what she’d thought—or maybe hoped would be a better word.
“How is your father?” The quick glance she’d dared to take at Josiah’s face hadn’t been encouraging.
“Not talking.” Sarah grimaced. “Ach, I’m nearly forgetting. Aunt Verna asked if you’d stop at the house on your way home.”
“Yah, of course. Did she say why?”
“She’s worried about Allie, that’s for sure. You’re so gut with her. Maybe you can help.”
“I’ll do anything I can.” That was an easy promise to make, but she suspected only her father’s reappearance would really help Allie now.
“Gut.” Sarah squeezed her hand in a quick farewell. “I must go. Call me the minute you know anything. I’ll be haunting the phone shanty until I know what’s happening.”
Cathy nodded, watching until their buggy was out of sight. In a few minutes everyone had gone, and the school yard carried its usual atmosphere of Saturday peace. She checked that the doors were locked, and headed for the path that led home.
The walk was so familiar she could do it with her eyes closed. Still, she’d never done it while carrying such a load of pain and helplessness.
How had she come to let herself love Michael? She knew perfectly well a future with him was impossible. He didn’t return her feelings. He might never be able to contemplate marrying anybody after what had happened to him. And if he did, it wouldn’t be to someone for whom he’d have to turn back to the Amish life he’d run away from.
Hopeless. But the feeling was like nothing she’d ever experienced before—so powerful it swept everything else ahead of it. All she could do was try to keep anyone else from knowing what she felt, including Michael himself.
She emerged from the patch of woods, and the cutoff to Verna’s house was ahead of her. Cathy paused for a moment, murmuring a silent hope for guidance in dealing with Allie. Then she strode toward the collection of greenhouses and the house, telling herself that Michael would be there, the worry ended.
But as soon as Cathy entered the house, she knew that hope was futile. Verna’s face fell when she saw who it was. Allie, seated at the kitchen table with paper and crayons, took one look and went back to her drawing, pressing the crayon furiously against the paper.
One look was enough to tell her that Allie had retreated again—her face blank, her defenses up against intruders. Cathy’s heart twisted. She and Verna exchanged a silent message, and Cathy pulled out the chair and sat down next to Allie.
Instinct told her a question wouldn’t get any answer. “I like that picture of a barn. It looks very real.” Nothing. “Drawing is a good way to fill the time until Daadi gets home. Then you can show him your picture.”
Allie didn’t speak, but her hand stopped its movement. Then she picked up a yellow crayon and made a few strokes. She hesitated.
“Can you show me how to draw a kitten?” Her voice was tightly controlled, but at least she spoke. The relief that washed over Verna’s face was probably reflected on her own.
“Let’s see if we can do it together,” she suggested, picking up an orange crayon. “If a kitty is sitting, its back makes a curve, like so. And if it’s looking at you, its face is sort of like a triangle pointing down, only more rounded, ain’t so?”
Allie nodded, painstakingly copying Cathy’s movements. Cathy watched her, smiling. “And what about whiskers?”
“Yah, whiskers.” Allie drew them in, concentrating, the tip of her tongue peeking through her lips.
That was better—at least Allie was focusing on something she could do, instead of worrying about things she couldn’t control. They could all stand to learn that lesson.
Before she had time to put that into practice, Cathy heard the sound of a car pulling up and moved quickly to the window.
“It’s Daadi,” she said, and Allie’s face lit up. She slid off the chair, grasping her picture.
Cathy watched as Michael stepped out of the police car. He bent over to say something to Chief Jamison. It looked as if they were on good terms, and her tension eased. In another moment he was coming in, to be met by Allie rushing to him.
He picked her up, holding her close. Their faces were next to one another, and he murmured something, so softly no one else could hear. Cathy found she was blinking back tears.
Michael straightened again after setting Allie on her feet. “Everything’s okay,” he said, glancing from Verna to her. “No problems.”
Whether Verna believed that or not, Cathy couldn’t tell, but she certainly didn’t. Michael might try to hide it, but she could read the tension and anger that rode him.
She could do nothing about it. Forcing a smile, she crossed the room. “I’m glad you’re back. I was keeping Allie company, but I’d better be going.”
“Wait a second. I’ll walk out with you.” He bent to touch Allie’s cheek lightly. “I’ll come right back. Did you save any cookies for me?”
Cathy was already out the door, so she didn’t hear the child’s reply. He ought to stay with Allie. Cathy was having too much difficulty controlling the complex feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. It would be easier without him.
She hurried her steps, but he caught up with her before she reached the greenhouse. “Hold up, Cathy. You don’t need to rush off.”
Averting her gaze, she sought for a reasonable answer. “Allie needs your attention right now. And you should call Sarah. She was worried, and she’ll be waiting for a call.”
“Right.” He touched her arm lightly. “Sorry all of you were worried. I didn’t have much choice.” He sounded puzzled, probably at her reaction.
“I know. But when they put you in the police car...” Her voice ran out, thank goodness. She was betraying herself with every word.
“I’m sorry. Sorry for all of it.” Anger threaded his voice, but she knew it wasn’t directed at her. “I’ve done nothing but cause trouble for people since I got here.”
“That’s not true, and you know it. This is your home.”
His face twisted. “I doubt that everyone would agree to that. Especially after today.”
Lying to him would do no good, even if she wanted to do so. “I’m sure it’s given folks something to talk about. But you’re here, aren’t you? It can’t have been anything too serious, can it?”
“Serious enough.” He released her arm and shoved his hand through his hair. “That was the detective from Harrisburg who investigated Diana’s death.”
“What did he want? He surely doesn’t have any authority here, does he?”
Michael shrugged. “I guess if he asked for Chief Jamison’s cooperation, he had to give it. But I’d say it was grudging. And the chief was furious when he found out they’d come to the school.”
“It didn’t seem like something he would do. But what did the man want? I thought...”
“What? That Diana’s death was in the past? It’ll never be in the past until they find out who killed her.”
“They won’t find out by harassing you,” she retorted.
That brought a slight easing of the tension on his face. “I’m glad you think so.”
She was frowning, trying to reason it out. “That detective—he must have some reason for coming here now.”
“He didn’t tell me—just went over the same ground again. But the chief did say...”
“What? I won’t repeat it.”
“No, I know you won’t.” His quick smile nearly undid her. “Chief Jamison seems to think that either they got an anonymous tip that pointed to me, or that someone was pushing them to act.”
“The private investigator,” she said instantly.
“Right. Someone hired him. Someone who thinks I’m guilty.” He made a quick, angry gesture. “The first time around, I was so numb I couldn’t believe it was happening. It was all I could do to answer questions, let alone think through it. Now...now I’m thinking. And I’m angry, not numb.”
“In this case, angry is probably better than numb.”
“Yah. It has to be Diana’s family. Who else would hire an investigator?”
She nodded, seeing no other possibilities. The person who’d killed Diana might want suspicion pointed at Michael, but surely not to the extent of hiring an investigator who could manufacture that truth.
The grim look on Michael’s face alarmed her. “What are you going to do?”
“That’s what I’ve been asking myself since I saw that police car. I’m past the point of being numb, and running away won’t help any. So I guess it’s time I fight back.”