When Secrets Strike. Marta Perry
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barn roof collapsed with a roar and a shower of embers, and for a few minutes the scene reminded Sarah of an angry beehive as the volunteers fought to extinguish the flying sparks.
Miriam caught her hand, and Sarah realized the woman was watching her husband. Ben leaned on his shovel, coughing, but a moment later he’d straightened and was back at work.
Finally the barn was nothing more than a sullen black heap, still sending smoke and fumes into the air. In twos and threes the firefighters began drifting over to the table, and Sarah and Miriam were suddenly busy pouring out drinks.
“Sarah?” The sound of her name had her turning.
Mac Whiting, Laurel Ridge’s police chief, stood behind her, pulling a notebook from his pocket. He looked very official in his blue uniform with a weapon at his hip, and only the fact that she’d known him since childhood kept her from retreating into the usual Amish reticence when confronted with Englisch officials.
“Some coffee, Mac?”
He shook his head. “Save it for the guys who did all the work.” He snapped his pen. “I understand you called in the fire.”
“I was on my way to town. To the shop,” she added, although Mac would know that well enough. “I saw the smoke before I came around the bend, and then I saw the flames. In the back, the fire was, then,” she said, pointing.
“So you went over to Ben and Miriam’s to call?” He jotted the information down, though what good it would do anyone, she didn’t know.
“Ja. But I checked first to see if Gus was here. I pounded on the cottage door. No answer, but I was afraid he was asleep, maybe.”
Mac grinned. “That’s a diplomatic way of putting it. I take it you didn’t see him.”
“The door wasn’t locked, so I checked inside, but the cottage was empty. Then I feared he might be in the barn.” Sarah seemed to feel the heat on her face again. “I looked, but no—”
“You never go near a burning building!” Aaron King was suddenly at her side, looking as if he’d like to shake her. “Ach, Sarah, whatever were you thinking?”
His obvious concern warmed Sarah’s heart despite the fact that he was looking at her as if she were an erring child.
“I was thinking same as you would have,” she said, her voice tart. “If someone was lying there in danger, I couldn’t just go away. And don’t go telling me I shouldn’t have, because I had to.”
Aaron’s hand closed around her wrist for an instant, and her breath caught. Then he let go, shaking his head, his brown eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. “You always were a stubborn one, Sarah Bitler. Quiet, but stubborn.”
Too quiet, she couldn’t help thinking. If she’d given him even a hint of what she felt, all those years ago, would it have made a difference?
“It’s just as well she looked, or we’d have thought there was a body in there.” Mac sounded practical. “We might have known Gus wouldn’t be anywhere around when there was trouble.”
That seemed to be the unanimous opinion of Gus.
“Julia Everly is going to be so upset.” Sarah pictured the tart-tongued elderly woman. “She never would let go of this property, because her husband used to love coming out here. And now that she’s laid herself up with a broken leg, she’ll really be fretting.”
“You mean she’ll be calling me every five minutes to find out what progress I’m making,” Mac said.
Sarah looked at him blankly. “Calling you? Why?”
“I’m the local fire marshal, remember? I’m supposed to have answers.”
“Ja, but what could you do?” she asked. “The firefighters did their best. At least they kept the blaze from spreading. As dry as it’s been, it’s lucky the woods didn’t catch.”
“It’s not about that.” Mac frowned. “Look around you, Sarah. There’s not a cloud in the sky. No lightning to set it off. Nothing combustible stored in the barn. No electricity, even. So how did the barn catch fire to begin with?”
Arson. She felt Aaron stiffen next to her. The word didn’t have to be said aloud to chill the blood.
* * *
SARAH FINALLY MADE it to town by early afternoon. Instead of heading straight for the quilt shop, she drove the buggy down a quiet residential street. Her business partner, Allison Standish, would have things in hand at the shop, and Sarah felt compelled to visit Julia Everly. The elderly woman would certain sure be upset by the fire.
After tying the mare to a convenient porch railing at the modern ranch-style house, Sarah walked to the front door, mentally rehearsing soothing words. Julia was normally the feistiest of eightysomething women, but being confined to a chair by a heavy cast on her leg had taken some of the starch out of her. Sarah had stopped by the previous week, bringing an apple crumb pie her mamm had made, and had found Julia surprisingly subdued.
The door opened almost before Sarah had touched the doorbell. “Oh. It’s you, Sarah.” Donna Edwards, a distant cousin of Julia’s who made sporadic efforts to look after her, gave the impression that a welcoming smile was too much effort. “I was just trying to get my cousin to take a little nap in her chair. I don’t think company is a good idea right now.”
“I don’t want to disturb her, but I thought she’d want to see me.” If anything, Sarah would think Julia needed more company, not less.
Donna looked at her blankly, her thin face registering nothing other than a rather peevish attitude, apparently toward being interrupted. She reminded Sarah irresistibly of one of her mother’s irascible hens.
“I was the one who discovered the fire,” Sarah explained patiently. “I understood someone notified her, but—”
“Yes, of course.” Donna’s expression relaxed, and she fingered the glass beads that dangled over one of the frilly blouses she always wore. “You must think I’m half-asleep. Chief Whiting came by to let Julia know a while ago. I just didn’t realize you were the one who’d found the fire.”
Sarah nodded. “I spotted it on my way in to work this morning.” She had a feeling she’d get tired of saying those words.
Donna glanced back over her shoulder toward the archway into the living room. “I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you, but maybe later would be better. I don’t want her upset any further.”
Donna’s air of authority was mildly annoying. Still, Sarah supposed she meant it for the best. “Well, just let her know I stopped by, and—”
“Donna? Who are you talking to? Why don’t they come in? You can’t expect me to get up and fight with this walker every time the doorbell rings.” The voice came from the living room in a subdued bellow.
Sarah grinned. That sounded much more like Julia. “It’s Sarah Bitler,” she called.
“Well, come in. Why are you standing on the doorstep?”
Donna shrugged, rolling her eyes as she stepped back. “Try not to let her get upset,” she muttered. “I thought I’d never get her settled down after that policeman left.”
Nodding, Sarah went past her into the comfortable living room. Julia, unlike most of Laurel Ridge’s wealthier residents, didn’t live in one of the town’s classic Victorian houses. After her husband’s death she’d sold the place she’d always referred to as a mausoleum, and bought this small, convenient one-story rancher.
The living room was designed for comfort, rather than fashion, with a pair of recliners on either side of a fireplace, a welcoming love seat and built-in bookshelves that were filled primarily with bright paperbacks. A large-screen television sat at an angle to face one of the recliners, and as Sarah entered, Julia reached out to mute the game show she was watching.