Authors: Marta Perry
Tags: #Fiction, #Comics & Graphic Novels, #General, #Anthologies (Multiple Authors)
Dark Crossings (9 page)
Fallen in Plain Sight
Marta Perry
To my loving husband, as always.
CHAPTER ONE
“I
F
YOU
ARE
NOT
CAREFUL
, Sarah Elizabeth Weaver, you
will end up a
maidal,
as lonely and sad as that old
man you work for.”
Mamm
had what she obviously
considered the last word as she drew the buggy to a halt by the Strickland
house.
“Mamm…”
Sarah hesitated, ready to
jump down, but not wanting to leave her mother for the day with harsh words
between them. “I know you want to see me married, with a home and family of my
own. But I’m just not ready.”
Her mother shook her head, a mix of sorrow and exasperation on
her face. “When will you be ready? Independence is all very
gut,
but having someone of your own is better, that’s certain sure.
Ach,
well, go on to work.” She waved her hand
toward the huge old Victorian house, its gingerbread trim and fancy touches a
far cry from a simple Amish farmhouse. “But think on it. All of your friends are
starting families already.”
“I will,
Mamm.
” Sarah slid down.
Easier to say that than to argue over a subject on which they’d never agree.
Anyway, not all her friends were married. She still had two
dear ones, Abby and Lena, who weren’t. But since they all lived far apart, their
only connection was the round robin letters they sent from one to the other.
They understood, even if
Mamm
didn’t.
But she couldn’t take comfort in Abby’s unmarried state much
longer. The long-awaited letter she’d received yesterday had contained
surprising news. Her friend would soon wed Ben Kline. They’d been brought
together at last after Ben’s return from the
Englische
world. That news from Abby had probably been what started
Mamm
on her current train of thought about
marriage.
Sarah waved as her mother clicked to Bell and the buggy moved
onto Springville’s main street.
Mamm
had stopped
saying it, but they both knew who she had in mind for a son-in-law. She and
Jacob’s mother had been planning their children’s marriage since the two of them
were in their cradles.
But if they’d been serious about marrying Jacob and her off to
each other, they’d have been better not bringing them up so close that they were
like brother and sister. Jacob was her best friend and the brother she’d never
had, but to think of falling in love with him was laughable. Why couldn’t
Mamm
see that?
Sarah unlocked the door into the back hall off the kitchen,
pausing there to hang up her black bonnet and sweater and straighten the apron
that matched the deep green of her dress. Getting dressed for work was
simplicity itself when you were Amish. She’d had a choice between green, blue
and purple dresses, all cut exactly the same.
Exactly the same, just like all her working days. She’d been
taking care of the house for elderly
Englischer
Richard Strickland for over three years, and nothing ever changed, because that
was how he liked it. Probably that was partly due to his bad eyesight. He didn’t
want to trip on anything that had been moved.
She went on into the kitchen, reaching automatically to pick up
the breakfast dishes on the table. And stopped. The table was bare, except for
the napkin holder and salt and pepper shakers that always sat in the center.
Every day she let herself in the back door at eight-thirty, and
every day she found Mr. Strickland’s breakfast dishes on the table. Her employer
would be in the sunroom on the side of the house, enjoying a second cup of
coffee while he listened to the news. But the coffeemaker was cold, the sink was
empty and shining, and no sound broke the stillness of the old house.
A chill spread through her. Sarah spun, moving quickly toward
the front of the house. Mr. Strickland must be ill…nothing else would cause him
to change the immutable habits of a lifetime. She hurried through the hallway,
thoughts racing faster than her feet—
call Mr. Strickland’s
doctor, or the rescue squad if it looked very serious. They could be here
faster and—
She skidded to a stop a few feet from the bottom of the stairs.
Neither the doctor nor the rescue squad would be of help. Richard Strickland lay
tumbled on the polished stairs, one hand reaching the tiled floor of the hall.
Sarah didn’t need to touch him to know he was dead.
She had to, of course. She knelt next to him, silent prayers
forming in her mind, and searched for a pulse. Nothing stirred under her
fingers, and his skin was cold. Pity and grief seemed to have a stranglehold on
her throat. Mr. Strickland hadn’t been an especially likable man…eccentric, the
charitable said. He was the last of the Strickland family, a name that had once
meant something in Lancaster County, and folks just shrugged off his crankiness.
But she was used to him, fond of him, even.
Standing slowly, Sarah went to the telephone in the small
alcove off the hall and dialed 911. After she’d said what she must, she went
back to kneel by the body, her lips moving in silent prayer.
Even so, she couldn’t keep her eyes from seeing, or her mind
from wondering. What had Mr. Strickland been doing on the stairs in the night?
And it must have been night, because the upstairs hall light was on. He never
came downstairs after he’d taken his pills in the evening, because he said they
made him dizzy. And he also never came out of his bedroom until he was fully
dressed, so why would he be wearing a robe and slippers?
The doorbell pealed, followed by insistent knocking, and in a
few minutes the hall was filled with people. The retired doctor who lived just
down the street conferred with the ambulance attendants. A young patrolman stood
by the door, looking so pale Sarah wondered if he’d ever seen a dead person
before. Adam Byler, the township police chief, was deep in conversation with Leo
Frost, Mr. Strickland’s attorney.
Sarah sat on a straight chair against the wall, hands folded in
her lap, blinking against the tears that threatened to fall, wondering when
she’d be able to go home. Wondering what, if anything, she should say.
Her gaze was caught by the leather slipper that lay on the tile
floor, and she frowned.
Chief Byler picked up the slipper, holding it out to Mr. Frost.
“This is probably the culprit,” he said. “It looks as if Strickland was coming
downstairs in the night, and he tripped on the slipper. Easy enough to happen,
and these leather soles are slippery.”
But Mr. Strickland wouldn’t come down in the night, wouldn’t
wear those slippers.
Sarah pressed her lips together. She could practically hear
Daad’
s voice in her mind.
Amish have a duty to obey the law of the
land and respect its officials, but we don’t become involved with
them.
What would
Daad
say she should do
now? Speak or be silent? She suspected she knew the answer to that. So she sat,
silent, her gaze on her hands.
“Sarah?”
She looked up, startled, to find that Chief Byler stood in
front of her, along with Mr. Frost.
“I know this is upsetting for you, but I have a few
questions.”
“Ja.”
She rose. For sure she should
answer any questions the police asked.
He glanced at the paramedics, who were moving a stretcher into
place. “Let’s go into the kitchen to talk.”
Nodding, she led the way back down the hall. He was being kind,
but it didn’t bother her so much as he might think, being near the body. Death
was a part of life, and she’d been old enough to help lay out the body when her
grossmamm
passed. It was only the
Englische
who thought people should die in hospitals
and be taken off to funeral homes.
Chief Byler put a notebook on the kitchen table. “Did Mr.
Strickland seem well when you left yesterday? And what time was that?”
“Four o’clock,” she said promptly. “That was my time. Mr.
Strickland had dinner at one o’clock, like always. Roast chicken, it was, so
there was plenty left for his supper.”
“And did he seem all right then?” Byler asked.
“
Ja,
he seemed fine.” Her voice
thickened despite her efforts. “He was upstairs in his study, working at his
desk. I asked if he needed anything, and he just said no and that he would see
me tomorrow.”
But he hadn’t.
Chief Byler nodded. “And this morning?”
She hesitated, putting her thoughts in order. Surely, since he
asked, she ought to tell him what she’d noticed.
“It’s all right, Sarah,” Mr. Frost said, his lined face kind.
“Just tell it the way it happened.”
“I unlocked the back door and came in. Hung up my things and
went to the kitchen to do the breakfast dishes, but there weren’t any.” She felt
the chill again. “I knew something was wrong. Mr. Strickland’s routine was
always exactly the same.”
“True enough,” Leo Frost said. “Richard insisted everything be
done exactly the same way at the same time every day. He went through I don’t
know how many housekeepers because he couldn’t find anyone to suit him, until I
found Sarah for him.” He patted her shoulder. “You always made him comfortable
and as happy as he was likely to be, my dear. I know he wasn’t easy to get along
with.”
That was true enough, but it might seem rude if she agreed, so
she kept silent.
“So you found him and called 911,” Chief Byler said.
“Apparently he’d been dead for some hours, according to the doctor. If there’s
anything else…”
He paused, as if waiting for her to say something.
The words hovered on her tongue. But the odd things she’d
noticed—would they mean anything, or just sound like so much foolishness to an
officer of the law?
A step sounded in the back hall, and then Jacob was standing
there, looking solid and safe and familiar in his faded blue work shirt,
suspenders crossing broad shoulders, his summer straw hat sitting squarely on
his light brown hair. “Sarah?
Was ist letz?
”
What’s wrong?
At the question, the
tears she’d held back overflowed, and she ran to him.
His arm encircled her shoulders firmly.
“Komm,”
he said. “I will take you home.”
* * *
J
ACOB
LOOKED
OVER
S
ARAH
’
S
head at the two men. Both Leo Frost, the lawyer,
and Chief Byler were usually thought of as friends of the
Leit,
the Amish people. If they objected to her leaving…
Well, it was his job to look after Sarah, like always.
Frost and Byler exchanged glances and the chief shrugged.
“That’s fine. You go along home. I know where to find you if I have any more
questions.” A smile tempered the words.
“I’m sorry you were the one to find him, Sarah. Try not to
dwell on it.” Leo Frost looked at her with concern. “I’ll come by the house and
check on you later.”
Sarah managed to smile at Frost, but it was a wobbly effort
that worried Jacob. The sooner he got her home, the better.
“Danki.”
With a word of thanks, he
steered Sarah to the door, stopping while she grabbed her bonnet and sweater,
and out into the warm spring air.
He helped her up to the buggy seat and climbed in himself. He
didn’t like that frozen look on Sarah’s face. Whether she’d admit it or not, it
had been a shock to find her employer dead. She’d been fond of the old man,
despite his crankiness, and she was grieving.
Sarah didn’t speak until the buggy had passed the outskirts of
Springville and started along the narrow country road. She stirred, fiddling
with her bonnet strings as if she didn’t remember putting it on.
“
Danki,
Jacob.” Her voice was
husky. “How did you know?”
“
Ach,
you know how fast news
travels around the township. Bishop Amos stopped by the machine shop to tell
your
daad.
The bishop always knows everything.”
She nodded, finally smiling a little. “
Ja,
the Amish grapevine works well, for sure.”
“I’m sorry, Sarah. I know you cared about Mr. Strickland.”
She’d spent nearly as much time with him as with her family in the past three
years since she’d been taking care of the house for him. Of course she’d miss
him.
“It’s not just that.” The words burst out of her as if she
couldn’t hold them back. “Can I tell you something, Jacob?”
He studied her face, the warm, creamy skin dotted with freckles
already, a strand of brown hair escaping from under her
kapp
to curl against her cheek, her blue eyes serious.
“
Ja,
for sure. Always.” She ought
to know that.
Sarah took a deep breath and blew it out. “I went in the
hallway and saw Mr. Strickland.” Her voice shook a little, and he reached across
to take her hand in a comforting grip. “He was lying on the stairs, head down.
He had on a robe and slippers, and the light was on in the upstairs hall, which
must mean he’d fallen during the night.”
Jacob nodded, not sure what she was driving at. “Chances are he
died right away, pitching down those stairs. If you’re worrying that he lay
there—”
“No, it’s not that.” She shook her head in that decisive way of
hers, impatient as always. “Don’t you see? It was all wrong. Mr. Strickland
never came downstairs in the night. He said the medicine he took before bed made
him a little dizzy, and he wouldn’t risk it. He was very particular about
that…made sure he had a pitcher of water and a little tin of crackers in his
bedroom in case he wanted them.”
Jacob considered for a moment. “Maybe he felt sick.”
“Then he’d have called for help. He always had the phone right
next to him.” She shook her head, her bonnet strings fluttering in the breeze.
“He never came out of the bedroom without being dressed. Nobody saw him in his
robe and slippers. And those slippers—he showed them to me once. Said they were
so slippery it was like the person who gave them to him wanted him to have an
accident. It’s just all wrong.”
