Janice Kay - Her Amish Protectors

Help him to the best of her ability, even if the man had disturbed her both times they’d met, although for different reasons. And what she could actually do to help was a mystery.

When a knock on the door at the foot of the stairs came, Nadia pushed herself wearily to her feet.

Instead of Hannah, a man stood there patiently waiting. Medium height and thin, he had light brown hair graying at his temples and a face too lined for what she guessed to be his age.

“Ms. Markovic?” he said. “I’m Jim Wilcox.” When she apparently looked blank, he tapped the embroidered insignia on his shirt. “Wilcox Lock and Key?”

“Oh! Oh, yes. Thank you for coming.”

“You said you had a break-in?”

“Actually, what we suspect is that the intruder had a key.”

He frowned. “Well, first thing I’d suggest is that this interior door require a different key than the front and back doors. I put these locks in myself, had to be seven or eight years ago. I suggested the same to Mrs. Jefferson, but she didn’t want to be bothered to have to figure out which key went to which door.”

“I actually meant to get this lock changed when I first moved in,” she admitted, “just because it opens to my private living space. I’ve had so much else to do, though, and really the only other person who has a key is Hannah Yoder—”

“Who is trustworthy.” He nodded. “Even so...”

“Even so,” Nadia agreed.

“You want me to replace all three locks.”

“Yes.”

He backed up a step. “I’ll get started, then.” But he didn’t keep going. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I hope you weren’t home when you had the break-in. I mean, that you weren’t hurt or...frightened.”

“I slept through it,” she said wryly. “But I was scared to death come morning when I realized he’d been right there—” She cut herself off with a shudder.

“I’m real sorry, Ms. Markovic.” He looked truly distressed, but Nadia had found most people in her new community to be kind. Or, she had until today.

She smiled with difficulty. “Thank you, Mr. Wilcox. I appreciate you coming so quickly.”

He bobbed his head awkwardly and retreated, presumably going out to his truck to get the new locks and whatever tools he needed.

Nadia made herself go into the store, where she found a trio of women she knew.

“Is it true?” one of them said right away.

She had to say, “Unfortunately.”

* * *

FRUSTRATED, BEN DECIDED to go by and talk to Nadia again before he called it a day. She might have learned something, or at least that’s what he told himself. The underlying truth was that he wanted to find out how people had reacted to her disclosure. She’d gotten to him this morning, when she had explained why she needed to start over in a new place. He hadn’t been able to help thinking about the parallels with his sister in her lengthy recovery from the assault that shattered her life, and hoped everyone Nadia talked to had at least been decent to her.

Online, he hadn’t had any trouble finding articles about the horrific episode when she’d been shot. Turned out, she’d given him a very condensed version. It sounded like a real nightmare, and one that had gone on for hours. He also learned that she’d spent those hours using her body to protect the little girl, somehow keeping her quiet after she regained consciousness. Nadia had saved young Molly’s life. She was labeled a heroine in news coverage. He’d seen a picture snapped from a distance away of her being brought out of the house on a gurney. The cops and EMTs in the photo all looked grim in a way Ben recognized. The sight of murdered children scarred the most hardened cop. And to know their own father had killed them...

He shook his head in denial, even though he knew better. Fathers, and mothers, too, regularly hurt and killed their own children.

Nadia was closing up when he arrived. She let him in, then turned the sign on the door to Closed. His gaze went to the shiny new dead bolt lock.

“I see Jim has been here.”

“Yes. I don’t think he charged me enough. He seemed to feel bad about what happened.”

“Yeah, he was pretty upset when Mrs. Jefferson died, too.”

“He told me he recommended she replace the lock on the apartment door, but she didn’t want to be bothered with two different keys.”

Ben nodded. “Jim felt guilty that he hadn’t insisted.”

“Wait.” She gaped at him. “Do you actually think someone killed her? That she didn’t just fall down the stairs?”

“I’m sure she was pushed,” he said grimly.

“But...how can you know?”

“Because her head hit the wall a lot higher than it could have if she’d fallen. We found blood and hair in the dent. It took some real force to launch her up instead of down. The ME agrees, too. People who fall bump down the stairs, but her injuries are consistent with the greater force theory.”

“Oh, no,” she whispered.

He kept a snapshot of Edith Jefferson’s body, just as he did one of every other crime victim he’d seen. Crumpled at the foot of the stairs, Edith had appeared shockingly tiny and hideously damaged.

He tried to shake off the picture. “It happened long before you came to town. What happened to her was personal. It had nothing to do with you.”

“No, I know, but...” She shivered. “Even if she’d changed that lock, it might not have made any difference.”

“It might not have,” he agreed. It stuck in his craw that he hadn’t been able to make an arrest. Nothing had been stolen. Nobody seemed to have both motive to kill the old woman and opportunity. He hadn’t closed the case, though, and wouldn’t. He hoped like hell this current investigation didn’t end up in a similar limbo. So far, it wasn’t looking good. “So, how’d your day go?” he asked.

She told him, but he had a feeling this was the condensed version, too. Her face was pinched, her luminous eyes clouded. It was especially disturbing because he’d seen her glowing on the stage last night as she thanked everyone. The contrast was painful.

She might have taken the money, he reminded himself, but couldn’t quite believe it. Okay, didn’t want to believe it.

He threw out names of people he had been told were there last night. Turned out several were playing a behind-the-scenes role or had good reason to be attending. A couple of the names had her shaking her head.

“I don’t know any of them. Or, if I’ve met them, I didn’t catch their names.”

She didn’t invite him up to her apartment, and since he hadn’t come up with anything else to ask her, Ben finally said, “I’ll bet you haven’t eaten today.”

Expression mulish, she retorted, “You made me have breakfast, remember?”

“A croissant. Did you stop for lunch?”

Her lips compressed.

“You may not feel like eating,” he said quietly, “but you need to make yourself. And take something for that headache.”

Nadia stiffened. “How did you know?”

“You have all the signs.” He knew he could have massaged some of that pain away, but he couldn’t let himself put his hands on her. As the last person to have the money, she remained a suspect.

“You’re right.” She sagged slightly. “I’ll follow your advice. I promise.”

He left on that note. On the drive home, he called to let his dispatcher know where he’d be, then made another call to order a pizza for pickup.

Usually by the end of a day, he was sick enough of people to relish a few hours of solitude. Tonight, his house felt strangely lonely when he finally let himself in.

For once, he was glad when his phone rang shortly after he’d cleaned up when he was done eating, and especially when he saw the name displayed. His sister. Odd timing, when she’d been on his mind so much the past few days.