Hide in Plain Sight (7 page)

“And you’re not just a simple financial expert, are you? You’re also a granddaughter, a sister, and now an innkeeper.”

“Don’t remind me.” She rubbed at the line between her brows, as if she could rub it away. “I know you won’t appreciate how this pains me, but my sister’s idea of keeping track of start-up costs consists of throwing receipts in a file.”

“She uses a file? I thought my cigar box was pretty sophisticated.”

That got a smile, and the line vanished. “You’re not going to make me believe that, you know.”

“Maybe not.” He sobered. “But I hope you’ll believe that if anything happens that worries you, you can call me. Any time. I promise I’ll answer my phone.”

She looked startled. “You mean—but surely with the new lights and the locks, no one would try to break in.”

“Sounds a little melodramatic with the sun shining, but I’m still not comfortable about the situation.” An ambitious thief might want to see what he could get before the inn opened, filling the place with visitors. And an ambitious rival might think one more incident would be enough to scuttle the inn plans for good. “Just—call me.”

Her gaze seemed to weigh him, determining whether and how much to trust him. Finally she nodded.

“All right. If I see or hear anything that concerns me, I’ll call you. I promise.”

She’d made a promise she didn’t expect she’d have to keep, Andrea thought as she drove home from the hospital that evening. She appreciated Cal’s concern, but surely the measures they’d taken would discourage any prospective thief.

Now all she had to worry about was hanging on to her future at work, ensuring Rachel’s healing, and getting the inn off and running. Those concerns had actually begun to seem manageable.

The layer of dark clouds that massed on the horizon didn’t dampen her optimistic mood. Rachel had looked almost normal tonight, joking about the casts and finally rid of the headache that had dogged her since the accident. Andrea hadn’t realized how worried she was about her sister until the weight had lifted with the assurance that Rachel was her buoyant self again.

They had spent nearly two hours going over all of Rachel’s plans for the inn, and in spite of her sister’s undoubted lack of financial expertise, they probably had a reasonable chance of success. They had a beautiful, historic building in an unmatched setting, and Grams was a natural hostess. With Emma’s housekeeping ability and Rachel’s inspired cooking, they should be in good shape.

The cooking was the immediate problem, but surely they could find a way around that until Rachel was well. If Andrea could just get them set up on a sound financial system, the whole thing could work. She might still have doubts about the wisdom of Grams taking on such a project at her age, but at least she was no longer convinced they were headed for disaster.

She pulled up to the garage, giving an approving nod to the lights Cal had installed. It would take a brazen thief to attempt to break in now, even though darkness took over beyond the buildings with only the pale yellow glow from a distant farmhouse to break it.

She parked and walked quickly to the side door that led directly into the family quarters. From upstairs, Barney gave an experimental woof and then quieted, apparently recognizing her step. Grams must have already gone to bed.

Andrea made the rounds of the ground floor, checking the doors that Grams had already no doubt checked. Everything was locked up and secure. She hurried through the library, not looking toward the portrait. Thinking about her grandfather was not conducive to a good night’s sleep.

Upstairs, she opened the door to Grams’s bedroom. Her grandmother was already asleep, her Bible open on her lap. Barney looked up, tail slapping the floor. Andrea removed the Bible, open to the twenty-third Psalm. Had that comforted Grams enough to send her to sleep? Faint longing moved through her. She wanted…

She wasn’t sure what. Faith, like Grams had? Like Cal apparently had? But faith wasn’t to be manufactured just because she felt responsibility weighing on her. She turned off the bedside lamp, tiptoed out and shut the door.

A cool breeze wafted into the hall from the open window. She glanced at it, deciding to leave it open, and went on into her bedroom.

The new lights cast reflections on her ceiling. Comforting reflections. They could all sleep well tonight, including Cal. She wouldn’t be calling him.

Andrea jolted awake. Shoving the sheet aside, she reached for the bedside lamp, heart pounding. Then the noise came again, and she subsided, relaxing. Thunder, that was all. The threatening storm had arrived. Even as she thought that, rain slashed against the house.

Jumping out of bed, she hurried to the windows, but no sprinkles dampened the wide sills. The rain wasn’t coming in this direction, but it might well be raining in the hall window.

She hurried out into the hallway. The sheer white curtains on the window billowed inward, and she rushed to pull down the sash, bare toes curling into a slight dampness on the floor beneath her feet. She could imagine Grams’s reaction if she woke to soaked curtains.

There were no lights on this side of the house. Darkness pressed against the panes, mitigated only by reflections of the dim night-light Grams always left on in the hall. She stood there for a moment, looking into the dark, until it was split by a vivid flash of lightning.

She jerked back, gasping. In the brief instant of light—had that been a figure, standing just by the shelter of the lilac hedge?

She pressed her hand against her chest, feeling the thud of her heart. Imagination, that was all. She was spooking herself, seeing menace where there was nothing…But there had been something that night by the toolshed. Was their prowler making another visit?

Lightning snapped again, closer now, one sharp crack illuminating the grounds below as sharply as a spotlight. Showing her the dark figure of a man.

She drew back, clutching the curtain instinctively in front of her, as if he could see her standing there in the flimsy cotton nightshirt. She slid to the side of the window. Stared out, focusing her eyes on the spot, trying to still the rasp of her breath. If the lightning flashed again, she’d be ready.

A volley of lightning, thunder following it so fast that the storm must be right over the house. It showed her, as if in a series of jagged still pictures, the figure turning, the brim of a hat, tilting up toward the window where she stood, frozen. The face was a pale blur, but the clothing—even in dark outline, the clothing looked Amish.

Impossible. But she had to believe the evidence of her own eyes, didn’t she? Even as she watched, the figure moved, raising one arm as if he shook his fist at her.

She stumbled backward, heart thudding, breath catching, and then bolted for the bedroom and her cell phone. The doors were locked, he couldn’t get in, call Cal, call the police….

Cal answered on the first ring, sounding as if he fought his way awake. “Yes, what?”

“There’s someone, a man, out on the east side of the house.”

“Andrea?” His voice sharpened. “Are you sure?”

“The lightning makes it as bright as day. He’s there, watching the house. We didn’t put lights—”

They hadn’t thought they needed to where there were no outbuildings to be broken into. Maybe the
intruder’s goal wasn’t the outbuildings. Maybe it was the house itself.

“I’ll be right there. Don’t go out, you hear me?”

“I won’t. I’ll go down to the side door and meet you there.” She glanced across the hall. “My grandmother’s exhausted. I don’t want to wake her again unless I have to.”

“Right. Don’t call the police until I see what’s up. And don’t open the door.” He clicked off without a goodbye.

It wasn’t until she stood there shivering in the dark that she realized that at least one part of her relief at hearing his voice on the phone was the conviction that it couldn’t be Cal out there in the dark, playing tricks.

Quickly she pulled sweatpants and a sweatshirt on, stuffing her feet into slippers. She hadn’t realized she’d been considering that possibility, even subconsciously. But what, as Uncle Nick had said, did they really know about Cal?

Well, she knew now that he wasn’t their prowler. And she knew that comfort had flooded through her at the sound of his voice.

Maybe it was better not to dwell on that. She grabbed a flashlight and went softly down the stairs. Should she have called the police? Maybe, but if she did, Grams would waken, would be subjected to that upset yet again.

Wait, as Cal had said. See what he found.

She huddled against the side door, gripping the flashlight, wishing for even the dubious comfort of Barney at this point. If Cal didn’t appear soon, she’d have to do something.

A dripping face appeared outside the glass, and her heart threatened to leap from her chest before she recognized Cal. She unlocked the door, trying to ignore the shaking of her fingers, and pulled him in out of the rain.

She switched on the hall light. Like her, Cal wore sweatpants and sweatshirt, but his were wet through.

“I’m sorry. You’re soaked.” Well, that wasn’t very coherent. “Should I call the police?”

“No use.” He shook his head, water spraying from his drenched hair. “He’s not there now.”

“If he ever was?” She knew her quick anger was just reaction to strain. “I saw him. He was there.”

“Relax, I believe you. The lilac bushes were broken, the grass tamped down, as if he’d stood there for some time.” His fingers closed over hers. They were wet and cold, but somehow they warmed her. “Tell me what you saw.”

“A man. I can’t say how tall he was—I was looking down from the upstairs window.” She kept her voice low, not wanting to stir up the dog. “I didn’t make out the face, but Cal—he was wearing Amish clothing.”

He frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I’m sure. Dark pants and jacket, white shirt, the hat—if it wasn’t an Amishman, it was someone doing a good imitation.”

“I’d almost rather believe that.” His voice was troubled. “The Amish aren’t exactly noted for producing prowlers. You never met a more law-abiding bunch.”

She shivered. “That’s not all. It—he—the figure seemed to be looking up at the window where I was
standing. He raised his arm, as if he were shaking his fist at me. And if you tell me I was dreaming—”

“I don’t doubt you.” Without seeming to know he was doing it, Cal pulled her closer. “But we’ve got to think this through before we do anything. Can you imagine the repercussions if something like this hit the newspapers?”

“I hadn’t thought of that, but I see what you mean.” Like it or not, and they didn’t, the Amish were newsworthy. A story like that could get out of control in hours. She glanced up the stairs. “I don’t want Grams upset, and that would devastate her.”

“Well, whoever he was, he’s gone now.” Cal brushed damp hair back from his brow. “Are you okay if we hold off making a decision until we can talk this over in the morning?”

She was insensibly comforted by the way he said
we
. Whatever came, she wasn’t alone in this. “Yes, all right. After all, he didn’t really do anything except lurk. The house is locked up securely.”

“Good.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll take another look around before I go back to the barn. We’ll talk in the morning. Meantime, try to get some sleep, or your grandmother will want to know why your eyes are so heavy.” He turned to go back out into the rain.

“Wait. Do you want an umbrella?”

“Why?” Cal paused on the threshold, his smile flashing. “I can’t get any wetter than I already am. Good night. Lock the door.”

“No chance I’ll forget that.”

He vanished almost at once into the darkness beyond
the reach of the light. She locked the door, realizing that she was smiling.

Amazing. If anyone had told her fifteen minutes ago that she’d find anything to smile about tonight, she’d have said they were crazy.

C
al frowned at the mug of coffee in his hand and then set it out of the way on the barn floor. He needed something to get his brain moving after the previous night’s alarms, but caffeine wasn’t doing the job.

He picked up a sanding block and knelt next to a reproduction of an old-fashioned dry sink, running the fine sandpaper along its grain. This was better than coffee for what ailed him.

What he really needed was to talk with Andrea, but he’d known better than to go to the inn first thing this morning. Katherine would be up and Emma already busy in the kitchen, making it impossible to have a private conversation. He’d have to wait until after their breakfast was over, at least.

He ran his hand along the curved edge of the dry sink’s top. Smooth as silk—that was what he wanted. Taking shortcuts at this stage would show up eventually in the finished product, ruining the piece for him.

Even the work didn’t chase away his troubled thoughts, unfortunately. He couldn’t stop chewing on
the implications of what Andrea had seen. Or thought she’d seen.

A few days earlier, he might have been tempted to believe she was making up her tale of a prowler, just to convince her grandmother to sell. Now, he knew her better. Andrea wouldn’t do that.

No, he didn’t doubt that she’d seen someone, but was it beyond belief that the man, whoever he was, wasn’t Amish? She’d seen a figure in dark clothes, but peering out into the storm from an upstairs window, she couldn’t have seen all that much. Maybe her imagination had taken the prowler’s dark clothing and filled in the rest.

Somehow he didn’t relish the idea of bringing that up with her.

“Cal?”

He straightened at the sound of Andrea’s voice, dismayed at the flood of pleasure he felt at the sight of her. She stood for a moment in a stripe of sunlight at the barn door.

“Come in. How are you? Nothing else happened, did it?”

She came toward him, the sneakers she wore making little sound on the wide planks of the barn floor. In jeans and a loose denim shirt worn over a white tee, she almost looked as if she belonged here.

“It was quiet enough,” she said. “I didn’t sleep much, though. I woke at every creak, and believe me, a house that old creaks a lot.”

“How about some coffee?” He gestured toward the pot that sat on a rough shelf against the wall. “It won’t be as good as Emma’s, but at least it’s hot.”

“None for me, thanks. Grams insisted on giving me three cups of herbal tea this morning, because I looked tired. I don’t have room for coffee.”

“She didn’t ask any difficult questions, I hope.” If she’d told her grandmother about what had happened…

Andrea shook her head. “No. And I didn’t mention anything about last night.” She ran her hand along the top of the dry sink, much as he had done, a wing of silky hair falling across her cheek as she looked down. “But I can’t just ignore what happened.”

“I know.” He frowned, wondering if it were wise, or even possible, to keep her from voicing her suspicions. “Do you want to go to the police?”

“Depends upon what moment you ask me.” Her smile flickered. “I spent my wakeful night going over and over it and changing my mind every thirty seconds or so.”

He bent, picked up a couple of sanding blocks, and tossed one to her.

She caught it automatically. “What’s this for?”

“Try it.” He knelt, running his block along the side of the piece. “It’s very soothing.”

“Just what I need—to be soothed while intruders trample through Grams’s yard and try to break in.” But she sat down on the floor in front of the dry sink and began sanding lightly.

“Trample?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean.” She sanded for a moment longer, frowning. “He was there. He was watching the house.”

“I know.” He silenced the urge to tell her what he thought she should do. It was her decision, not his.

“You’re right. This is soothing. How did you learn to do this? The furniture, I mean, not just sanding.”

“My dad’s father.” His voice softened, as it always did at the thought of his grandfather. Whatever he knew about being a good man, as well as a good carpenter, came from him. “He figured everyone should know how to do something useful, just in case.”

“He sounds like a wise man.”

She glanced up at him, smiling. For an instant their faces were close—so close he could see the flecks of gold in those green eyes, mirroring the gold of her hair. So close he could feel the movement of her breath across his cheek.

Her eyes widened, and he heard the catch of her breath. He put the sanding block down with a hand that wasn’t entirely steady and sat back, away from her. That was—well, unexpected. Not surprising that he found her attractive, but shocking in the strength of that pull toward her. And disturbing that she felt it, too.

Andrea looked down at the sandpaper in her hand. She cleared her throat. “Well, I have to make a decision about calling the police.”

So they were going to ignore what had just happened. Maybe that was best.

“If you tell the police the person you saw was Amish—”

“I know. It will cause problems, problems for the community, problems for Grams. I don’t want that. But I have to do something. I can’t help wondering…” She looked at him again, eyes guarded. “What if it was Levi?”

“Levi.” He had to adjust his perspective. “That didn’t occur to me. Do you have some reason for thinking that?”

She shook her head. “Only that I’ve seen him around the house. At one time, I’d have said I knew him, but not any longer. Does he ever come over here at night?”

“I’ve never seen him.” Everything in him wanted to reject the idea. “Look, you know he’s like a child—a gentle child. If it were Levi last night, he certainly didn’t intend any harm. From what I’ve seen, his parents keep close tabs on him, so it’s hard to believe he could have been wandering around after dark.”

“Somebody was.” She moved restlessly. “You mentioned there’d been some vandalism in the area. Could it have something to do with that?”

“I don’t know. The incidents have been pretty harmless, as far as I’ve heard. Mailboxes knocked down. Somebody threw a bucket of purple paint at an Amish house. The police seem to think it’s caused by teenagers looking for a little excitement. Nothing here was damaged, but maybe they’re branching out into intimidation.” He’d rather imagine it was random mischief, not deliberate malice toward the inn.

She nodded, frowning. “What do you think we should do?”

We. The simple pronoun stopped him for a moment. Andrea considered him an ally. She didn’t want to make this decision alone, and she didn’t want to worry her elderly grandmother, or Rachel, stuck in a wheelchair. So she’d turned to him.

All the resolutions he’d made about living a detached
life here were on the line. Panic flickered. He couldn’t make himself responsible for them.

But he’d put himself in this position. He’d interfered, and he couldn’t back away and say it was none of his concern just because his emotions were getting involved.

“It seems to me that the police are already doing about all they can do, under the circumstances. The fact that you saw a prowler again probably wouldn’t change anything.”

He was being drawn in. He was starting to think like a lawyer again. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help it.

“I suppose not, but doing nothing doesn’t resolve the situation.”

“Look, why don’t you give it a day or two? Let me talk to some of my Amish friends, sound them out about it. See if there’s any animosity toward the inn among the Amish community.” Doing so might harm the delicate balance of his relationship with them, but the alternative was worse.

She studied him for a moment, as if weighing his sincerity. “All right.” She got to her feet too quickly for him to reach out a helping hand. “If you’ll do that, I’ll talk to Uncle Nick. He may have some ideas, and I’m sure he’d keep anything I tell him in confidence. He wouldn’t want to upset Grams.”

Obviously Andrea wasn’t one to leave everything in someone else’s hands, but maybe she was right. Bendick did seem to have his finger in a lot of pies in the township.

“What about Levi? Do you want me to talk to Emma?”

“No. I’ll see if I can bring it up without upsetting her.” She shook her head. “I’m not looking forward to it.”

“Better to talk to her than let the suspicion affect your attitude toward him.”

“True enough. If I didn’t say it before, thank you, Cal. For last night, and for being willing to help. I appreciate it. And Grams would, if she knew.”

“Any time.”

He meant it, but he had to be careful. Andrea had broken through barriers he’d thought were completely secure, and trying to deny the attraction he felt was pointless.

But that attraction couldn’t go anywhere. The life Andrea prized was the kind of life that had nearly destroyed his soul.

The gold lettering on the plate glass window jolted the cool facade Andrea had meant to maintain for this visit. Unger and Bendick, Real Estate and Insurance. She hadn’t imagined that Grandfather’s name would still be on the business.

It was a name that stood for something in this quiet country village. Uncle Nick probably hadn’t been eager to give that up, and she couldn’t blame him.

Grams had assured her that Uncle Nick would be in the office on a Saturday morning. Fortunately she hadn’t asked why Andrea wanted to see him.

A bell tinkled when she opened the door. Clever of Uncle Nick to retain the old-fashioned flavor, even when he was dealing with visiting urbanites looking for
a little piece of country to call their own. Or maybe especially then.

The woman behind the mission oak desk looked up inquiringly, and in an instant Andrea went from being the appreciative observer to being that ten-year-old trailing her grandfather around town. There was Betty Albertson, her grandfather’s faithful secretary, peering at her over the half-glasses she wore at her desk.

Those half-glasses had fascinated Andrea. Betty wore them so far down her pointed nose that they seemed in constant danger of sliding right off, like a sled down Miller’s Hill.

“Betty, how nice to see you. It’s been a long time.” Conventional words, giving her the moment she needed to remind herself that she was no longer ten, no longer interested in the stash of chocolate bars in Betty’s top right desk drawer.

Sharp gray eyes now matched gray hair, pulled smoothly back into the same sort of French twist Betty had worn when her hair had been a mousy brown. For a moment she thought the secretary didn’t recognize her, but then she smiled.

“Andrea Hampton. Land, it has been a while. You look as if life agrees with you.”

Did she? With everything she valued turned upside down in the past few days, it hardly seemed likely.

“I see you’re still running Unger and Bendick single-handedly.”

The joke had always been that Betty knew more about the business than both partners combined. She’d been so fiercely loyal to Grandfather that it occasion
ally seemed she resented even the distraction of his family.

Betty’s smile tightened. “Mr. Bendick offered to hire more help, but I prefer to handle things on my own.”

She’d given offense, even though it hadn’t been intended. “I’m sure no one could do it better. My grandfather often said you were worth more than a dozen assistants.”

“Did he?” A faint flush warmed Betty’s thin cheeks. “That was kind of him. He was always so thoughtful.”

Betty had her own memories of Grandfather. “Is Uncle Nick-Mr. Bendick—in? I’d like to see him for a moment.”

Betty’s gaze flicked toward the closed office door that bore his name, again in faded gold. “This isn’t a good time. We get swamped on Saturdays. Why don’t I ask him to stop by the house later?”

Andrea glanced around, half amused, half annoyed. “It doesn’t look that busy right now. Surely he can spare me a few minutes.”

Betty’s lips pressed together, nostrils flaring, but then she mustered an unconvincing smile. “He’s on the phone. If you want to wait, I’ll try to slip you in when he finishes.”

Plainly Betty had transferred the devotion she’d once had for Fredrick Unger to his junior partner. “I’ll wait.” She crossed the faded Oriental carpet to the row of wooden chairs against the far wall and sat.

Betty blinked, perhaps wondering if she’d gone too far. “Well, that’s fine. I didn’t mean anything, I’m sure.”

“I won’t take long, I promise.”

She couldn’t get into an argument with the woman, just because she was hyperprotective of her employer. If anything, she ought to feel sorry for Betty, leading such a narrow life. She probably didn’t get out of Churchville from one year to the next. Andrea vaguely remembered an elderly mother that Betty looked after.

The schoolhouse clock on the wall above the desk ticked audibly. As a child, sitting on this same chair, legs swinging, she’d been mesmerized by the jerky movement of the hands. Photos surrounded the clock, recording events from the early days of Churchville. Grandfather at the ground breaking for the school, at the dedication of the bank, at some long-ago Fourth of July celebration.

The door to the inner office opened. Uncle Nick blinked and then hurried toward her, hands outstretched.

“Andrea, this is a surprise. Betty, why didn’t you tell me Andrea was waiting?”

Betty slid the half-glasses down to look over them. “You were on the phone. And now you have an appointment to show the Barker place.”

“I certainly have a few minutes to talk with Andrea.”

“You know how interested those people are. You don’t want to be late.”

“Why not? They’ve kept me waiting at every appointment.” He took Andrea’s arm, winking at her once his back was turned to Betty. “We have time for a little chat.”

He led her into his office and closed the door, then gave her a quick hug. “I’m sorry about that. The woman thinks I can’t do a thing unless she reminds me.”

“I don’t want to mess up a sale.”

He shook his head. “Pair of uptight yuppies who think they want a country place but don’t like anything that’s in their price range.” He beamed at her. “I’m glad you stopped in for a visit before you head back to the city.”