Danger in Plain Sight (26 page)

“Tom Sylvester,” he said promptly. “And that parcel of land where he’s building a new hotel.”

Danny brightened. “Actually, you’ve hit upon one deal where I know something. See, I had my eye on that piece of property for a client who wants to build a house near Springville. So when the owner passed away, I went snooping around.”

“You reduced to studying the obituary pages for business?” Adam couldn’t help the crack.

“Shut up,” Danny said. “So, anyway, it turns out the old guy who died was the maternal uncle of Tom Sylvester’s wife. And everyone knew they were retiring to Florida, so I figured she’d be putting it on the market. Turned out I was wrong. Tom said his wife wasn’t interested in selling, and they were thinking of putting up a little hotel there. A retirement hobby, he said.”

“And what did you say?” Adam asked, sure a disappointed Danny would have had some colorful remarks.

“Told him he was nuts,” Danny said promptly. “That it was zoned farming/residential, and he’d never in this world get a variance granted. So anyway, it turns out the laugh was on me, because next thing I knew, that hotel was going up. But it’s no mom-and-pop operation, for sure. I couldn’t believe the zoning board let that go through. Quick and quiet, that’s for sure.”

“So why did they? Influence?”

“Influence, definitely,” Danny said. “But not from Sylvester. He’s a nice guy, but he doesn’t have that kind of clout. Somebody must have gone to bat for him.”

“Any ideas floating around as to who that someone might be?”

Danny looked faintly embarrassed. “To tell the truth, some people think it was the Morgan family. After all, Sylvester ran their construction firm for a lifetime or so.”

“It wasn’t.” It had never occurred to him that people were saying that.

“I’ll take your word for it, but if that’s the case, I don’t have a clue as to who the person doing the pushing was. But I might know who the pushee on the zoning board was.” He dropped the bombshell casually.

“Who? And how do you know?” He shot the questions, leaning across the table.

“Frank Albright.” Danny came out with the name as if he was sure.

“Coach Albright?”

Adam frowned. Frank Albright had been their football coach, and Adam had always considered him one of the most ethical people he’d ever met. His boys would have done anything for him, and he never accepted less than their best. He was principal of the high school now, still a public-spirited guy, volunteering for various drives and charity events as well as serving on the zoning board.

“Right. Coach.” Danny’s expression was that of someone who didn’t like what he was saying.

“What makes you think it was Albright?” He couldn’t help the skepticism in his voice.

Danny shrugged. “I can’t prove it. But a few of us were in here one night after a basketball game, just shooting the breeze, and somebody started ragging on the zoning board for passing that variance. You know Albright. Usually he never turns a hair—probably comes from all those years of dealing with high school kids. But this time he lost it. Very defensive. Too defensive.”

“Maybe he thought you guys were out of line.”

Danny flushed at Adam’s doubtful look. “Listen, Owen will back me up.” He reached out and waved at Owen Barclay, the inn’s manager, who was making his usual round of the lunch crowd. “Hey, Owen, come here a minute.”

“Don’t…” Adam began, but it was too late.

Owen had already reached their table.

“I hope your lunch was to your liking,” Owen said, as gracious as if he’d cooked it just for them.

“Fine, fine.” Danny brushed aside the pleasantries. “Listen, Owen, remember that night we were talking about the zoning board decision on that hotel of Tom Sylvester’s?”

“Lower your voice,” Adam muttered. “You don’t need to tell the whole dining room.” Why had he thought he could talk about something discreetly with Danny?

Owen, with a glance of sympathy, sat down. “Adam’s right,” he said. “Let’s not advertise it when we’re talking about someone.”

“Yeah, right.” Danny didn’t look impressed. “I was just telling Adam that Frank Albright got really defensive about that decision, and it made all of us wonder what he had to do with it.”

Owen glanced at Adam, a question in his eyes. “Is this a police matter?” His voice had lowered even more.

“Not exactly,” Adam admitted. “It came up in connection with something else, and I’d like to clear it out of the way.”

Owen nodded as if he understood, which was more than Adam did himself. “I don’t know anything definite, but one does hear rumors.” He smiled suddenly. “At least ninety percent of which are nonsense, of course. But I’d have to agree with Danny on this. Frank did seem a bit overheated on the subject.” He shrugged, spreading his hands. “I’m not suggesting anything crooked, you understand. But sometimes people will let their decisions be influenced by others.”

“Any idea who those others might be?” Adam asked.

Owen shook his head, rising. “Not at all.” His tone suggested that if he did, he wouldn’t say so. “I have to get back to work. By the way, I suppose you know Libby is staying over at the Zooks’ place, helping with Esther. She’s certainly a good friend.”

Adam tried not to let any expression show in his voice. Owen was implying he was in on Libby’s plans, no doubt trying to needle him. He’d probably given away too much that day they’d both been in Owen’s office.

“Yes, she is a good friend.” He’d like to be able to say that Libby was someplace far, far away.

No, he wouldn’t. He wanted her right here. Safe. With him.

He wasn’t starting to think that was possible, was he?

* * *

A SMALL DISPUTE among the Zook family developed after lunch. Mary Ann wanted to take advantage of the sunny day to go to Springville for groceries, taking five-year-old Elizabeth, and she wanted her mother-in-law to go, as well.

“Komm, please, Mamm Rebecca,” she coaxed, helping her small daughter tie her black bonnet. “It will do you gut to have an outing. Libby and Isaac will both be here to see to things.”

“We’ll be fine,” Libby said. “If I leave the doors open, I can easily hear it if Baby Jacob wakes from his nap before you get back.”

“Ja, and I’ll chust be out in the stable while Bishop Amos shoes the other horses.” Isaac added his voice to the rest. “You need to get out a bit, Mamm.”

“If you’re sure you don’t mind…” Rebecca looked at Libby. It was obvious that she’d enjoy the outing and probably the return to a normal routine.

“Go, or you’ll make me think you don’t trust me,” Libby said.

Mary Ann didn’t waste any time at that sign of weakening. She had her mother-in-law hustled into her coat and bonnet and out to the buggy before Rebecca could change her mind.

“Denke, Libby.” Isaac hesitated at the kitchen door, almost as if he wanted to say something more.

Libby studied his face, the blue eyes so like his sister’s, the beard that hid his chin.
What are you holding back, Isaac? Tell me.

He pulled on gloves. “Chust shout if you need me. Or ring the bell outside the door.” Not waiting for a response, he went out.

Strange, to be so alone in a house that was normally bustling with activity. It gave her the chance to do one thing she wouldn’t want anyone to see.

Libby went straight to the drawer from which Rebecca had taken the investment brochure. There must be more paperwork about the project somewhere, if Isaac had invested money in it. She slid the drawer open.

Apparently this was the storage space for such papers as the Zook family might need. It held several manila folders, all neatly labeled in what she recognized as Esther’s hand. Dairy company agreement, tax records, children’s medical records, bank receipts. And one labeled Investments.

Libby slipped the file out and flipped it open with only a passing pang of guilt. If this contained a clue to what had happened to Esther, she wouldn’t let anything stop her from investigating.

The folder contained only two things: a prospectus on the investment and Isaac’s investment agreement. She whistled under her breath at the amount. The dairy farm must be doing better than she’d expected, and it was probably an amount Isaac could now ill-afford to lose, with Esther’s hospital bills looming. No wonder he seemed worried.

She started to look through the prospectus and realized another paper had been stuck inside. It was a letter dated December 3, addressed to “Dear Shareholder.” In it, Eli Bredbenner apologized for the delay in delivering the returns he’d promised, blaming endless delays with the government paperwork necessary for setting up the corporation. He asked for patience, insisting that shareholders would begin to see a return on their money by spring, at the latest.

Libby turned the paper over in her hands. The letter was obviously computer-generated, and again she had the sense of some sophistication at work that she wouldn’t have expected.

A sound from outside drew her attention to the window. A buggy was coming down the lane. Quickly she jotted down the particulars from the prospectus on a notepad from the counter, ripped it off, and shoved it into her jeans pocket. She could hear the creak of harness now and the clop of hooves. Shoving papers back into the file, she slid it into the drawer and closed it just as someone knocked at the door.

Breath coming quickly, Libby smoothed her sweater down over the pocket and opened the door. An Amish couple stood there, the woman with a basket over her arm.

She managed a smile. “Are you here to see Isaac and Mary Ann? Mary Ann is out, I’m afraid, but Isaac is in the stable.”

The man nodded. “Ja, I see Bishop Amos’s buggy parked there. We have komm to ask about Esther. You are Libby Morgan, her Englisch friend, ja?”

“I am.” She held on to the door, not certain whether she should invite them in or not. “I’m sure Mary Ann will be sorry she missed you.”

“My wife has brought pies for the family.” The man put his hand on the door. “Mary, chust put them on the counter.”

Before Libby quite knew how it happened, they were both inside the kitchen. The woman set her basket on the table and lifted out two pies, moving them to the counter.

“That’s lovely,” Libby said. The pies were works of art, perfectly browned and crisp-looking, with an intricate flower design forming the top crust vent. “Who shall I say brought them?”

The wife didn’t speak, but the man took off his hat, putting it on the table as if he expected to stay. “I am Eli Bredbenner, and this is my wife, Mary.”

That was almost too coincidental, to have them show up so promptly after most of the family had left. Or maybe it wasn’t coincidence at all. Maybe Bredbenner had planned it that way.

“It’s nice to meet you.”
Interesting
might be a better word, Libby realized.

So this was the Amish investment broker. He looked like any other Amish man she might see in town, wearing traditional black clothing. His beard was almost chestnut in color, full and bushy in contrast to his bald head. He was probably in his fifties, at a guess. His wife, pale and thin-faced, seemed intent on fading into the woodwork.

“We were pleased to hear that Esther was well enough to be out of the hospital already. When we heard, my wife insisted that we must visit and bring some of her pies. Esther especially enjoys them, and we wanted to celebrate her homecoming. How is she feeling?”

It was a good thing she recognized a snow job when she saw it, Libby decided. Bredbenner obviously wanted something, but what was it?

“Esther is doing better physically, the doctor says. The family is so pleased to have her at home.”

“And she is herself again?” His gaze seemed to probe Libby’s face. “Back to talking with the family, remembering things?”

Remembering…the question everyone seemed to be asking.

What would he do if she asked him directly about the investment scheme? Or if she implied that Esther remembered everything about her accident?

She couldn’t. It wouldn’t be safe. A cold knot formed in Libby’s stomach. She was alone in the house with a sleeping toddler and a helpless woman. Isaac and presumably Bishop Amos were only as far away as the stable, but Eli Bredbenner stood between her and the back door, with the bell rope that hung right beside it.