Her Amish Protectors. Janice Johnson Kay

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СКАЧАТЬ wanted to make her own tea, but he persuaded her to sit and let him do it. Waiting for the water to boil, he investigated her refrigerator and cupboards, finally settling on a croissant he heated in the microwave before splitting it open and slapping on raspberry jam from a local Amish woman. He recognized the label. He added extra sugar to the tea before setting the cup in front of her, then the croissant.

      Under his stern gaze, she did eat and sipped at her English breakfast tea. Finally, she admitted to feeling better.

      “Then let’s talk.” He pulled a small notebook from his pocket. He thought being recorded might stifle her. “Who knew you were taking the proceeds home?” he asked bluntly.

      She blinked. “I can’t imagine...”

      He cocked an eyebrow. “But the thief had to know.”

      “Oh, dear God,” Nadia whispered. She stared into space for a minute. “Well, Katie-Ann Chupp, of course. Julie Baird, Karen Llewellyn, probably Rachel Schwartz.”

      Two Amish, two Englischers. Even he’d come to divide his citizenry that way. From what he’d learned since moving to Byrum, it would be a cold day in hell before either of the warmhearted Amish women would so much as give a passing thought to stealing, never mind carrying out a heist like this. They’d have no need. If either woman’s family was struggling financially, all they’d have to do was ask for help, and it would pour forth. That’s how the Amish worked; they took care of each other. On the other hand, he knew both the other women, at least in passing, and felt reasonably sure neither made a likely suspect, either. Julie Baird’s husband was a doctor, Karen’s a representative for a farm equipment company. Still, he noted all four names.

      Nadia reeled off a few more, then admitted that anyone helping with cleanup might have heard or guessed that she would be taking the money.

      Yes, it would have been logical to suppose the event chair would deal with the evening’s take, which could widen the suspect pool considerably. But would somebody really break in to look for the cash box without being 100 percent certain Nadia had taken it home? Ben didn’t think so.

      Of course, that somebody could have been lurking outside to see who carried the box out, and even though Ben had been watching for just that eventuality, landscaping around the historic mansion included a lot of dark bushes and trees.

      “Did you see anyone around last evening who wasn’t involved with the auction?” he asked.

      Her forehead crinkled. “I don’t think... Only Mr. Warren, wanting to be sure everything was going smoothly. He left after I promised to lock up and then return the keys sometime today, but I bet he went by after we were gone last night to make sure I had.”

      Ben would bet the same. Lyle Warren, head of the historical society that maintained and showed the house, was anal to an extreme. He fussed.

      “Anybody ask questions about the money?” Ben asked.

      She stared at him. “Well...of course they did.”

      “No, I was thinking about interest in how much cash you had versus checks or credit card slips.”

      Nadia moaned, and he didn’t blame her. Once word got out, people would have to contact their credit card companies, maybe wait for new cards, put a stop on checks. Those among them with a strong conscience would then reimburse the auction committee, meaning the total sum wasn’t lost. But if the thief made use of credit card numbers or altered and cashed checks, everyone would be pissed, whether the credit card companies and banks took the loss or not.

      Unfortunately, some inks were easy to “wash” from a check, allowing the thief to change the recipient’s name and even the amount the check was made out for. Depending on what info the auction cashiers had written down, checks could be an aid to identity theft, too.

      And anyone who had not just a credit card number, but also the expiration date, name on the card and the code from the back was home free to spend up to the limit.

      When she finally answered, he could tell her thoughts had gone a different direction.

      “Nobody asked,” she said, her voice thin. “I think...most of them are so used to transactions with the Amish being primarily cash, nothing about the evening would surprise them. You know? But every time I opened the box, I was surprised. I mean, there were wads of money. So many of the sellers during the day were Amish, I bet three-fourths or more of that twenty thousand dollars was cash. And last night... I’ll have to find out, but even if it was only half...”

      In other words, somebody might have gotten his or her hands on between sixty and seventy thousand dollars in cash. Even if the thief didn’t make use of the credit card numbers, the loss was substantial, even cataclysmic.

      “Have you told anyone yet?”

      She shuddered. “No.”

      He decided to ease into the personal stuff. “Will you tell me why you moved here, Ms. Markovic?”

      That had her staring. “What does that have to do with anything?”

      Was she really that obtuse? He studied her face and couldn’t decide.

      “I’m wondering whether you left behind somebody who dislikes you enough to want to do you a bad turn, and profit from it, too.”

      “Oh. You mean an ex-husband or something?”

      “A stalker, anyone who feels wronged by you.”

      She started to shake her head again.

      “Have you ever taken out a restraining order?”

      “No. Never.”

      “Were you married?”

      “No.”

      “Have you ever been in a relationship that ended badly?”

      “No. Really.”

      He rolled his shoulders. “That takes us back to my original question. Why did you move and why here? And where did you come from?”

      “Colorado Springs. I grew up in Colorado, even stayed there for college.”

      Big change, Ben mused, to leave a town of half a million residents at the foot of the Rockies for Byrum, with its flat terrain and 3,809 residents. He’d guess Colorado Springs to be politically liberal, too, while this part of Missouri was anything but. Of course, he was one to talk, coming from the urban jungle of Camden, New Jersey.

      Nadia drew a deep breath. “I wanted—I needed—” The words seemed to be hitting a blockade.

      Once again, he reached across the table and took her hand, which felt damn cold in his, considering the air temperature.

      “I was running away,” she whispered.

      * * *

      SHE COULDN’T HAVE just said, I needed a change? But, no, the down-deep truth had slipped out. Nadia wanted to bury her face in her hands. Except one of hers was engulfed in his big, warm, comforting hand.

      “From my family,” she added hastily. СКАЧАТЬ