Bygones (33 page)

She swung to face Mitch, flinging her hand outward to indicate the collection of items. “You took all this?”

He crossed his arms and shrugged. “With a little help.”

Marie stumbled forward, grasping the back of the sleeping bench that had been removed from the Dicks’ home. Her disappointment was so deep she didn’t know if she could form words, but somehow the quavering question came out in a strangled whisper. “Beth was in on this?”

Mitch’s laughter rang. “You really think Lissie had anything to do with this? Oh, no, Marie, you raised a real little goody-goody. Your darlin’ daughter won’t even keep an extra dime from a cashier who’s too stupid to make correct change.” He moved forward and stood at the other end of the bench, his grin mocking beneath the brim of the hat he’d slapped on at an angle. “No, I just took careful note of all her complaining about the stuff that got away. Then I went to the locations and made sure I got it for her.”

Marie shook her head. Even with the evidence in front of her, the unreality made her feel as though she were caught in a bad dream. “So all this time. . .you haven’t been in Cheyenne, you’ve been in Sommerfeld?”

“Well. . .” Mitch scratched his head. “Not Sommerfeld. I’ve spent most of my time in Salina. I knew Lissie was hanging out in Newton with some old lady, and I didn’t want to accidentally run into her and ruin the surprise.”

Marie’s head spun, trying to absorb the truth. “But you met her in Kansas City Thanksgiving weekend. How did you explain being able to get there so quickly?”

Mitch released a snort. “Do you think I was dumb enough to
drive
there? Lissie’s not stupid—she would’ve figured out I had to be close by to reach her in a few hours by car. No, I drove to Wichita, left my car there, and caught a plane.”

He advanced along the back side of the bench until he stood only a few inches from Marie. “I’ve kept her completely in the dark on this. I knew she’d kick up a fuss, and I didn’t want her knowing anything about it until it was all set up in our boutique back home. But boy, it’s been tough being this close and not being able to spend time with her.” He winked. “Thanks for getting in that fight with her so we could have our weekend alone.”

Marie’s knees went weak at his secretive grin. “You—you didn’t. . .?” She couldn’t bring herself to ask the question.

Mitch laughed. He leaned forward and whispered into her ear, “You mean did we sleep together?”

She jerked back, heat filling her face.

His laughter rang again. “No. Little Lissie won’t do that, either.” He scowled, surveying the items in the room. “She’d never approve of this, but I had to do it. It was too good to pass up. Plus there was no other way to recover the money I’d borrowed.”

“You’d have the money from the sale of the house and café,” Marie argued.

Mitch pulled his face into an impatient scowl. “Honestly, Marie, how far would that go in purchasing at auctions? Antiques are becoming harder and harder to come by. There’s no way we’d pull a profit.” He turned introspective, pinching his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “No, this was necessary.”

Turning back to Marie, his scowl deepened. “And now I’m stuck.
Because here I am, caught with the goods, and here you are, ready to talk.”

Her breath coming in little gasps, Marie took an uncertain backward step. “W–what do you intend to do?”

He stared at her for a moment, his brows low in a scowl. Then he jerked back, eyes wide, and burst out laughing. “Oh, you think I’m gonna—”

Slapping his knee, he continued to laugh while Marie contemplated making a run for it. But her quivering legs convinced her she wouldn’t be able to go ten feet without collapsing.

Mitch shook his head, bringing his laughter under control, and fixed her with a smirking grin. “Gimme a break, Marie. I might’ve helped myself to some things without paying for them, but I wouldn’t resort to murder. Not when I know you’re going to keep my secret.”

Marie raised her chin and peered at him through narrowed eyes. “What makes you so sure I won’t tell?”

Mitch’s posture turned calculating, giving Marie a chill. “You wouldn’t want to hurt Lissie, would you? She loves me. How would she feel, knowing the man she loves and wants to spend her life with is capable of ”—he waggled one brow—“larceny?” Settling his weight on one hip, he crossed his arms and twisted his face into a knowing leer. “And based on our conversations of late, she isn’t so sure you really give a rip about her. Just last night, in a weepy little voice, she told me how you chose the church over her. She’s all broken up about it. You try to tell her I’m the Sommerfeld thief, and she’ll just see it as a ploy to pull her away from me.”

Another arrogant shrug made Marie want to slap his smoothshaven face.

“It’s a no-win situation for you, the way I see it.”

Marie considered Mitch’s comments, and with a sinking heart she realized he was right. Telling Beth that Mitch had been stealing
from the citizens of Sommerfeld could drive another wedge between her and her daughter. Even if Beth believed it, it would hurt her deeply. Marie hung her head.

Mitch laughed again and brushed past her, heading toward the open doors. “That’s what I thought.”

Marie scurried after him, taking in great gulps of the cold air. “But you can’t take these things!”

He whirled on her. “Why not?”

“They aren’t yours.”

“They are now.”

“How do you plan to explain to Beth how you got them? She knows they’ve been stolen. You can’t just put them in your shop and expect her not to recognize them. It’ll kill her to know you took these things!”

Mitch paused, quirking his lips to the side as his gaze narrowed. “She’ll understand. She’ll know I did it all for her. Because I love her.”

“Do you really believe that?”

He stared at Marie for a long time, the silence heavy between them.

Marie forced out a quavering question. “How could you hurt her that way? Don’t you care for my daughter at all?”

Anger flashed in Mitch’s eyes. “That’s hitting below the belt, Marie.”

“You know as well as I do, Beth is the one who stands to lose the most through all this.” As Marie pled her case, she prayed for him to realize the extent of distress he would cause if he carried through on his plan to take the items to Cheyenne.

The look on his face changed from arrogance to regret, confirming to Marie that the Lord was answering her prayer.

“The only way to save Beth’s feelings is for you to drive away. Leave all this stuff here.”

“I don’t know,” he said weakly. “I’ve spent a lot of money on motels and food while I’ve been hanging around here, storing this stuff.”

“I’ll help you pay it back.”

He raised one brow, his expression doubtful. “You’d help a thief?”

“For Beth. . .yes.” Marie quivered from head to toe. Wrong or right, she would protect her daughter. She had no idea how she would come up with the money; she only knew she had to do it, for Beth’s sake.

“What about all this stuff? How do you plan on returning it?”

“I don’t.” At his startled look, she said, “The acreage around this barn will be farmed, come spring. Someone will stumble upon these things and make sure they’re returned to the rightful owners. I won’t have to do anything except wait.” Her chest felt tight. Keeping this secret would be deceitful, but she had no other ideas.

His eyes turned into malevolent slits. “You’ll do that? Just wait, and not say anything?”

She looked him square in the eyes. “Yes.”

“Okay then.” He yanked off the hat and sailed it through the open doorway into the barn. Marie heard a light
clup
when it hit the back wall. “Help me put the stuff from the van back in the barn, and I’ll head out.”

Marie caught his sleeve. “And what about Beth?”

“What about her?” he snarled, jerking his arm free of her grasp.

“You. . .you plan to continue seeing her?”

“Why wouldn’t I? We have our plans set, Marie. For the past year, it’s all we’ve talked about—going into business together, combining our lives. That won’t change.” He glanced at the stolen items and smirked. “After all, what Lissie doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?”

Having a boyfriend who would sink to the level of common thievery
would
hurt Beth! But Marie knew nothing she said right
now would make a difference. So with a silent prayer that Beth would recognize Mitch’s true character before it was too late, she moved woodenly to the end of the van.

Mitch had only had time to load a couple of antiquated washtubs and a beautifully carved mantel clock. When he set the clock on the sleeping bench’s seat, Marie felt a pang of remorse. Surely being left in the weather—this barn was far from airtight—would ruin the clock’s workings.

“Well, I’m outta here.” Mitch clapped his hands together and headed out of the barn.

Marie watched him swing up behind the steering wheel. He slammed the door, offered a mocking salute, and roared away in a squeal of tires and a wild churning of dust.

Coughing, Marie backed into the barn, waving her hands to clear the air. When she could breathe easily again, she moved slowly through the dimly lit barn, examining the items for damage. Although Mitch had stored them without much thought for orderliness—things stood helter-skelter—he must have exercised care when moving them. And everything, from old buckets to the Dicks’ sleeping bench, seemed to be there.

Sinking down onto the sleeping bench, she traced the delicate rose petals carved on the face of the mantel clock, her heart heavy. Letting Mitch go hadn’t been right, yet she couldn’t bear the thought of Beth’s broken heart if she learned the truth. Somehow she would have to keep this secret, let someone discover these things on their own. At least, she comforted herself, everything would eventually be returned.

“No real harm will be done.” She spoke the words aloud, trying to convince herself.

A gust of wind burst through the open doors, and she shivered. She should shut the doors to at least provide some protection for the
items inside. She stood and turned toward the doorway. And froze.

A man lingered in the open doorway. The sun behind him put his face in full shadow, but when he stepped out of the bright shaft of sunlight, recognition dawned. Marie gasped and covered her lips with trembling fingers.

W
hat are you doing here?” Her shielding fingers muffled the words.

Henry took one more step forward, his gaze sweeping the barn. His chest constricted when he recognized the jumbled scattering of stolen contents. Facing Marie again, he said through gritted teeth, “I was about to ask you that question.”

Her face seemed pale in the barn’s muted light, her blue eyes wide. Slowly, she lowered her hands and wove her fingers together, pressing the heels of her hands to her coat front. “I—I—” She clamped her lips together and fell silent.

Henry felt as though something hot and stifling rose up inside him, and his tone turned hard. “When you didn’t show up at the meetinghouse, I got worried. Gil Krehbiel told me he’d seen your car heading north out of town. I was concerned, so I left to look for you. But I never imagined. . .” He broke off, unable to finish the thought.

All this time he’d felt sorry for her, defended her, befriended her. . .and she had been stashing her neighbors’ things away, one by one. The evidence shattered his heart. The years of loving her, praying for her, now seemed wasted. How could he have been such a fool?

“Now I know why you refused my ride this morning. So you
could come out here, check on your
stash
.” The harshness of his tone surprised him. Had he ever spoken to anyone the way he was now speaking to Marie? He didn’t think so. But he’d never felt as betrayed as he did now. He had a right to be harsh.

Raising his chin, he fired off another question. “Did you burglarize another home on the way out, or have you and your daughter decided you’ve collected enough?” He glared at her, taking in her nutmeg hair combed back under the pristine white cap. What did that cap mean to her? Was it only a ruse to keep the community from pointing fingers of blame in her direction? Hadn’t his and Lisbeth’s prayers accomplished anything?