Her Amish Protectors. Janice Johnson Kay
Читать онлайн книгу.
Even if one of those neighbors had been looking out the window, they couldn’t have seen anything.”
“Unless he was using a flashlight.”
“Yes, but that wouldn’t tell you anything.”
He did the neutral cop expression well, but she was already shaking her head.
“That’s not true. It would...corroborate my story, wouldn’t it? Isn’t that the word police always use?”
“It is, and yes, it would.” No discernible emotion there.
Nadia would have liked to resent his suspicion, his ability to shift from cool questions to compassion and back again. Maybe he’d held her hand because he was basically a nice man who really had felt for her. More likely, he’d been trying to make her believe they had a connection. Which was deceitful, but...he was doing his job. She couldn’t dislike him for that.
He went back to his seat, and they looked at each other, him appraising her, Nadia gazing coolly back.
Finally she asked, “What should I do now?”
He hesitated. “I think you need to start letting your committee members know what happened. I’ll be talking to them, too. One of them may have noticed someone expressing unexpected curiosity about the event, or someone hanging around who shouldn’t have been there.” He paused. “Do you have a list of attendees?”
“I can pull up a report from the software on people who preregistered and the walk-ins who made a purchase.” She closed her eyes. “I need to let them know, too, don’t I?”
“Certainly the ones who wrote checks or paid by credit card. They’ll need to put stops on those payments. I’m guessing most of them will then make a new payment, so you won’t be out the entire amount.” The lines in his forehead deepened. “Ask them to let us know if their card number is run or their check already cashed, too.”
“Isn’t that awfully hard to do?”
“You mean the checks? Yeah, it’s tougher than it used to be,” he agreed. “I doubt that will happen. Credit card numbers...you know what a big business stealing those has turned into. Even so, my suspicion is that the thief was solely after the cash.”
As much as two-thirds of the money so many people had worked hard to raise for victims who needed it desperately.
Well, the only cowardly thing she’d done in her life was pack up and set out across country to start over. She wouldn’t add another now. Shower, she told herself, get dressed and begin.
Slater asked if there had been walk-ins who hadn’t made a purchase, and she could only say, “I assume so, but I have no way of knowing. Also...most people came in pairs.” Spouses were one thing, but some bidders had probably brought a friend instead.
He gave her his email address so that she could send him a list of attendees and the contact info. Even then, he wasn’t done. He asked if she’d changed the locks since buying the building—no—and suggested she have it done immediately.
He gave her one last penetrating look with those disconcertingly dark eyes and said, “Think, Ms. Markovic. This wasn’t a stranger. He or she had to know not only who had the money, but how to get into your apartment without making a sound. He could have had a penlight—probably did—but it’s also possible our thief already knew the layout.”
He also asked her to walk him to the foot of the stairs and lock behind him. Which, like replacing the locks, was closing the barn door after the horses were out... Except, what if last night’s intruder had been thinking about her, and decided to come back?
Alone, Nadia scuttled upstairs to an apartment that no longer felt like a refuge.
NADIA HAD BEEN to the Bairds’ house several times, because Julie had hosted some auction committee planning sessions. Sprawling and open, it was the fanciest house in town except possibly for a couple of the huge nineteenth-century mansions. The interior was light and airy, the colors all pastels. Nadia had noticed before that Julie only purchased quilts in soft colors. She was currently taking a beginner-level class, having decided to take up quilting herself, and—no surprise—she’d chosen a creamy yellow fabric as centerpiece, to be accented with paler creams and delicate pinks.
Not much older than Nadia’s thirty-two, Julie was an attractive, slender woman with a shining cap of blond hair. Nadia had wondered if she went to a salon in St. Louis or Kansas City. No other women around here had hair as skillfully cut.
Leading Nadia to the living room, Julie said, “I’ll have Mary bring us iced tea. Or would you prefer lemonade?” Mary Gingerich was a young Amish woman who kept the house spotless and served as maid when Julie had guests.
“Oh, thank you, but no. I can only stay a minute,” Nadia said, smiling apologetically. The smile probably looked as forced as it felt. “I...have something I need to tell you.”
Looking concerned, Julie faced her. “What is it?”
Nadia blurted it out, just as she had half an hour ago to Katie-Ann. “The money from last night was stolen.”
Julie stared, comprehension coming slowly. “What?” She gave her head a small shake. “How?”
Fingernails biting into her palms, Nadia told her.
“You’ve informed the police.”
“Yes, of course. I called 911 as soon as I discovered the money box was gone. Sheriff Slater seems to be taking charge of the investigation himself.”
“And what does he say?” Julie sounded...cool. She hadn’t suggested Nadia sit down.
“He’ll be talking to everyone working on the auction. I’m sure you’ll hear from him. He’s interested in who might have been hanging around without an obvious reason, and whether anyone was asking questions about the evening’s proceeds.”
Her perfectly arched eyebrows rose. “You mean, about who was taking charge of the money?”
“Yes, or seeming curious about how much of it was cash versus checks and credit card slips.”
“I see.” The pause was a little too long. “I don’t really know what to say. I’m certainly...shocked.”
And she wasn’t going to be supportive, Nadia could tell that already. “I’m devastated,” Nadia said frankly. “I don’t know what I can do other than help Chief Slater to the best of my ability.”
“Perhaps you should consider making some financial recompense,” Julie said, her voice having chilled even more.
“Julie, I’m a small-business owner. I have no cushion that would allow me to do anything like that.” Feeling the burn in her cheeks, Nadia said, “I must be going. I need to tell everyone who was on the committee what happened in person.”
“I appreciate you doing that. I’ll walk you to the door.”
In other words, if she didn’t hustle, the door would slap her in the butt. She had no doubt that the moment she was gone Julie would start calling everyone but the Amish volunteers, who didn’t have telephones. Nadia thought of asking her to wait, but keeping herself together was a strain already. She said, “Goodbye,” without adding her usual, See you Wednesday for the class. Somehow, she felt sure Julie Baird would have an excuse for dropping out. Or she might not even bother with one.
Nadia drove half a mile from the Baird home, which was on landscaped acreage on the outskirts of Byrum, before she pulled over, set the emergency brake and closed her eyes. She had known—feared—that some people might react like that, but Katie-Ann’s warmth and sympathy had given her hope that these women she had started to think were friends would believe in her. She wanted to go home, climb into bed and pull the covers over her