Her Amish Protectors. Janice Kay Johnson
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“Yeah, he was pretty upset when Mrs. Jefferson died, too.”
“He told me he recommended she replace the lock on the apartment door, but she didn’t want to be bothered with two different keys.”
Ben nodded. “Jim felt guilty that he hadn’t insisted.”
“Wait.” She gaped at him. “Do you actually think someone killed her? That she didn’t just fall down the stairs?”
“I’m sure she was pushed,” he said grimly.
“But...how can you know?”
“Because her head hit the wall a lot higher than it could have if she’d fallen. We found blood and hair in the dent. It took some real force to launch her up instead of down. The ME agrees, too. People who fall bump down the stairs, but her injuries are consistent with the greater force theory.”
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
He kept a snapshot of Edith Jefferson’s body, just as he did one of every other crime victim he’d seen. Crumpled at the foot of the stairs, Edith had appeared shockingly tiny and hideously damaged.
He tried to shake off the picture. “It happened long before you came to town. What happened to her was personal. It had nothing to do with you.”
“No, I know, but...” She shivered. “Even if she’d changed that lock, it might not have made any difference.”
“It might not have,” he agreed. It stuck in his craw that he hadn’t been able to make an arrest. Nothing had been stolen. Nobody seemed to have both motive to kill the old woman and opportunity. He hadn’t closed the case, though, and wouldn’t. He hoped like hell this current investigation didn’t end up in a similar limbo. So far, it wasn’t looking good. “So, how’d your day go?” he asked.
She told him, but he had a feeling this was the condensed version, too. Her face was pinched, her luminous eyes clouded. It was especially disturbing because he’d seen her glowing on the stage last night as she thanked everyone. The contrast was painful.
She might have taken the money, he reminded himself, but couldn’t quite believe it. Okay, didn’t want to believe it.
He threw out names of people he had been told were there last night. Turned out several were playing a behind-the-scenes role or had good reason to be attending. A couple of the names had her shaking her head.
“I don’t know any of them. Or, if I’ve met them, I didn’t catch their names.”
She didn’t invite him up to her apartment, and since he hadn’t come up with anything else to ask her, Ben finally said, “I’ll bet you haven’t eaten today.”
Expression mulish, she retorted, “You made me have breakfast, remember?”
“A croissant. Did you stop for lunch?”
Her lips compressed.
“You may not feel like eating,” he said quietly, “but you need to make yourself. And take something for that headache.”
Nadia stiffened. “How did you know?”
“You have all the signs.” He knew he could have massaged some of that pain away, but he couldn’t let himself put his hands on her. As the last person to have the money, she remained a suspect.
“You’re right.” She sagged slightly. “I’ll follow your advice. I promise.”
He left on that note. On the drive home, he called to let his dispatcher know where he’d be, then made another call to order a pizza for pickup.
Usually by the end of a day, he was sick enough of people to relish a few hours of solitude. Tonight, his house felt strangely lonely when he finally let himself in.
For once, he was glad when his phone rang shortly after he’d cleaned up when he was done eating, and especially when he saw the name displayed. His sister. Odd timing, when she’d been on his mind so much the past few days.
“Lucy.”
“Hey,” she said. “Did I get you at a good time?”
“Yep. Just had pizza and I was thinking of kicking back and watching some baseball. How are you?” He made the question sound light, but it wasn’t. It never was. While he was in college, Lucy, only a year and a half older than him, had been brutally raped and left for dead. The rapist was never identified and arrested. She was the reason Ben had changed his major from prelaw to criminology.
Lucy had remained...fragile. She was gutsy enough to move into an apartment of her own despite their parents’ opposition, and she held a job, but to his knowledge she never dated, probably never went out at night, which limited any friendships. She lived a half life, because she could never forget. He saw hints of the same vulnerability in Nadia, but also more strength.
“I’m okay,” his sister said now. “But I was thinking.”
Ben waited.
“Would you mind if I came for a visit?” she said in a rush.
Traveling was something else she didn’t do.
Hiding his surprise, he said, “What, you think I’ll say no? I’ve only been trying to talk you into coming since the day I moved.”
“I know. Something happened that shook me up—nothing big, just the usual—” which meant she’d had a panic attack “—and, you know, I’ve been reading about your part of Missouri. I’d like to see it.”
“It’s pretty country, but not spectacular.”
“I’m curious about the Amish. They sound so gentle.”
Ben had his suspicions that behind the facade even the Amish had their share of drunks and spousal and child abuse, but he had to admit that on the whole the ones he’d dealt with were straightforward, good-humored and honest. Their belief in forgiveness was profound. Okay, he still had trouble believing an Amish woman who had suffered what Lucy had could truly forgive her rapist. But then, he was a cynic.
“They seem like good people,” he agreed. “Individuals, just like any other group.”
“Yes. I just thought...” Lucy hesitated. “I don’t know. That Byrum sounds like a nice place. Even...”
Oh, hell. He braced himself. Don’t let her say safe.
What she did say was almost worse. “Peaceful,” she finished.
He remembered what Nadia had said, word for word. I had something traumatic happen. I couldn’t get past it. I thought making a change would help.
She’d sought peace here, too, and hadn’t found it.
“I’m a cop,” he said, his voice coming out rough. “They hired me for a reason, Lucy.”
“I know, but it’s not the same as what you dealt with here, is it?”
The hope in her voice just about killed him.
“No.” What could he say but, “When are you coming?”
She would be safer here. She’d have him, and nobody would hurt Lucy on his watch.
She never forgot, and neither did he.
AT LEAST, WITH today being Sunday, Nadia didn’t have to open her store. Too bad she had to spend her day doing something worse than facing the avidly nosy and the angry in person. Instead, she was going to call every single person who’d written a check or used a credit card for a purchase at Friday’s event. Karen Llewellyn had offered to help, the reluctance in her voice only part of why Nadia had insisted on handling the entire task herself. The main reason was her sense of responsibility.