“Are you going to do it?” He’d seen it so often over the years—the abused woman going back to her abuser. He hoped Hannah had more courage than that. Reece would end up killing her, given the chance.
Her head came up. “I’m not going back. I’m done with abuse.”
Her voice rang with conviction, and Matt actually believed she meant it. He sensed that a backbone of iron ran through Hannah. Sometimes trials did that—hardened a person enough that they could face new adversity. She was tenacious, he ’d say that much for her. She was still here looking for her daughter.
“Good for you,” he said softly. He could drown in those golden brown eyes. Leaning forward, he propped his chin on his hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He was close enough to catch a whiff of her fragrance, a light citrus of some kind, maybe shampoo.
Was it his imagination, or did she move closer by an inch or two? Even as he plucked her hand from the table, he wondered what he was doing. This wasn’t professional, but her vulnerability drew him anyway. When was the last time he even went out with a woman? A year? Two? And he was attracted to so much more than her appearance. She was as tenacious as Ajax after a scent. Her soft eyes only masked a will and determination he couldn’t help but admire.
She let her hand stay in his, though her eyes widened. Maybe she thought he was just offering comfort. And that’s what the gesture was, of course. He didn’t mean anything else by it. He encapsulated her hand in both of his. “If you’re not afraid of Reece, why can’t you sleep?”
“How many foster parents are there in the county?”
“What a question. Lots. I have no idea.”
“Can you find out?”
“Sure. But why?”
“You know the picture I showed you of the child?” She waited until he nodded. “The quilt the little girl is sitting on is one that was stolen the night of the murders.”
He found his voice. “Interesting, but lots of people bought quilts from your mother, didn’t they?”
“Yes, but she ’d just finished this one. I recognize the fabric. It was in the cabinet the day she died.”
“So you’re telling me you think these foster parents had something to do with your family’s murder?” He tried to remember where Caitlin’s quilt had come from. The information would be crucial. It had been a baby gift, and Analise had kept track of that kind of stuff. Could it be in Caitlin’s baby book? But where on earth had he put that?
“It’s possible they at least know the murderer. How else could they get that quilt?”
“Maybe he sold them over eBay. Or sold them to any store. There doesn’t have to be a connection.” What a lame explanation. He was going to have to go home and look for that baby book.
“Maybe.” She chewed on her bottom lip.
“I’ll try to get a list of foster parents and check them out. It might take weeks, though.”
“You’d do that for me?”
He was beginning to think he’d do most anything for her—except turn over his daughter. No wonder Reece was nuts about her. Hannah had a childlike quality mixed in with her beauty. It made a man want to be a hero for her sake. He let go of her hand. If he wasn’t careful, he would be as mixed up as Reece.
He rose. “It’s nearly two. You should get some rest.”
“Of course.” The warmth in her voice faded. The chair scraped on the linoleum as she pushed back from the table and rose.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her. She turned to go, but he reached out and took her arm. “I—I’ll do all I can for you, Hannah.” He was closer than he realized. It would only take one small movement for her to be in his arms. Even though he knew it wasn’t smart, he tugged on her arm. The next moment her head was against his chest, and he was inhaling the sweet scent of her. He ’d been right. The citrus fragrance was in her hair.
Her small, soft form fit in his arms. It had been years since he ’d held a woman. Not since Analise. His wife had always been a little tense, looking around like she was about to move on to the next item in her list. There was a stillness about Hannah that soothed him. He ran a hand over her long hair and the heavy locks caught his fingers.
“What’s going on here?” Luca stood in the stairwell door. His hair was disheveled, and his shirt was only partially tucked into the waistband of his pants.
Hannah jerked away and smoothed her hands over her nightgown. “I just came down for some milk.”
“I thought she was an intruder and tackled her,” Matt said. He knew he sounded lame when Luca’s glower darkened.
“It didn’t look much like a tackle,” Luca said, his tone dry. “I think you’d better get to bed, Hannah.”
“Of course.” Hannah slipped past her cousin, her bare feet pounding up the wooden steps as though she were rushing to escape the devil himself.
Luca said nothing until the bedroom door upstairs shut. “Hannah is vulnerable. Please leave her alone.”
“I’m just here to protect her. And find out who’s targeting all of you and put him behind bars.”
“God exacts justice. It’s not our place.”
“You don’t want him caught?”
“Of course I want Hannah safe. But God will protect her.”
“Sometimes evil prevails, Luca.”
“That, too, is God’s will.”
Such a defeatist attitude annoyed Matt. “Then you think we should never work for justice here on earth?”
“We ’re told to forgive.”
“No matter the offense?”
“Yes. That was Hannah’s biggest fault. She wanted justice. Even as a child she struggled with this.”
“Don’t we all?” It was Matt’s own desire for justice that had led him to law enforcement. “I’m sworn to uphold the law, to put lawbreakers behind bars. I’m not a philosopher.”
“Our beliefs are not about philosophy but about obeying God’s command to forgive. Seventy times seven. No matter what the offense. We forgive those who are too weak to stand against the devil and his wiles. There but for the grace of God go we all.”
Luca had a point there. Matt knew his own weaknesses. “Aren’t you afraid of who is targeting your family?”
“God’s will be done. If it is my time, I’ll go.”
“But your wife, your children.”
Luca grimaced. “It would be hard, but I know God is sovereign. And I accept that. Even pain can be for the glory of God.”
“He’s not going to get to any of you. Especially Hannah.”
“You’re Englisch. You know nothing about the things that matter most to her.”
The jab hurt. “And you do? You’re not acting like it.”
Luca’s color mounted. “I do only what’s best for Hannah’s soul.”
Matt believed him. He could see the man’s earnest love for his cousin. And who was he to say Luca was wrong? Matt now recognized he was beginning to want her for himself. Hannah had an unrest in her, a sadness that might be cured only by returning to the bosom of her family and friends.
Would meeting his mother tomorrow bring rest to Matt’s soul?
WEDNESDAY MORNING. SHE’D been here a week. It seemed longer. From where she sat in the sitting room, Hannah could see her cousins at the kitchen table with Sarah. Their blond heads bent for silent prayer with their small hands clasped together. How often had she done the same around the table with her parents? It was one of the things she missed the most.
The children took their breakfast dishes to the sink and climbed the stools to wash them. Hannah forced herself to stay in the sitting room. Luca had already gone to the greenhouse, and Hannah hoped for a chance to talk to Sarah. Asia was upstairs working on a press release, and this morning would be the perfect time once Naomi and Sharon went outside. She didn’t see Matt anywhere, and after last night’s embarrassment, maybe that was best.
Hours later, she still longed to experience the strength of his arms around her. But look where that had gotten her last time. She needed to k
eep her distance. Besides, she was still married, at least legally. She’d hoped Reece would initiate divorce proceedings when she disappeared, but she should have known better.
The girls finished the dishes, and Hannah heard Sarah tell them to go gather the eggs. Before Sarah could start another chore, Hannah hurried into the kitchen. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Sarah’s glance held a trace of wariness. “Ja, I suppose. I have laundry to do. I am two days late with it, and Luca has no more clothes.”
“Oh, we can talk over laundry. It was always our favorite chore to do together. Remember how we used to throw suds at each other? Mamm was so mad the day we had more suds on us than on the clothes. What were we—thirteen or fourteen?” Hannah had to smile at the memory.
Sarah’s lips twitched, but the smile never reached breaking point. “I cannot accept a favor from you.”
Hannah’s smile vanished. “It’s a favor to me that you would allow me to do my laundry too. I didn’t bring many clothes with me, and most of them are dirty.”
Sarah still looked uncertain, but finally she nodded. “Get your clothes.”
Hannah flew up the steps to gather the laundry. She yearned to see Sarah smile, to resurrect some tiny part of their friendship again. She took Asia’s clothes with hers in a basket she found in the hall closet upstairs. By the time she got to the laundry room, an enclosed back porch, Sarah had already fired up the gas-powered wringer washer.
Hannah dumped the clothes onto the concrete floor and sorted them. Sarah kept glancing at her from under her lashes. She almost looked . . . scared. Hannah wondered if Sarah feared she ’d ask about the missing ring.
The gasoline-powered washer chugged along, stirring up a fresh batch of suds. Before Hannah could talk herself out of it, she plunged her hand into the cold water and scooped up a handful of foam. She flung it onto Sarah’s head, then started back for more. Giggles burst from her at the bewildered expression Sarah wore.
White bubbles dripped down Sarah’s hair onto her forehead, and she wiped them slowly. She didn’t crack a smile, and Hannah became aware of how inappropriate her actions had been. She opened her hand and watched the suds slide back into the washer. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Sarah reached over and grabbed a dish towel lying on the pile of towels. She dabbed at the top of her head.
“Here, I’ll help you.” Hannah took the towel and cleaned the suds from her friend’s head.
Sarah still hadn’t said anything. Maybe she was too shocked. After all, they were a sedate thirty-two years old. Matrons didn’t behave like giddy teenagers about to enter their rumspringa.
Something cold hit her neck and slid down the back of her blouse. She stepped back to find Sarah with the suds still in her hand and a wicked smile on her face. “You suckered me in,” Hannah said. She dove for the washing machine again, and ten minutes later, there was more water on the floor and on each other than in the washer.
“Oh my,” Sarah said, collapsing onto a cane-backed chair in the corner. “I’m glad the children didn’t see their mother acting dumm.”
“It’s not foolish to have fun.” Hannah wiped the suds from her cheeks. She pulled the chair from the other corner over next to Sarah. “I’ve missed you, Sarah.”
“Ja, and that is why you’ve come to visit so often and sent so many letters.” Sarah turned her back and began to run one of Luca’s shirts through the wringer on the washer. She dropped the garment into a basket and reached for another.
“My husband wanted me to break all ties. He thought you’d coax me back. He knew how many times I cried to know I was shunned. And I wanted to please him, to be faithful to him.”
“Yet still, you left him.” Sarah’s voice held censure.
Divorce was not accepted in the Amish community. A woman who left her husband would be shunned. Hannah stared into Sarah’s face. “He beat me, Sarah. He shoved me down the steps on purpose so my baby would die,” she said, her voice hard. “Would you accept that? Just say it’s okay and go on living with him, sharing his bed?”
Sarah bit her lip and looked away from Hannah’s gaze. “It is required by the Meidung to be faithful and respectful to my husband.”
“He would have killed me if I’d stayed, Sarah.” Hannah watched Sarah’s face, but the other woman said nothing.
Hannah hated divorce. Hated that she was separated. In a perfect world, a man cherished his wife and put her above himself. In a perfect world, a man was gentle yet strong toward his wife. In a perfect world, marital strife never happened. Too bad the world wasn’t perfect. Hannah wished she could live in a world like that.
Hannah decided to change the subject. “Mamm had a ring in the keep-sake box. Do you know where it is?”
The sympathy on Sarah’s face vanished. “I don’t know.” She stood and grabbed a towel from the heap on the floor and began to mop up the water left around the floor drain.
The goodwill had fled the room. Sarah’s cheeks were red, but Hannah saw no reason for such agitation over a perfectly reasonable question. The ring had to be here somewhere, and she meant to find it.
nineteen
“The Amish didn’t invent quilts, but they brought
their own unique style to the craft.
Only solid colors in hues worn in clothing are used,
and the bright colors are often paired with black.”
HANNAH SCHWARTZ , ON PBS’s The Art of Quilting
Any trouble over the weekend?” Matt asked Sturgis, who leaned out the window of his car with a cigar clamped in his teeth.
“Quiet both nights,” he said. “Any new leads?” Sturgis had dark circles under his eyes. “The media has been hounding me for news. And there ’s nothing to throw to them to get them off my back.”
Matt nodded. “I brought hard copies of all the data we ’ve collected. I’ll go over it again. I don’t think the family will be in danger during the day. There are too many people coming and going at the greenhouse. I’ll sleep here at night and work the investigation by day.”
“Ah, I see. And Blake?”
“I’m meeting him at the coffee shop to prepare new questions for some of the family. Anything else happening?”
“Another burglary.”
Matt frowned. “Where?”
“John Deere. Some electronics taken, computers, things easily sold for hard cash. The camera didn’t pick up a thing. It looked like it was switched off. But I’ve got detectives looking over the scene for anything we missed on the once-over.”
“The fourth one in three months. He’s getting bolder.” He hesitated, unsure whether he should voice his suspicions. “What if it’s one of us, Captain?”
Sturgis sighed and leaned his head against the window frame. “I haven’t wanted to think about it, but the thought crossed my mind.”
“The guy has to be local. He knows when to slip in and how long to stay before getting away. He knows just how long before the canaries show up.”
“Anyone special you suspect, Detective?”
The things Blake had been buying flashed through his head: a fancy sports car for Gina, a gift to the spa, that five-thousand-dollar ring that prob-ably went to Vanessa. All guilt gifts. Was it possible? He pressed his lips together and shook his head.
“Check it out, Beitler. I run a clean department, and I want it to stay that way. If you suspect anyone specific, I want to know.”
“No one specific,” he muttered. He couldn’t turn Blake in without evidence. As if Matt didn’t have enough to worry about. The captain drove off, and Matt glanced at his watch. He was supposed to meet his mother in an hour. If it really was his mother who had e-mailed him. “Come on, Ajax.” He whistled to the dog lying under the tree with three cats sleeping atop him, but Ajax just lifted his head and briefly looked at him before plopping down again.
“Traitor,” he told the canine. “You’re an insult to dogdom.” Ajax stretched as if to show him just how little his condemnation hurt. “Stay
here, then.” He didn’t think Hannah would need the dog during the day, but just in case, it wouldn’t hurt to let Ajax stay. Just when he’d made the decision to leave the animal, the cats scurried away. Ajax got up and trotted over to stand by the rear door of the SUV expectantly. Matt let him in.
Hannah stepped to the back door of the house just as he climbed behind the wheel. “Is there a McDonald’s around? I’d love an iced coffee—vanilla.”
“Nope, no McDonald’s. But Rockville has a Burger King. They’ve got a pretty good iced mocha. And there ’s a coffee shop in town.”
“Thanks, I’ll check it out.” She disappeared inside again.
He drove to his place in Rockville. He hadn’t been back to the house since Friday. He parked at the street and let Ajax out. The dog chuffed at his feet and whined. “You miss your toys, boy?” Matt unlocked the door and opened it, and stale air rushed out. The dog went inside ahead of him, and by the time Matt shut the door, Ajax had returned with his stuffed cat.
Matt went down the hall to his bedroom and packed a small suitcase of clothing before shucking his jeans and taking a long, hot shower. With his hair still wet, he padded in bare feet and jeans to the living room. Caitlin’s baby book used to be in a drawer in the coffee table. He sat Indian-style on the carpet and pulled everything out of the drawer but didn’t find it. His gaze studied the bookcases behind the sofa. No sign of it.
Caitlin liked to look at pictures of her mother. Maybe she ’d taken it. He got up and went to her room. They’d left in such a hurry he hadn’t made her bed. He straightened the pink ruffled spread and put her shoes in the closet. He glanced around the room but saw only dolls and toys until he got on his hands and knees and looked under the bed.
He pulled out the slim volume that chronicled the advent of his daughter into his life. Sitting with his legs straight out in front of him on the floor and his back against the bed, he began to flip through the pages. Ajax flopped down beside him and put his head in his lap.
“I miss Caitlin too, boy,” Matt said. “Look, here’s her first picture with you.” The photo showed Caitlin two days after they got her. Her tiny face was screwed up as Ajax licked her cheek. His muzzle had been pure black then instead of laced with gray like now. “She loved you right from the start.”