Hannah dumped the clothes onto the concrete floor and sorted them. Sarah kept glancing at her from under her lashes. She almost looked . . . scared. Hannah wondered if Sarah feared she’d ask about the missing ring.
The gasoline-powered washer chugged along, stirring up a fresh batch of suds. Before Hannah could talk herself out of it, she plunged her hand into the cold water and scooped up a handful of foam. She flung it onto Sarah’s head, then started back for more. Giggles burst from her at the bewildered expression Sarah wore.
White bubbles dripped down Sarah’s hair onto her forehead, and she wiped them slowly. She didn’t crack a smile, and Hannah became aware of how inappropriate her actions had been. She opened her hand and watched the suds slide back into the washer. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Sarah reached over and grabbed a dish towel lying on the pile of towels. She dabbed at the top of her head.
“Here, I’ll help you.” Hannah took the towel and cleaned the suds from her friend’s head.
Sarah still hadn’t said anything. Maybe she was too shocked. After all, they were a sedate thirty-two years old. Matrons didn’t behave like giddy teenagers about to enter their rumspringa.
Something cold hit her neck and slid down the back of her blouse. She stepped back to find Sarah with the suds still in her hand and a wicked smile on her face. “You suckered me in,” Hannah said. She dove for the washing machine again, and ten minutes later, there was more water on the floor and on each other than in the washer.
“Oh my,” Sarah said, collapsing onto a cane-backed chair in the corner. “I’m glad the children didn’t see their mother acting dumm.”
“It’s not foolish to have fun.” Hannah wiped the suds from her cheeks. She pulled the chair from the other corner over next to Sarah. “I’ve missed you, Sarah.”
“Ja, and that is why you’ve come to visit so often and sent so many letters.” Sarah turned her back and began to run one of Luca’s shirts through the wringer on the washer. She dropped the garment into a basket and reached for another.
“My husband wanted me to break all ties. He thought you’d coax me back. He knew how many times I cried to know I was shunned. And I wanted to please him, to be faithful to him.”
“Yet still, you left him.” Sarah’s voice held censure.
Divorce was not accepted in the Amish community. A woman who left her husband would be shunned. Hannah stared into Sarah’s face. “He beat me, Sarah. He shoved me down the steps on purpose so my baby would die,” she said, her voice hard. “Would you accept that? Just say it’s okay and go on living with him, sharing his bed?”
Sarah bit her lip and looked away from Hannah’s gaze. “It is required by the Meidung to be faithful and respectful to my husband.”
“He would have killed me if I’d stayed, Sarah.” Hannah watched Sarah’s face, but the other woman said nothing.
Hannah hated divorce. Hated that she was separated. In a perfect world, a man cherished his wife and put her above himself. In a perfect world, a man was gentle yet strong toward his wife. In a perfect world, marital strife never happened. Too bad the world wasn’t perfect. Hannah wished she could live in a world like that.
Hannah decided to change the subject. “Mamm had a ring in the keepsake box. Do you know where it is?”
The sympathy on Sarah’s face vanished. “I don’t know.” She stood and grabbed a towel from the heap on the floor and began to mop up the water left around the floor drain.
The goodwill had fled the room. Sarah’s cheeks were red, but Hannah saw no reason for such agitation over a perfectly reasonable question. The ring had to be here somewhere, and she meant to find it.
NINETEEN
“The Amish didn’t invent quilts, but they brought their own unique style to the craft.
Only solid colors in hues worn in clothing are used, and the bright colors are often paired with black.”
HANNAH SCHWARTZ, ON PBS’s The Art of Quilting
Any trouble over the weekend?” Matt asked Sturgis, who leaned out the window of his car with a cigar clamped in his teeth.
“Quiet both nights,” he said. “Any new leads?” Sturgis had dark circles under his eyes. “The media has been hounding me for news. And there’s nothing to throw to them to get them off my back.”
Matt nodded. “I brought hard copies of all the data we’ve collected. I’ll go over it again. I don’t think the family will be in danger during the day. There are too many people coming and going at the greenhouse. I’ll sleep here at night and work the investigation by day.”
“Ah, I see. And Blake?”
“I’m meeting him at the coffee shop to prepare new questions for some of the family. Anything else happening?”
“Another burglary.”
Matt frowned. “Where?”
“John Deere. Some electronics taken, computers, things easily sold for hard cash. The camera didn’t pick up a thing. It looked like it was switched off. But I’ve got detectives looking over the scene for anything we missed on the once-over.”
“The fourth one in three months. He’s getting bolder.” He hesitated, unsure whether he should voice his suspicions. “What if it’s one of us, Captain?”
Sturgis sighed and leaned his head against the window frame. “I haven’t wanted to think about it, but the thought crossed my mind.”
“The guy has to be local. He knows when to slip in and how long to stay before getting away. He knows just how long before the canaries show up.”
“Anyone special you suspect, Detective?”
The things Blake had been buying flashed through his head: a fancy sports car for Gina, a gift to the spa, that five-thousand-dollar ring that probably went to Vanessa. All guilt gifts. Was it possible? He pressed his lips together and shook his head.
“Check it out, Beitler. I run a clean department, and I want it to stay that way. If you suspect anyone specific, I want to know.”
“No one specific,” he muttered. He couldn’t turn Blake in without evidence. As if Matt didn’t have enough to worry about. The captain drove off, and Matt glanced at his watch. He was supposed to meet his mother in an hour. If it really was his mother who had e-mailed him. “Come on, Ajax.” He whistled to the dog lying under the tree with three cats sleeping atop him, but Ajax just lifted his head and briefly looked at him before plopping down again.
“Traitor,” he told the canine. “You’re an insult to dogdom.” Ajax stretched as if to show him just how little his condemnation hurt. “Stay here, then.” He didn’t think Hannah would need the dog during the day, but just in case, it wouldn’t hurt to let Ajax stay. Just when he’d made the decision to leave the animal, the cats scurried away. Ajax got up and trotted over to stand by the rear door of the SUV expectantly. Matt let him in.
Hannah stepped to the back door of the house just as he climbed behind the wheel. “Is there a McDonald’s around? I’d love an iced coffee—vanilla.”
“Nope, no McDonald’s. But Rockville has a Burger King. They’ve got a pretty good iced mocha. And there’s a coffee shop in town.”
“Thanks, I’ll check it out.” She disappeared inside again.
He drove to his place in Rockville. He hadn’t been back to the house since Friday. He parked at the street and let Ajax out. The dog chuffed at his feet and whined. “You miss your toys, boy?” Matt unlocked the door and opened it, and stale air rushed out. The dog went inside ahead of him, and by the time Matt shut the door, Ajax had returned with his stuffed cat.