Читать книгу Upon A Winter's Night - Karen Harper - Страница 11

5

Because Christmas was barely a month away, the Home Valley Amish Furniture store was abuzz with business. Although the Amish gave only single, simple gifts to commemorate the Lord’s birth, the Englische world, despite a supposed recession, seemed to be buying every piece of solid hardwood furniture in sight.

It was the Monday morning after the tragedy of the weekend, and Lydia still felt shaken. At least being so busy meant she had little time to agonize over her decisions. She would meet and hope to work with Sandra Myerson, Josh’s more-than-good friend. And she was dedicated to learning all she could about her deceased parents—if her mother really was dead.

Greeting customers kept her occupied. She let Naomi, one of their seasonal staff, answer the phone while she darted here and there with inquiries or to pair up shoppers with particular salesmen. Although the store hired Englische delivery vans, some folks came in to pick up their orders. She could see out the row of side windows that not only workers’ buggies but worldly pickup trucks filled the parking lot.

To answer customer questions for salespeople on the floor, Lydia practically ran from her front desk to the side showrooms, which displayed the various styles the craftsmen, who worked out back or in their homes, produced: Shaker-style, Mission-style and traditional furniture of all kinds. Now and then, she darted to the offices between the spacious showrooms and the large, rear workshop to ask someone a question.

“Can we do a custom stain on maple chairs? I told the buyer that our kiln-dried northern hardwoods have their own beauty.” Or, this question for Gid right now: “The buyer for that huge walnut dining room outfit—ah, number 1088—wants to know if he can make the first payment after New Year’s instead of right before.” He nodded and gestured her in, but she stood her ground.

She tried not to go into the bookkeeping office because that was Gideon Reich’s realm, but when she needed to, she went, standing in his doorway with the door open, telling him, “Sorry, can’t come in now,” she added. It’s too busy out here.” Lately, she tried not to be alone with him even here at the store.

“Lunch, then? I can send someone out for food for us, for your father, too, if you want. I brought my usual bachelor’s packed lunch. I envy the men out back. Most have wives to pack their lunch boxes,” he said with a wink before he sobered. “And I’m sorry I was away visiting this weekend when everything happened. I wanted to talk to you about that.”

With an exaggerated shrug, she told him, “It’s pretty much over,” even as she realized that was a big, fat lie. Why was she telling so many lately?

“But it’s another reason not to hang around Yoder and those animals,” he insisted, standing and coming around his big cherry desk toward her. “That sudden storm that could have trapped you, then a possible murder...”

“Are people saying that? I think the poor lady hit her head pulling open the back gate. I’ll bet she had to tug hard, to drag it through the snow where it was maybe frozen fast, then it came loose and hit her when she was bending low.” She cleared her throat. “I know the coroner hasn’t ruled yet, though.”

Gideon Reich was a powerfully built man, although he was not fat or tall. Lydia looked at him eye to eye. Gid was in his late thirties, a childless widower who had never remarried. His father had worked for her grandfather, who had started a small furniture workshop on this property. In the twenty years Gid had been employed here, he had worked his way up to head bookkeeper and general manager, at least if her father was not on-site. Gid’s home was large, second only to the Stark mansion and chock-full of beautiful Brand furniture.

Despite the usual privacy of Amish courtships, it was no secret to anyone here, in town or in their church, that Gid had his eye on Lydia. To her mind, the real question was why, as she not only tried to discourage him but had made it clear he should try to court someone else. With all the trouble she gave him, she wondered if he persevered only to court her parents because she came attached to the store and its profits.

“And,” Gid went on, his voice rising, “you were chasing a camel in the storm when you should have been inside—inside your own house, not the Yoder barn! Lydia, I know this isn’t the time, and I’m busy, too, but stray animals are all you’re chasing over at Yoder’s place, aren’t they?” He came even closer. “As your come-calling friend, who admires and appreciates you and wants only what is best for you, I’ve warned you again and again that your working in an animal barn isn’t suitable. You know that your father also agrees that—”

“As ever, thank you for your concern, but you have heard again and again how I feel about helping out at Yoder’s. And your mentioning my father reminds me I need to pop in to see him, too. As for lunch, that’s very kind of you, but I have an errand to run.”

She darted out, closing the door on him, quietly but firmly, almost in his face. How she wished she could close the door on any future with him. She feared he was going to press her for a promise. And when she said no, it was going to complicate everything at home and here at work. True, she was ready to leave her parents, but not to become Gid Reich’s bride.

As she headed toward her father’s office, she saw he was sitting not behind his massive desk, but in a big hickory rocker with one of his new quilts draped over his knees—a wedding ring design, no less. As lovely as it was with its leaping blue-and-yellow hues, she hoped he hadn’t made it for her. Sol Brand had an open-door policy here not only for her but for anyone who had a question or concern, from the lowliest sweep-up boy out back to his key advisor and master bookkeeper, Gid.

Although no one was in his office now, she knew he was busy, even overworked. He seemed tired, older than his age, even distressed. She’d forgotten there were drafts in here this time of year, and he looked a bit chilled.

“Liddy!” he said, glancing up from some sort of document he was reading. “I’ve recently had an inquiry I think you can answer.”

“Oh, sure. Anything to help.”

“A certain buyer has asked me to find out if you would prefer a blanket chest, pie safe or jelly cupboard for a gift in the near future,” he said with a lift of his eyebrows and a tight smile. “Sounds more like a betrothal gift, eh?”

Lydia’s insides cartwheeled. “Daad, I can’t commit to such a gift or something like a betrothal right now.”

“You’ve said that before. When, then? And why not, my girl?”

“I’m not ready in my head and heart. And if it’s Gid—”

“Ya, of course, it’s Gid. Do you think I would want just anyone for my only daughter? Your mother and I would miss you, but it’s time you consider that fine man. And, in a way, since all of this will be your inheritance someday—” he swept his arm to indicate the wood-paneled office lined with metal file cases “—you will need someone who knows the business, values it and not something far different.”

“Daad, I know my friends are getting married off right and left, but I need some time. And, if you and Mamm really want me to be happy, you will give me more time and help me convince Gid that it’s not a done deal. I have an errand in town to run at lunchtime—just wanted to let you know,” she added, backing away. “Got to get back to my desk...”

She’d forgotten why she’d come in here. What would she do if her father turned against her the way she sometimes felt her mother had? Worse, as she hurried back out into the showroom, she saw Gid had emerged from his office and was watching her from the display of blanket chests any good Amish girl would want to use for a hope chest.

* * *

Ray-Lynn spotted Lydia Brand right away when she came into the restaurant. She seemed to be in a hurry, alone and skimming the lunch crowd for someone. Ray-Lynn handed the coffeepot to Amy, one of her Amish servers, and asked her to keep refilling cups.

“Lydia, looking for someone?” Ray-Lynn asked, thinking, since she’d come in without her father or Gid Reich, she might be meeting Josh Yoder. She’d picked up vibes between the two of them this weekend. And she really liked Lydia. Despite the fact her family was the Amish answer to the local Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, Lydia was always down-to-earth and concerned for others, evidently even Josh Yoder’s camels.

“Actually, I was hoping to talk to you,” Lydia said. She was out of breath and flushed. “Something kind of personal—you know, private. I know it’s your busy time right now, but I need to ask you a quick question, if you’d agree to help.”

Ray-Lynn put a hand on Lydia’s caped shoulder and steered her down the narrow hall toward the restrooms and her office. “Let me get someone to cover for a few minutes, and I’ll see you in my office. Just go in. The door’s marked. And if this is your lunch hour, I’ll order both of us a sandwich and soft drink, okay?”

“Thanks, Ray-Lynn.”

At the counter, she put Martha on the front desk and ordered two roast beef sandwiches with slaw and two colas to be sent back to her office. When Ray-Lynn joined Lydia, she’d taken her cape off—the same cape she’d put over the dead woman?—but was still standing. Or had she been pacing?

“Sit and talk to me,” she told her, taking one of the two chairs in front of the desk and patting the arm of the other.

“It’s a favor,” Lydia said, perching on the edge of the chair. “I know you hear a lot of things in the restaurant, know a lot of people.”

“That, I do.”

“Would you happen to know who had the jobs at the Stark house—overseers or nurses, I don’t know—to take care of Victoria Keller?”

Ray-Lynn leaned closer to Lydia over the arm of her chair. “Until Saturday, I didn’t even catch a whiff that they had Senator Stark’s demented sister living there.”

“Oh, right. So you wouldn’t have any idea about—”

“I didn’t say that. The sheriff intends to interview both of the caregivers to learn more about Victoria’s state of mind, and he mentioned who they are—both Amish. You probably know them, though they’re older than you. Connor wasn’t too pleased about the interviews, but he had to cooperate and give their names. The woman who was on duty when Victoria sneaked out came under scrutiny, of course, for dereliction of duty.”

“Are their names law enforcement business, and I can’t find out?”

“Before I answer that, why do you want to know? I mean, the coroner just declared Victoria Keller’s death accidental this morning. He ruled that evidence indicates she caused her own demise by yanking that swinging gate open in the eight or so inches of snow and hitting her head—which I believe was a theory you gave the sheriff. So, it’s all over, Lydia. Did you just want to know more about Victoria from those who tended her? At the funeral Wednesday, I’d be glad to help you ask Senator Stark, or even Connor’s wife, about her for you.”

Lydia looked as if she were about to cry. Her lower lip trembled and she gripped her knees. Ray-Lynn covered the girl’s cold hands with her own.

“I know you’ve helped several friends of mine,” the girl whispered. “But the fact that you’re married to the sheriff and shouldn’t keep anything back from him, even if he can’t sometimes tell you everything...”

“My dear girl, you have a lot to learn about marriage. I will always be faithful and true to Jack Freeman, but that doesn’t mean I have to tell him absolutely everything I happen to hear, everything I know. Do you have some kind of information about Victoria?”

“Do you know if there’s any such thing as privileged information with the sheriff?” the young woman countered. “I mean, if I show or tell him something that could hurt my family—not about her death exactly—would he have to make it public?”

“I do know there are things the police hold back to use in interrogations or in court, so they can be sure they have the right person arrested, charged and convicted.”

Martha knocked and came in with the tray of food and drinks and set it on Ray-Lynn’s desk. They thanked her but neither of them made a move toward it or said anything else until she went out.

“It’s just,” Lydia said, her voice a shaky whisper as she dabbed at tears with her fingers, “I don’t want to hurt my parents.”

“How would it hurt your parents? Listen, Lydia, do you want to just tell me, or do you want me to call the sheriff and have him come over to hear it, too? In a way, you can trade what you know for the caretakers’ names. Unless he’s gone out in the last half hour, he’s just across the street. And if you ask him not to tell your parents, even if you’re under their roof, I’m sure he would agree. You’re considered an adult among your people, so surely you can make your own decisions.”

“Make my own decisions,” she repeated, nodding. “Ya, I intend to. And I hate doing things in secret, but sometimes it’s best.”

Ray-Lynn went for the phone on her desk. She used the speed dial to get Jack, then pushed the food tray toward Lydia.

“If he’s not there now, I’ll have to head back soon,” the girl said, stabbing her straw into her soft drink.

“Ray-Lynn, you okay?” came the familiar voice she loved.

“Just fine. Jack, Lydia Brand and I need your help. Can you drop by my office at the restaurant?”

“Right now? Something about the Keller case?”

“She’ll have to tell you, but she has to go back to the furniture store soon.”

“Sure, honey. For you and one of your little Amish friends, be right there.”

* * *

Lydia wasn’t as nervous as she thought she’d be, especially since Ray-Lynn stayed when Sheriff Freeman arrived. He sat in the chair Ray-Lynn had vacated, while she sat behind her desk. Putting his hat next to their half-eaten tray of food, he leaned his elbows on his knees but looked up toward Lydia.

“Okay, talk,” he said with a nod and small, encouraging smile she appreciated.

In a nearly breathless rush, Lydia explained what she knew—and suspected—about the note. “I’m sorry I don’t have it here,” she said. “It’s hidden under my bed at home.”

“You shouldn’t have withheld evidence,” the sheriff said, sitting up straight. “But I see why you forgot about it that night in the barn and why you didn’t want to tell me with your parents hovering. I’ll need that note.”

“Not to show it to them or the Starks?”

“The case has been closed with an accidental death ruling, but it does throw light on what the deceased might have thought she was doing or where she was going. But she has no connection to you, right?” he said, frowning, with a shake of his head.

“No. Not that I know about now. She can’t possibly be my real mother—I mean birth mother.”

“I’ll keep it in my evidence file and only mention it to Connor if something else comes up. I think they’re eager to get her buried proper and go on with their lives.”

“Danki, Sheriff. I—”

“But that’s only because I talked to one of her caregivers from the Starks’ home and got the deceased’s medical records from the place she was being treated in Cincinnati, a top-of-the-line Alzheimer’s care facility. She was mentally bad off, Lydia, just like Connor said. Victoria Keller was delusional, claiming wild things, and tried to wander off there. That note probably means zilch, so don’t get your hopes up—or down.”

Ray-Lynn had been real quiet, which seemed pretty unusual, but she piped up, “So there’s no harm in letting Lydia talk to the local caregivers?”

“I hear you, honey,” he told his wife without looking at her.

“Ya,” Lydia put in quickly. “Just a private talk. I’ll tell no one what they say—except you or Ray-Lynn, if you want, Sheriff. My mother is still fragile over my brother’s drowning years ago. I didn’t want to upset her or my father, because they’re touchy about my looking into my birth parents.”

“I can see that when they always told you your parents were dead. ‘Your mother is still alive, and I...’” he quoted what Lydia had told him about the note. “Tell you what now. You get me the note to examine and put on file. As spacey as Victoria Keller was, I repeat, it probably means nothing. Meanwhile, you have my permission to talk to the two women who were watching Victoria, though one of the caretakers just moved out of the area. ’Cause with Victoria’s medical history, far as I’m concerned, this case is closed. But you let me know what you find out. Connor Stark’s not one to be crossed, and I had to come down hard on him not to press charges of negligence against the two women. As it is, he refused to give them their last month’s paychecks.”

Ray-Lynn gave a loud snort. “Our rich/cheap, kind/cruel new mayor,” she muttered.

“Now, Ray-Lynn,” the sheriff scolded, but his voice was gentle. “So here—” he reached for a pen and paper on the corner of the desk “—are the two women’s names and the one’s address I can recall offhand because the other one lives up near Cleveland. They’re both members of other Amish churches—not yours. But you keep things low-key with them, okay?”

“Low-key, ya,” Lydia promised, gripping her hands in her lap so hard her fingers went numb.

But how could something so momentous in her life be “low” anything? As for a key, since she wasn’t exactly sure what he meant, this just might be the key to answering questions about her past—and her future.