Where Shadows Meet by Colleen Coble (13)

The bird wall clock in the kitchen chirped the time. Nearly midnight Friday. No wonder the quilting stitches appeared blurred to Hannah’s tired eyes. The cats curled up at her feet added to her sleepiness. She had wandered through Nora’s house, looking at the quilts. Some were so worn and threadbare they made her wince. Quilts should be treated with care. One had been tossed carelessly over a chest, and she folded it up and laid it in a chair. The ones she recognized as her mother’s handiwork, she’d caressed. The memories were almost more than she could bear.

She’d wanted to talk to her aunt about her strange comments, but her aunt was tight-lipped and tearful with the funeral looming tomorrow. Hannah, too, found it hard to concentrate since Moe’s body reposed in the traditional white clothing in the closed dining room. The coroner had released his body yesterday for burial, and they’d been busy with preparations and visitors.

She heard a creak on the steps and glanced up. With a long gray braid over one shoulder and dressed in a pink nightgown, her aunt swayed at the foot of the steps. She came toward Hannah with a book in her hand.

“I’m sorry I was so bad tempered tonight,” she said. “I was so shocked when the detective took away the flowers. They’d been delivered to me while I was visiting my friends down the road. Moe must have smelled them when he put them in water. It should have been me who died.” She shook her head. “But God’s will be done.”

“Can I get you anything? Warm milk, tea?” She offered even though she knew she shouldn’t.

Nora settled onto the sofa beside her. “I’m fine, or at least, as fine as I can be.” She fingered the quilt block. “Really lovely stitching, Hannah.”

“Not as good as my mother’s.”

Nora smiled. “Ah, your mother. I couldn’t have loved her more if she’d been my own sister. I still miss her.” She examined the stitches more closely. “You’re every bit as good, my dear. You must love it like Patricia did.”

“I do. It’s my way of holding on to my mother,” Hannah whispered. She’d never admitted to anyone what fueled her obsession.

“Your mother always said it was her way of making sense of the chaos in the world.” Nora pointed to the basket on the floor. “Looking at the jumble of fabric and thread, there seems to be no pattern, no order there. But little by little, quilting brings order.”

“You’re right. Maybe that’s why it calms me.” Hannah wanted to bring up all her questions but worried over her aunt’s fragility.

“What pattern are you working on?”

“It’s a Triangle.” She showed her aunt the brightly pieced square. “I use black fabric for the background and border, just like Mamm always did.

“This one is supposed to be photographed for the cover of a pattern quilt book I’m writing. It will illustrate the three things important to our way of life.”

“It’s beautiful.” Her aunt’s hand stroked the fabric. “I’m very proud of you.”

Pain encased Hannah’s heart. No one had said those words to her since her parents died. Reece had been quick to point out her failings, and praise from the museum was scanty until her book came out and she’d been catapulted into fame. She didn’t feel worthy of any praise. She’d turned her back on her heritage and fallen into a relationship straight from a suspense movie. Now here she was with a failed marriage. Hardly a person to be proud of. But that was her aunt Nora. She saw the best in everyone.

Maybe that was why the success of her book frightened her.

Hannah put down her quilt block and reached for her bag. She pulled out the picture of the child. “This picture you sent me. Look at the quilt she’s sitting on.”

Nora carried it closer to the sputtering gaslight. “It’s hard to see. What is it I’m looking for?”

“I recognize the quilt. It’s the one Mamm was working on the week she died.”

“Oh, Hannah, my dear, are you sure? The Sunshine and Shadow Quilt isn’t uncommon.” Her aunt’s eyes held strain when she passed the picture back.

“I’m positive. I helped her choose the colors.” It was the last quilt her mother had finished, and Hannah’s favorite. “Mamm called this her ‘almost Amish’ quilt.”

Her aunt took another look at the picture. “Because of the yellow in it.”

“She loved to push past a bit of tradition.” The design radiated green, turquoise, yellow, and red against a navy background. “She let me decide which colors to set against one another. And she let me buy some yellow fabric for it even though that’s not a normal color for us.” Even Hannah could recognize the stubborn tone of her voice. And honestly, was she sure that the quilt was Mamm’s? She thought she was. But was it wishful thinking? Only finding the child and the quilt would answer those questions.

Nora handed back the picture. “Did you tell Matt?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“He’s a cop. He won’t be interested in helping me find my—the little girl.”

Nora patted her hand and settled onto the sofa beside Hannah. “You’re not sure this is the same one, are you, dear?”

Hannah picked up her quilt block again. “I want to see it to make sure,” she said. “Aunt Nora, Reece called me this morning, right after I got here. He said he has our daughter and that he’s raising her Amish. He said he’s converted. I think he’s lying. Oh, I’m so confused. Are you up to talking?”

“I thought that’s what we were doing.” Her aunt laid her book beside her on the sofa. “I know you’ve been dying to ask me about what I know about the little girl and Moe’s death. There are things you need to know, Hannah. A powerful enemy isn’t through with this family yet. When the letter came, I went to see—” Before her aunt could finish, the window glass beside the sofa shattered. Shards of glass spilled out onto the wooden floor. The cats yowled and ran for the kitchen. Hannah and her aunt jumped up and turned to look as a glass bottle shattered and burst into flame. The fire spread quickly from the accelerant.

“The extinguisher!” Her aunt ran to grab a fire extinguisher in the kitchen, then returned to smother the fire.

Hannah called 9-1-1 from her cell phone as she roused Angie from sleep.

HOURS LATER, THE fire department and the sheriff’s department left, and the women wearily cleaned up the soggy mess. The burn marks on the floor couldn’t be hidden, but they mopped up the water and scrubbed away the soot in preparation for the funeral only hours away. None of them had heard or seen anything to indicate who had tried to torch the house. But Hannah feared she knew—Reece. He was sending her a warning that he’d found her. And that anyone who stood between the two of them would suffer the consequences.

SMOKE STILL LINGERED in the air from the ordeal the night before. Hannah slept restlessly in the old bed, the single window in the room looking out over the Indiana hills. She was back in her hometown, yet she wasn’t part of her family, her people. Did she even want to be? Her life here was a lifetime ago. She coiled her thick braid at the nape of her neck. She’d forgotten how hard it was to see in the small mirror that only showed part of her head. Her gaze stared back, and she wondered who that woman was. She didn’t know anymore.

Angie spoke from behind her. “Do I look okay? I have no idea since this place only has that teeny mirror. What’s up with that?”

Hannah turned. Her friend’s black skirt touched the top of stylish boots. The lacy black top plunged farther than Hannah ever wanted to wear again, but it looked good on Angie. “You look lovely. We don’t hold with vanity. A full-length mirror would encourage us to put too much emphasis on our appearance.”

“Yeah, but I can’t even tell if my slip is showing.” Angie twirled on heels high enough to give her a nosebleed.

“Not a sliver of it.” Hannah gave her hair a last pat.

“You sure you want to wear that old shapeless thing?” Angie pulled on the loose waist of Hannah’s dress. “It’s like a gunnysack.”

Her aunt had hung one of Hannah’s old dresses in the bedroom closet, and she’d put it on. She looked down at the plain blue dress. “You’re right. I think I’ll change. The bishop might think I intend to confess at the next meeting.” Besides, it seemed she was a girl again, and the clothing brought back the horror of the night she’d found the bodies of her family.

She stepped past two twin beds with no headboards. They were neatly made up with white sheets and blankets. She opened the closet, her hand hovering over a plain black dress with three-quarter-length sleeves. So severe and unflattering. Was it a sin to want to look nice? She’d tried to cover up after the way Reece made her dress, but maybe she’d gone too far.

After changing her shoes to low pumps, she defiantly added a simple locket to the outfit. Her family and friends would think she was a heathen for wearing the jewelry, but she needed some space from them, and this would create it.

Angie shook her head. “It’s better, but sheesh, Hannah. I wish you’d let me take you shopping sometime. You’ve got a terrific figure, great hair and skin, and you do nothing to enhance your assets. I know you think you need to look the part of a matronly quilt expert, but you’re only thirty-two. Live a little!”

“Reece used to make me wear slinky dresses that plunged to my navel, and high heels,” she said. Her skin still burned at the memory of the way men looked at her.

“You’re kidding! You?”

“I hated them.” Hannah smoothed her skirt with her hand. “Has Aunt Nora come out yet?”

“Nope. Not a peep from her room.”

“I’ll check on her.” Hannah went to her aunt’s closed doorway down the hall off the living room. There was no sound from the other side. She tiptoed to the door and listened. Nothing. Rapping her knuckles softly against the wood, she called to her aunt. At first she thought the older woman would ignore the summons, but the door finally opened.

Her aunt was fully dressed in her usual dark blue dress and sensible shoes. The prayer bonnet looked a bit askew, but her features were composed as she tucked a hanky up her sleeve. “We should probably go down. Everyone will be arriving.”

Hannah nodded and followed her aunt downstairs. Buggies were beginning to pull into the drive, dozens of them. Men hauled in backless benches and lined them up around the living and dining rooms and the kitchen. Women carried covered dishes for after the burial.

Her back erect, Aunt Nora accepted their handshakes and thoughtful words.

An hour later, they were all assembled. Hannah followed her aunt to the dining room and sat on the bench beside her. Moe’s coffin was a plain pine box. The split top was hinged, and the upper portion of it had been folded back to reveal Moe’s face. Hannah clasped her hands together as the usher seated people on the benches. She barely noticed Sarah and the girls come in. Luca would grieve that he’d missed the funeral. He likely didn’t even know yet. He had no phone with him.

Angie sat on the bench behind Hannah and her aunt. Hannah turned around and whispered to Angie that they would sit through a regular church service, not a real funeral as the Englisch knew it. The bishop removed his hat, and in unison, the other men in the line of ministers removed theirs, as did all the men in the house. The bishop began to speak, an exhortation from the Old Testament. Preparation for death was the main theme of the sermon, and that theme was continued thirty minutes later by the second minister. When he was done, the minister read Moe’s obituary in German, then dismissed the men to prepare for the viewing.

In spite of the number of people attending, the rearrangement went forward in near silence. The house emptied of mourners, and the men carried the coffin to the entry. Friends and neighbors filed past Moe to say their good-byes. Several people nodded to Nora and murmured condolences as they left to get in their buggies and go to the graveyard.

Hannah whispered to Angie that she wanted to go to the grave site in a buggy. Slipping away from the crowd, she hurried to the barn and hitched up a spry black horse to Moe’s single-seater. She waited until the last of the buggies pulled out, then fell into the line behind them.

She needed to be alone to think. Life had come at her too fast in the past week, and with it, memories of her earlier life in this place. Was it as idyllic as she remembered? She believed it was, and she mourned the loss of her innocence.

With her thoughts swirling, she fell behind the rest of the buggies. The sky darkened, and rain began to patter onto her head. It grew nearly as dark as dusk. The air took on a greenish cast, and she feared a tornado might be in the swirling clouds.

She slapped the reins on the horse’s rump, and he picked up the pace. As the rain fell harder, she wished her people believed in buggy coverings. She could barely see the road with the water dripping in her eyes. A dark shape loomed ahead in the downpour, and she realized a car without lights was bearing down on her. Did the driver see her? She directed the horse to the side of the road and kept going forward, but the car swerved toward her side of the road. She couldn’t see the make or model, just the shape coming closer.

It was going to hit her, and her gut told her it was a deliberate move. She didn’t want the horse to be harmed but didn’t know what to do. Then she saw a path cut into the newly planted field of corn. Just as she turned the horse into the path, the car brushed by so closely that it rocked her buggy. Perspiration popped out on her forehead, and her hands began to shake. All she could see were the taillights flashing as the car slowed at the next intersection and went on.

Someone had tried to hit her.

She gulped back her fear and backed the buggy out of the lane to continue on to the grave site. The sun began to peek through the clouds as she finished the trip. She’d be late and a bedraggled rat, but she was alive. Still shaking, she stopped the buggy behind the long line and stepped down into the mud. She realized she was right in front of the graves of her parents.

Plain wooden stakes marked their sites. There were no flowers on any of the graves, and she longed to put just a single carnation on her mother’s. She’d loved beautiful flowers so much. Keeping them from her didn’t seem right.

Did Mamm ever regret her decision to join the Amish church? It wasn’t done very often. It helped that her parents were German and she was already bilingual, but she gave up so much for Datt. Hannah wished she could talk to her mother’s family, but the brief glimpse of her aunt and cousin at the funeral had been her only contact with them. Maybe she could find them again. Aunt Nora might know how to contact Aunt Cathy and Mary.

Had Reece really converted to the Amish faith? And if he had, where did that leave her? She couldn’t go back to him. What if Reece was indeed behind everything—her parents’ deaths, the fire at Aunt Nora’s, the attempt on her life? Or was it her bitterness blinding her? Could she be wrong about Reece? But no, she’d felt his hand shoving her down the steps. A man who would do that was capable of anything. Her hatred swelled.

Hannah saw Angie’s car parked along the road and waved to her. Angie jogged over to join her. “What happened to you?” she asked. “You look like a drowned kitten.”

“Someone tried to run me off the road.” Hannah told Angie what had happened, and immediately her publicist wanted to call Matt. “I don’t want to spoil the funeral. We’ll go see him later.”

They stood on the edge of the crowd. Hannah tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. A blue Saturn rolled to a stop in the line of vehicles, and a woman got out. A sense of déjà vu rolled over her when she recognized her cousin Mary.

Ten years older now, Mary had lost the fresh bloom of her early twenties. Her auburn hair was cut short, and the style did nothing to flatter her face. She’d gained a few pounds as well, and the blouse she wore strained across her stomach. Hannah stepped out to meet her.

“Mary, I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Hannah.”

The other woman smiled. “It would be hard to mistake you since we look so much alike.”

“Is your mother here too?” Hannah remembered how her mother and Aunt Cathy also resembled each other.

Mary fell into step beside Hannah, and they moved toward the throng of people around the grave. “No, she’s in Maine again. After your parents were killed, I ended up moving here to Indiana. I read about Moe’s death in the paper and thought I’d come pay my respects. I know he’s not a direct relative, but I still feel part of the Amish side of the family. I thought you left town.”

“I did. I came back for a visit a few days ago. Where are you living? I’ll stop by if you don’t mind.”

Mary gave her the address. “I’d love that.”

“Are you married? Have kids?” When the question sprang from her lips, Hannah wondered if the child she sought might be Mary’s.

“Nope, no husband. Or kids.” A shadow darkened Mary’s eyes.

They rejoined Angie at the edge of the crowd. The interment service proceeded without incident, but watching Nora’s pain hurt Hannah. It was all she could do to stand back and let closer family comfort Aunt Nora.

Mary had to get back to work after the service, and Hannah promised to visit. Once her cousin got in her car and drove off, Hannah wanted to do the same. “I can’t eat with them,” she told Angie. “I don’t want to embarrass Aunt Nora or Sarah. Let’s go to the jail. I need to see Matt and tell him what happened on the road.”

She told her aunt they were leaving, then she had Angie follow her to return the horse and buggy to her aunt’s house. Once she cared for the horse, she and Angie headed for Rockville. When they got there fifteen minutes later, Hannah stood five feet away from the car, staring at the big boxy building. The jail repelled her, reminded her of the questioning she’d endured ten years ago. She could still smell the cleaning solution used in the room where she’d been grilled for four hours, and the scent made her stomach churn. What made her think they’d help her now?

She glanced down at the picture in her hand. The little girl smiled up at her, but the gap-toothed grin failed to move her. This couldn’t be her child. The wind ruffled Hannah’s hair, swirling it around in her face as a sign that she shouldn’t go in.

Confusion gripped her. She retreated to the car and put her hand on the door handle. The best thing was to get back in the car and not draw attention to herself.

“Hannah, what the heck? I thought you wanted to talk to Matt.”

“I probably imagined the whole thing. Now that I think about it, I’m sure it was an accident. And this whole daughter thing is probably a mirage.”

Angie pointed her red-tipped finger at her. “You get right back in there and talk to him. We haven’t come all this way not to pursue every avenue.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right.” Hannah turned and forced herself to march to the door and yank it open.

THE JAIL SMELLED like someone’s roast beef sandwich. Matt walked past the deputy manning the front desk and proceeded down the narrow hallway to his cramped office, last room on the left. Blake followed him. The guy whistled through his teeth, and the annoying ditty set Matt on edge.

“Hey, Beitler,” a young deputy called. “The Rockville police reported a big heist from the Ace Hardware store. The alarm wasn’t triggered and we’ve got nada.”

Great. The rash of break-ins was getting worse. He wondered—for the umpteenth time—if it was an inside job. Someone smart had been pulling the robberies. He pushed away his doubts about Blake and stalked on to his office.

Attending the funeral had been a waste of time. He’d seen nothing suspicious and caught only one glimpse of Hannah. She hadn’t seen him.

He dropped into the chair behind his overflowing desk and pulled his keyboard to him. Calling up the files, he ignored Blake, who was pacing the room.

“The white powder at Trudy’s was insecticide dust, nothing lethal to a person,” Matt said. “But the flowers that were delivered to Nora Honegger were loaded with poison. So far we haven’t been able to discover what florist delivered them. The box they came in was in the trash, but it was plain white cardboard with no business name.” Leaning back in the chair, he flipped open the file containing the printouts of what they knew so far. “The funeral was this morning. I went for a little while. Some people from town came, but it was mostly Amish.”

Blake finally quit pacing and came to sit on the other side of the desk. “I think it’s a family member.”

“Of course you do,” a female voice said from the doorway.

Matt looked up to see Hannah standing in the hall. Her cheeks were flushed, and her golden brown eyes sparked with fire. Her hair looked wet, and so did her clothes. With that titian hair, she probably had trouble hanging on to her temper. “You have something to say?”

She advanced into the room. The black dress only partially concealed her figure, and he wondered if it shamed her that she was so beautiful. He realized he was enjoying seeing her agitation.

“You’ve trained your partner well,” she said. “He’s just as quick to jump to conclusions as you.”

“The murderer is generally someone close to the victim,” he said.

“We are Amish. We abhor violence.” She pointed to the computer. “If you look through your files, I doubt you’ll find a single case of one of us breaking the law. No one in our community killed Moe or my family.”

“Are you okay?” he asked when he realized she was shaking. He thought more than anger lay beneath her nerves.

“Someone tried to run me down in the buggy.”

He stiffened. “Why didn’t you call me? What did the vehicle look like?”

“It was during the storm, and the rain was coming down too hard for me to tell.” She gripped the back of a chair, and her voice grew steadier. “Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. It could have been an accident, but I tried to move out of the way and the vehicle matched me.”

“The next time something like this happens, call me!”

Blake’s cell phone rang. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He disappeared through the door.

Matt kept his gaze on Hannah. “There’s not much I can do without a description of the car, but you need to be careful.”

She nodded, the hectic red in her cheeks draining away. “I—I came for another reason too.” She swallowed hard.

There was something so vulnerable about her that Matt wished he didn’t have to question her. His job was to push and prod until he got at the truth, and he knew there was a lot she held back. Getting at it might hurt her. “So what’s up?”

She blinked, exhaled, then slowly opened her bag. Rummaging inside, she withdrew a photo and held it out. “I wonder if you’ve seen this little girl.”

A child? Matt took the slick paper. His sweet daughter’s face looked back at him, and he almost smiled. “Where did you get this?” He tried to think of what Caitlin might have done. Thrown rocks? Darted in front of her? He lifted his coffee cup to his lips.

She bit her lip. “Reece sent it. He says it’s our daughter.”

Matt choked on the sip of hot liquid. “Wait, let me get this straight. You’ve never seen this girl before, yet you say it’s your daughter? How is that possible?” He looked down at Caitlin again. It was Caitlin, wasn’t it?

She didn’t look at him but rushed on. “I was pregnant, and Reece wasn’t happy about it. About two weeks before the baby was due, he shoved me down the stairs. I just remember pain and coming in and out of consciousness. When I finally woke up, he told me the baby girl had died.”

Matt found it hard to get his mind around what she was saying. A shiver of fear tickled his spine. “And now he’s saying the baby didn’t die? That this child is that baby?”

She nodded. “I left him as soon as I found out. I thought that was the end of it until I got this picture last week. I want to find my daughter,” she said with a stubborn tilt to her chin.

No way. Maybe Reece had seen a picture of Caitlin and recognized the resemblance, then chosen to use it. It was impossible her daughter was his baby girl. “When was this?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Five years ago. April fourteenth.”

The day before Analise had found a tiny bundle on their front porch. Horror stopped his tongue. He wouldn’t believe it. He swallowed hard and managed to feign indifference. “And you believe him? Maybe he’s just yanking your chain.”

She nodded. “He might be trying to hurt me. He says if I come back to him, I can have her back. He says he’s raising her Amish up in Shipshewana, but this little girl is dressed Englisch. So it’s hard to believe what he’s telling me.”

Matt forced himself to breathe, to act naturally. He couldn’t let on how upset he was. At least he knew it was all a lie. “I think he’s bluffing.” He knew he should tell her, but he had to know more first. His child’s future hung in the balance.

Tears hung on her lashes. “He called me yesterday, and I heard her voice. She sounded darling.”

Reece had taped Caitlin’s voice? Maybe Gina wasn’t overreacting and someone had been following her. Maybe Reece had seen Caitlin and realized how much she looked like Hannah. He might have seen this as a way of getting to her.

Matt had to gain some time, figure out what to do. No one was taking his daughter. “You think he’s in town?”

“I’m sure of it. He sent me this picture to flush me out so he could find me.”

“I’ll try to find him, talk to him.”

She shook her head. “He’s crafty. He won’t tell you anything. But can we look for the child?”

“What makes you think she’s in Indiana?” He was total slime to try to confuse her.

“See here?” She handed the picture back to him. “There’s a covered bridge in the background.”

He peered at the picture. She was right. He remembered the picnic by the bridge, too, just a month ago on an unusually warm April day. “That doesn’t say for sure it’s here. There are covered bridges in other places.”

“Yes, but look at the name on the bridge. It’s the one by my—my cousin’s house, the Narrows Bridge. So we need to start here.”

By some miracle, he kept his voice steady. “There’s no crime yet. I’m not sure what you expect me to do.”

“Isn’t it a crime to steal a baby from her mother?” Her voice rose. “How about murdering a child?”

“You don’t know this little girl is even yours. And did you ever press charges against Reece?” He didn’t even have to wait for her to shake her head. Of course she didn’t. She’d simply walked away from him like so many battered wives without making him pay for what he’d done. “So we have no proof of anything.”

“Then what do I do?”

“I’ll find Reece and talk to him.” He waved the picture in the air. “But I think you’re chasing a dream. This little girl probably just has red hair.” He had to believe it for his own sanity, to keep panic from sweeping him away.

“I understand that. But I have to do something. I have to find her, discover the truth for myself.”

He nodded. “I’ll keep you posted. Give me your cell phone number.” As she dug for a pen and paper, he glanced at the photo again. His blood ran cold at the thought that Reece had been watching his baby. The man had to be somewhere nearby, and Matt would find him, force him to tell the truth. Force him to go away and leave them all alone.