How Secrets Die (27 page)

GRANDMA'S HOMEMADE NOODLES

Making homemade noodles is a tradition in Pennsylvania Dutch families, and my grandmother's recipe has been passed on for generations. In fact, I recently taught one of my granddaughters the secret!

Beat together one whole egg and three egg yolks. Add flour, stirring constantly, until a stiff dough forms. Turn the ball of dough out on a well-floured board or waxed paper and knead lightly for a few minutes, working in a little more flour until no longer sticky to the touch. Cover and let rest for fifteen minutes. Then roll out, incorporating more flour as needed, into a very thin circle. It should be about the thickness of a dime. Cover with tea towels and let dry for several hours. Cut into four pieces. Roll up each piece, jelly-roll style. Using a thin, sharp knife, cut into very thin slices. Gently shake out the rounds of dough into strips. Drop the noodles into boiling chicken broth and simmer for twenty minutes. The broth will thicken as it cooks, so stir occasionally to prevent sticking. Do not drain. Just serve as is, broth and all. This may be put on top of mashed potatoes as if it were gravy or served separately as a side dish. The dough is sometimes cut into squares to use in chicken pot pie. Enjoy!

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Where Secrets Sleep

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Laurel Ridge
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In small town Laurel Ridge, not everything is as simple as it appears...

HOW SECRETS DIE
WHEN SECRETS STRIKE
WHERE SECRETS SLEEP

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Facing the past can be deadly...

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When Secrets Strike

by Marta Perry

CHAPTER ONE

B
E
CAREFUL
OUT
THERE
.
Sarah Bitler smiled, thinking of her mother's familiar goodbye as Sarah had climbed into her buggy this morning. Mammi always said the same thing when any of her family left her sight. She'd really rather they stay safely on the farm, even Sarah, who was nearing thirty and had long since been accepted as a maidal, an old maid, by their Pennsylvania Amish community.

What was there to be careful of on this peaceful back road that wound between Amish and Englisch farms on its way to the town of Laurel Ridge? The route took a bit longer to reach her quilt shop than if Sarah had gone by the main road, but was worth it to keep her mother from worrying.

“Mamm is being a little silly, ain't so, Molly?” She could talk to her buggy horse out here without fear of being overheard. “There's not even a storm cloud in the sky today.”

Molly flickered her ears in response to Sarah's voice and then broke stride. The mare tossed her head, snorting.

“What are you—”

Sarah stopped, seeing a few seconds later what Molly had sensed immediately. Smoke, snaking its way up between the trees ahead of her.

“Someone burning trash, that's all.” But doubt threaded her words. There was too much smoke for that, surely. Hard on the thought she saw the sparks shooting upward, landing among the trees. Her heart thudded in her chest.

Fire
. The one thing that farmers feared most, especially in a dry summer like this one. She slapped the lines, sending the mare surging ahead. She'd have to see for herself what was burning.

Around the next curve in the winding road, the source was visible. Flames licked the back wall of a barn, and smoke billowed upward, fanned by the summer breeze. An unused barn, thank the gut Lord, part of the property belonging to an elderly widow who lived in town. No animals were in danger, at least, but if the fire spread—

Sarah froze for an instant, undecided. Race to the nearest phone to call for help? Or check first in case someone needed help?

A glimpse of the small cottage near the barn decided her. The cottage wasn't empty—Mrs. Everly let Gus Hill live there in exchange for keeping an eye on the property. Sarah had to be sure he wasn't in danger.

Turning an unwilling Molly onto the lane, Sarah touched her with the buggy whip, and they bucketed up to the cottage. Sarah jumped down from the buggy seat and raced to the door, her breath coming quickly. If Gus was there, surely he'd have smelled the fire by now. Unless he'd somehow provided himself with a bottle, in which case he could well be passed out and unaware of the danger.

“Gus! Gus Hill! Are you in there?” Sarah pounded on the door, glancing toward the flames that licked at the barn roof. “Gus!” She twisted the knob, and the door swung open.

A quick glance around the two littered rooms told her that wherever Gus was, he wasn't here. But the barn—

She ran back outside. The fire ate greedily at one corner of the roof, sending a shower of sparks toward the trees. He surely wasn't in there. He couldn't be. She should hurry to the nearest phone. But she couldn't, not without being certain.

Her breath catching, Sarah raced to the barn. The heat radiating from it was terrifying, but she had to look—had to be certain Gus wasn't in there. She grabbed the hem of her apron and held it over her mouth and nose. Eyes watering, she peered through the open doorway.

Empty—not even any old hay bales to feed the fire. And no crumpled body lying unconscious, either.

A timber crashed, flaming, to the barn floor, sending a trail of fire heading toward her. Sarah spun, fleeing to the buggy, not needing to use the whip to persuade Molly into a gallop. They jolted back down the lane, back around the bend. The Stoltzfus farm, that would be closest, and they had a phone shanty near their barn.

Molly raced up the Stoltzfuses' lane, heading straight for their barn as if it were her own. Sarah halted the mare at the phone shanty, stumbled down and grabbed the receiver, hitting 911. By the time she'd gasped out the information to the emergency dispatcher, Ben Stoltzfus was running toward her from the barn, followed by three of his sons, while his wife, Miriam, hurried from the house, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“Was ist letz, Sarah? What's wrong?” Ben grasped her arm.

A fit of coughing seized her, and she could only point.

“Ach, how did we not smell it? Fire—the old Everly barn, ja?”

Sarah nodded, catching her breath. “I spotted it when I was passing. The sparks...” She didn't need to explain the danger to Ben. He was already turning to his sons.

“Buckets and shovels into the wagon, quick. We must keep the fire from spreading until the fire truck gets here.”

Wide-eyed, the boys ran to obey. Ben raced for the paddock and his buggy horse.

Miriam had reached Sarah by then and wrapped her arm around her. “You're all right? Komm, let me see. You didn't burn yourself?”

“No, no, I'm fine.” A cough interrupted the words. “Just need a drink of water, I think.”

“For sure. Into the house, now.” Miriam glanced to the oldest of her daughters. “Emma, go and call the neighbors. Tell them the Everly barn is burning. Quick!”

Ten-year-old Emma paled, but she bolted to the phone shanty.

Suddenly weak in the knees, Sarah was grateful for Miriam's arm around her as they headed for the farmhouse. Miriam, like any Amish mammi, clucked and comforted and scolded all at once as she gently shoved Sarah onto a kitchen chair and then set a glass of water in front of her.

“You rest a minute. I'll start coffee. Lucky I have a couple of jugs of lemonade I can take over, too. The firefighters will need a drink.”

Sarah nodded, accepting Miriam's automatic assumption that they would provide what was needed. It was what neighbors did.

“Maybe take drinking water, as well. I don't know what the water source is over there.”

“Ja, that's true.” Miriam bustled around, putting one daughter in charge of the baby and enlisting the other two in carrying jugs and cups to Sarah's buggy.

“I looked for Gus Hill.” Sarah cleared her throat and took another gulp of water. “No sign of him.”

“He's never one to hang around if there's trouble,” Miriam said darkly. “I don't know what Julia Everly pays him for looking after the place for her, but he's not worth it, that's certain sure.”

Reluctant as she was to speak ill of anyone, Sarah had to admit that Miriam was most likely right. Gus was a fixture in the township, well known for his talent for getting by on the least possible effort.

By the time the buggy was loaded, Ben and the boys had already taken off in the wagon. The wail of a siren pierced the air. The fire truck roared by, followed by the usual cars and trucks carrying extra volunteers. Most of the able-bodied men in the area belonged to the volunteer fire company, both Amish and Englisch. Like Aaron King.

Sarah shoved the name to the back of her mind as she and Miriam drove Sarah's buggy in the wake of the volunteers. She had no right to be more concerned for Aaron than for any other of her Amish brethren. Now if she could only convince herself of that fact...

By the time they reached the Everly property, the barn was fully engulfed. Figures in yellow protective gear swarmed around it, but Sarah could see they were more intent on keeping the fire from spreading than on trying to save the structure. It was too late for that.

Molly whinnied, shaking her head nervously, so Sarah led her a short distance away and tethered her to a tree. Miriam had shoved a folding table into the buggy, behind the seat. They pulled it out and began setting thermoses and jugs on it.

Scanning the firefighters, all so alike in their gear, Sarah couldn't deny she was searching for Aaron. She caught a glimpse of a chestnut-colored beard, and her breath went out in an involuntary sigh of relief. He was there, of course, and he was safe. That slighter figure next to him was probably his teenage brother, Jonah. Aaron would be keeping a close eye on the boy.

The barn roof collapsed with a roar and a shower of embers, and for a few minutes the scene reminded Sarah of an angry beehive as the volunteers fought to extinguish the flying sparks.

Miriam caught her hand, and Sarah realized the woman was watching her husband. Ben leaned on his shovel, coughing, but a moment later he'd straightened and was back at work.

Finally the barn was nothing more than a sullen black heap, still sending smoke and fumes into the air. In twos and threes the firefighters began drifting over to the table, and Sarah and Miriam were suddenly busy pouring out drinks.

“Sarah?” The sound of her name had her turning.

Mac Whiting, Laurel Ridge's police chief, stood behind her, pulling a notebook from his pocket. He looked very official in his blue uniform with a weapon at his hip, and only the fact that she'd known him since childhood kept her from retreating into the usual Amish reticence when confronted with Englisch officials.

“Some coffee, Mac?”

He shook his head. “Save it for the guys who did all the work.” He snapped his pen. “I understand you called in the fire.”

“I was on my way to town. To the shop,” she added, although Mac would know that well enough. “I saw the smoke before I came around the bend, and then I saw the flames. In the back, the fire was, then,” she said, pointing.

“So you went over to Ben and Miriam's to call?” He jotted the information down, though what good it would do anyone, she didn't know.

“Ja. But I checked first to see if Gus was here. I pounded on the cottage door. No answer, but I was afraid he was asleep, maybe.”

Mac grinned. “That's a diplomatic way of putting it. I take it you didn't see him.”

“The door wasn't locked, so I checked inside, but the cottage was empty. Then I feared he might be in the barn.” Sarah seemed to feel the heat on her face again. “I looked, but no—”

“You never go near a burning building!” Aaron King was suddenly at her side, looking as if he'd like to shake her. “Ach, Sarah, whatever were you thinking?”

His obvious concern warmed Sarah's heart despite the fact that he was looking at her as if she were an erring child.

“I was thinking same as you would have,” she said, her voice tart. “If someone was lying there in danger, I couldn't just go away. And don't go telling me I shouldn't have, because I had to.”

Aaron's hand closed around her wrist for an instant, and her breath caught. Then he let go, shaking his head, his brown eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. “You always were a stubborn one, Sarah Bitler. Quiet, but stubborn.”

Too quiet
, she couldn't help thinking. If she'd given him even a hint of what she felt, all those years ago, would it have made a difference?

“It's just as well she looked, or we'd have thought there was a body in there.” Mac sounded practical. “We might have known Gus wouldn't be anywhere around when there was trouble.”

That seemed to be the unanimous opinion of Gus.

“Julia Everly is going to be so upset.” Sarah pictured the tart-tongued elderly woman. “She never would let go of this property, because her husband used to love coming out here. And now that she's laid herself up with a broken leg, she'll really be fretting.”

“You mean she'll be calling me every five minutes to find out what progress I'm making,” Mac said.

Sarah looked at him blankly. “Calling you? Why?”

“I'm the local fire marshal, remember? I'm supposed to have answers.”

“Ja, but what could you do?” she asked. “The firefighters did their best. At least they kept the blaze from spreading. As dry as it's been, it's lucky the woods didn't catch.”

“It's not about that.” Mac frowned. “Look around you, Sarah. There's not a cloud in the sky. No lightning to set it off. Nothing combustible stored in the barn. No electricity, even. So how did the barn catch fire to begin with?”

Arson.
She felt Aaron stiffen next to her. The word didn't have to be said aloud to chill the blood.

* * *

S
ARAH
FINALLY
MADE
it to town by early afternoon. Instead of heading straight for the quilt shop, she drove the buggy down a quiet residential street. Her business partner, Allison Standish, would have things in hand at the shop, and Sarah felt compelled to visit Julia Everly. The elderly woman would certain sure be upset by the fire.

After tying the mare to a convenient porch railing at the modern ranch-style house, Sarah walked to the front door, mentally rehearsing soothing words. Julia was normally the feistiest of eightysomething women, but being confined to a chair by a heavy cast on her leg had taken some of the starch out of her. Sarah had stopped by the previous week, bringing an apple crumb pie her mamm had made, and had found Julia surprisingly subdued.

The door opened almost before Sarah had touched the doorbell. “Oh. It's you, Sarah.” Donna Edwards, a distant cousin of Julia's who made sporadic efforts to look after her, gave the impression that a welcoming smile was too much effort. “I was just trying to get my cousin to take a little nap in her chair. I don't think company is a good idea right now.”

“I don't want to disturb her, but I thought she'd want to see me.” If anything, Sarah would think Julia needed more company, not less.

Donna looked at her blankly, her thin face registering nothing other than a rather peevish attitude, apparently toward being interrupted. She reminded Sarah irresistibly of one of her mother's irascible hens.

“I was the one who discovered the fire,” Sarah explained patiently. “I understood someone notified her, but—”

“Yes, of course.” Donna's expression relaxed, and she fingered the glass beads that dangled over one of the frilly blouses she always wore. “You must think I'm half-asleep. Chief Whiting came by to let Julia know a while ago. I just didn't realize you were the one who'd found the fire.”