Bygones (23 page)

Marie looked back and forth from the man to the woman. “Were the homes vandalized, as well?”

“Oh, no,” the woman said. “No damage was done.”

Marie blew out a short breath. “That’s a relief.”

The man’s expression turned thoughtful. “From what I heard, there was no disruption of property at all, and only one or two items were taken from each residence. It’s almost like the thief knew exactly what he wanted and where to find it.”

At the man’s words, a warning bell clanged in Marie’s head. She forced a quavery smile. “Let’s hope it was just a fluke. I’d hate to think of the town being targeted by thieves.”

“I’m sure it was just a one-time thing,” the man said, pushing himself from the table. “It’s too bad, though. After all these years of peaceful living, your little community has to be impacted by the world’s evil.”

Marie stood beside the table while the man and his wife shrugged
into their jackets, picked up the tab, and headed to the cash register. Burglaries. In Sommerfeld. That explained the subdued behavior of many customers this morning.

The sounds of the café drifted into the distance as she replayed the man’s comment about the thief knowing what he wanted and where to find it. An unpleasant idea formed in her head, washing away the happiness of the morning.

As soon as the couple left, Marie charged across the floor to Trina, who was closing the cash drawer. The girl released a gasp when Marie touched her arm.

“Trina, do you know anything about the burglaries that took place Sunday?”

The girl’s gaze flitted to the side, and she nibbled her lower lip.

Marie gave Trina’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Please, honey. I really want to know.”

Trina’s wide-eyed gaze met Marie’s. “All I know is what I’ve heard in passing. Maybe you should ask Mama.”

Marie looked toward the kitchen doorway. Even though the other woman had loosened up a bit over their time of working together, Deborah had been exceptionally tight-lipped today, reminding Marie of her first days in the café. Her heart pounded, fear taking hold. Did Deborah suspect what Marie was now thinking?

After giving Trina’s arm a light pat, Marie entered the kitchen.

Deborah sat on a stool near the dishwasher, her head back and eyes closed. Marie cleared her throat, and the woman opened her eyes and shifted her gaze. When she spotted Marie, she pursed her lips. “Did you need something?”

Marie moved in front of Deborah. “Yes. I need you to tell me what happened in town Sunday afternoon.”

Deborah’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t like to gossip.”

Marie sucked in a deep breath. “I’m not asking you to. But
I need to know what happened.”

Deborah sighed. “Marie.” She shook her head. For a moment she appeared to falter, her forehead creasing with a pained expression. But then she thrust out her lower jaw in an expression of stubbornness. “I can’t say. I don’t have facts, only hearsay, and I won’t repeat it.” She charged across the floor to the stove and banged pots around.

Marie stood for a moment, staring at Deborah’s back. Her heart pounded so hard she feared it would leave her chest.

Pulling her apron over her head, she called, “The breakfast rush is over. I’m taking a break. I’ll be back in half an hour or so.”

Deborah nodded without turning around.

Marie left the café and followed the sidewalk to Henry’s shop. A cool breeze nipped at her bare legs, and her feet slipped on the rainslick bricks, but she kept a steady pace.

The overhead garage door hung half open, and she heard muffled clanging from the depths of the metal building that housed Henry’s mechanic shop. She ducked through the opening and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the bright fluorescent lights that hung on chains from the ceiling. A truck stood in the middle of the concrete floor, and two legs stuck out from beneath it.

Marie walked to the legs, her wet shoes squeaking. “Henry?”

His legs jerked. Then his feet rose slightly, and his body glided out from beneath the truck on a flat, rolling platform. Once he was clear of the vehicle, he sat up, gaping at her. A smudge of grease adorned his left cheek, and he held a wrench. “What brings you here?”

Marie crouched down, bringing her eyes level with his. “Henry, will you tell me about the burglaries that happened Sunday?”

He grimaced, rubbing his hand over his face. The action smeared the grease almost to his jaw. Had the situation been less serious, she might have teased him about it.

“I don’t know a lot,” he said slowly, placing the wrench on the
floor beside him with a light
clank
.

“Please.” Marie detested the tremble in her voice. “Tell me. I need to know.”

He met her gaze, and she saw sympathy in his dark eyes. “Apparently, while the Albrechts and Goerings were visiting neighbors Sunday afternoon, someone broke into their houses and took some things.”

Marie frowned. Her mouth went dry. “Antiques?”

He fiddled with the wrench, his head low. “Yes.”

She swallowed hard. “Do you know what?”

His sigh sounded pained. “A Russian trunk from the Goerings and a mantel clock from the Albrechts.”

Marie’s heart caught.

His gaze still aimed downward, he added, “They might not be the only ones missing things.”

“What do you mean?”

“After the news came out, people started checking their barns and sheds. Some found things missing they didn’t notice right away because they weren’t items they used every day.”

Marie lurched to her feet.

Henry pressed one hand to the concrete and stood. He held his dirty hand toward her. “Now don’t jump to conclusions.”

Whirling on him, Marie’s temper flared. “I don’t have to. The whole town will jump to conclusions for me. You know they’ll blame Beth.”

His silence confirmed her statement.

She laughed. “All morning, people were giving me funny looks, whispering behind their hands. I thought it was because I’d dared to show up at the meetinghouse, but now it makes sense. They’re all thinking my daughter is a thief!”

“Marie—”

She spun away from his reaching hand and tender look. “Just because I raised her in the world doesn’t mean I raised her poorly. I taught her right from wrong.”

“Of course you did.”

His calm reply deflated her anger. Did he truly believe her? Did she truly believe it herself? Tears stung her eyes. “But no one else will believe it, will they?”

Once again, Henry fell quiet.

Marie shook her head. “I’d better let you work. Thanks for telling me.” She heard him call her name as she dashed toward the door, but she didn’t turn around. As she hurried down the sidewalk, her heart thumped out a fear-filled message:
Not Beth, not Beth, not Beth
.

Marie bypassed the turn to the café and went directly to Lisbeth’s. She walked around to the back. The car wasn’t there, which meant Beth was still hunting. Or stealing.
Stop that!
Maybe they hadn’t attended church regularly after Jep’s mother died, and they hadn’t prayed together the way her parents had with her, but she had taught Beth morals. Beth would not steal. She wouldn’t!

Marie repeated those words in her mind as she moved from room to room in the small house, peeking in closets and under the cot in Beth’s room. She found nothing that didn’t belong there, unless she counted the two mismatched socks hiding beneath the cot. Given Beth’s irrational revulsion for the basement, she didn’t bother to check there. As she stood in the middle of the dining room, realization struck.

There wasn’t any place in the house to hide things, but there was a shed behind the café. At one time it had sheltered Lisbeth’s buggy, but the buggy had been sold years ago. Deborah had said it stood empty, too run-down to be of any real use. It would be a perfect place to hide things.

Marie took the shortcut between the houses that led to the alley
behind Lisbeth’s café. Despite the cool temperature, she broke out in a sweat. By the time she reached the double doors that opened out onto the alley, she found herself taking great heaving breaths. She examined the ground in front of the shed, looking for evidence of recent activity, but the rains had swept the area clean.

Her heart pounding, she clasped the board that lay across metal hooks, sealing the doors closed. She hefted the weathered board aside and slipped her fingers through the hole that served as a handle in the right-hand door. Her chest boomed with each heartbeat as she tugged the door. The metal hinges resisted her efforts, and she grunted, giving a mighty yank that swung the door wide. An unpleasant odor greeted her nostrils—mildew and mouse. She covered her nose with her hand and forced herself to step inside.

Only thin slivers of murky light sneaked between cracks in the planked walls. She squinted, forcing her eyes to adjust to the shadows. When she could finally focus, her legs nearly gave way.

Except for a pile of mouse-chewed burlap sacks and two rusty tin cans, the shed was empty.

She stepped back into the alley and slammed the door shut, sagging against it, her chest heaving with breaths of relief. Eventually her quivering limbs returned to normal, allowing her to stand upright. She dropped the board in place, berating herself. Of course Beth was innocent. How could she have thought otherwise, even for one moment? Guilt struck hard. She wouldn’t let Beth know of her momentary fears.

Tonight, when they were alone, she would find out where Beth had gone Sunday afternoon. Armed with that information, she would be ready to defend her daughter to anyone who dared suggest she had something to do with the burglaries.

She headed for the café, sucking in big gulps of the clean air, ridding herself of the worry that had driven her across town in
search of the truth. As the customer from Lehigh had said, with no police force in town, it was inevitable that something like this would happen. Beth had nothing to do with it.

Marie entered the café, her head held high.

That evening, when she and Beth sat at the kitchen table enjoying glasses of milk and leftover apple pie from the café, Marie leaned back in the chair and let out a sigh. “I suppose you’ve heard the scuttlebutt around town.”

Beth raised one eyebrow, a bite of pie halfway to her mouth. “I haven’t been in town the past few days. But the people have sure been acting whacky. I actually had a door slammed in my face this morning.” She put the bite into her mouth.

“I hear there have been some burglaries.” Marie watched Beth’s face.

Beth went on eating. “Oh, yeah?”

“Antiques from houses, and items from barns and sheds.”

The fork paused in its path, then lowered to her plate. “Oh, great.”

Marie nodded. “That’s what I thought this morning when I found out.”

Beth pushed her plate away. “I suppose as the newcomers we’re being held accountable.”

Marie shrugged. “It does probably look suspicious—first you going door-to-door, soliciting antiques and unusual items. Then those same items being taken.”

Beth pressed her palms to the table, ready to jump up.

Marie put her hand on her daughter’s arm. “But we can eliminate the suspicions very easily.”

Beth sank back into the chair, a scowl marring her face. “How? Let them invade our privacy and search the house? They won’t find anything.”

“I know.” Marie slid the half-eaten slice of pie back in front of Beth and picked up her own fork. “All we have to do is account for our whereabouts. If we can prove where we were on Sunday when the thefts took place, no one should be able to point fingers.”

Beth sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Why should I do that? Isn’t my word good enough?”

“Honey—”

“No!” Beth held up both hands, as if deflecting a blow. “I’m not
accounting
for anything. I didn’t do it, and I’ll tell that to anyone who asks. That’s going to have to be good enough.”

Shaking her head, Marie fixed her daughter with an imploring look. “Beth, I understand how you feel, but unless you set the community’s mind at ease, things could get very uncomfortable here. . .for both of us.”

“I don’t care.” Beth pointed to the calendar and gave an arrogant toss of her head. “See all those
X
s? That means my days here are limited. These people can think what they want to. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Marie’s hand trembled as she put down her fork. “Will you at least tell
me
where you were?”

“Where I was is my business. No one else’s.” Beth rose, her eyebrows high, her head held at a haughty angle. “You’re just going to have to trust me, Mom. I know what I’m doing.” She stormed from the room. The slam of her door signaled the end of the conversation.