Danger in Plain Sight (30 page)

It was obvious to everyone in the room that Geneva wanted to be doing that herself. And he didn’t particularly want Geneva on guard duty, either.

“Seems to me the best answer is for me to leave an officer on guard.” He turned to look at Isaac.

Reluctance mixed with the guilt in Isaac’s face. The guilt was what Adam was banking on.

“Ja,” Isaac said finally. “A policeman may stay.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ADAM STOPPED AT Judith Waller’s house the next morning, his eyes gritty from lack of sleep. He’d been up half the night, making sure every inch of the Zook property was thoroughly searched and that the officer he’d left on duty was prepared for anything.

He could have waited, caught Judge Waller at the courthouse later, but he’d decided that an informal approach was better. What he had to say to her was difficult enough without a formal setting.

The Waller house was a fine old brick Victorian on Main Street, one of a row of similar houses. Some had been turned into insurance offices and apartments, but Judge Waller still lived alone in the house that had been in her husband’s family for generations.

He rang the bell and heard the sound of footsteps coming toward the door. This wasn’t going to be pleasant, no matter how he put it, and he didn’t have any illusions. Judge Waller would be a bad enemy to make.

She swung the door open, clearly dressed for the office in a wool skirt and jacket. “Adam, you’re out and about early. Come in out of the cold.”

Closing the door quickly behind him, she raised her eyebrows, obviously wondering what had brought him here at this hour. “There’s still coffee left in the pot. Would you like a cup?”

“No. Thank you.” He hesitated, but there was no good way to bring this up. He may as well plunge in. “I’d like to talk with you.”

Judge Waller’s face seemed to tighten, very slightly. She glanced at the grandfather clock that stood against the wall of the center hallway. “I can give you fifteen minutes before I have to leave for the office. Come into the study.”

Following her, he tried to assess her reaction. Had she been expecting this visit? Certainly Coach Albright might have called her, might have warned her as to what had passed between them.

The study was to the left of the hall, behind a formal dining room. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a huge old-fashioned globe stood on an oak pedestal in front of a side window whose heavy drapes were drawn back. Judge Waller sat down at the desk, waving him to a chair in front of it. The arrangement was obviously meant to put her in charge.

“What can I do for you?” Her tone gave nothing away.

He balanced his uniform hat on his knee, letting the question hang for a moment. Then he met her gaze.

“I understand from Frank Albright that you called him on behalf of Tom Sylvester’s application to the zoning board.”

She didn’t move a muscle. “Is that a matter for police investigation?”

“It may be.”

“I fail to see how. Unless you give me an explanation, I don’t see any point in discussing the matter.”

“You don’t have to, of course.” Admitting that was only the truth. “But the subject is not going to go away. You must have realized that as soon as Albright spoke, there would be questions.”

“And if I say that I made no such call?”

Her years on the bench had given Judith Waller a commanding presence. She sat here in a room that was a symbol of prestige, wealth and influence. In spite of all that, he sensed something in her that didn’t quite match her outward persona. Fear? Shame? He wasn’t sure what it was.

She was someone he liked; someone he respected. But he had to have the truth.

“If you say that, I’ll believe you are lying. And somehow, I don’t think you want to do that.”

She stared at him, expressionless, for a long moment. Then she let out a long breath. “Frank Albright told me about your conversation. He also told me that he discovered he couldn’t lie to you. It seems I can’t, either. Yes, I made the call. I didn’t offer anything to Frank, and he didn’t ask for anything.”

“What about Tom Sylvester? What did he offer?”

Pushing the desk chair back, she rose. If she was going to refuse to answer, there was nothing he could do about it. He could talk to the district attorney, of course. The matter would wind its way slowly and painfully to some sort of conclusion.

She stood, hands on the desk. Funny,” she said slowly. “I’ve always said I wanted to travel. Retire. See the world. But I could never bring myself to let go.” She shook her head slightly. “Or maybe I didn’t believe anyone else could do the job as well as I do.”

“Maybe not. You have a reputation for common sense and fairness. I’d have said it was well-earned.”

“Until now, you mean. All right. Tom Sylvester came to see me a couple of months ago. He said that he had a project in the works for a hotel near Springville, but that he needed a variance from the township zoning board to make it happen. He wanted me to use my influence with the board.”

Influence. The word was beginning to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

“What did you tell him?”

She turned toward him then. “I told him no, of course. And then he reminded me of something I’d prefer to forget.”

She paused for a long moment. He could feel her reluctance. He waited.

“Twenty-five years ago I was an ambitious young attorney bumping her head against the glass ceiling.” Her lips twitched. “Or maybe it would be better to say I couldn’t crack the old boys’ network, for obvious reasons. Then someone gave me an opportunity to join with a group of like-minded individuals who agreed to use whatever influence they had to further each other’s interests.”

His mind spun. “You’re talking about the Brotherhood. Allen Morgan’s version of a secret society.” Allen, Libby’s uncle, whose little group had led, inadvertently, to the death of Marisa’s mother. He’d thought they’d laid that to rest when he’d made a belated arrest in that case. It seemed not.

“Allen was a hobbyist. A history buff who’d let himself get carried away by what he read.” She sounded contemptuous. “I had no interest in secret symbols or handshakes or any of the rest of the trappings Allen was so fond of. But I did see an advantage to being involved with people who had a certain amount of power and were willing to use it.”

Judith Waller’s name had never come up in all the publicity that had surrounded the group when the story behind Marisa Angelo’s mother’s murder broke. The murderer had died before he could reveal anything further about it.

“So Tom Sylvester knew you were a part of that group, and he used the threat of exposing that as leverage.”

“A favor, he said. From one friend to another. I would help him get what he wanted, and he’d forget all about seeing me going into Allen Morgan’s house for a meeting the week the Angelo woman was killed.” She sat down, back still straight but a resigned look on her face. “I didn’t know anything at all about the murder, but after all the publicity that surrounded it…well, being connected no matter how peripherally would have meant the end of my career.”

“If the killer hadn’t died himself—” he began.

“He would undoubtedly have named names,” she said. “I had no illusions about that. But it didn’t happen, and I began to believe that I was safe. Until Sylvester came calling.”

He tried to untangle it all. Tried to make the attack on Esther Zook fit into it. He couldn’t. Tom Sylvester had broken the law, attempting to blackmail a judge, but how could Esther have possibly known anything about that?

“Did Sylvester ever mention Esther Zook to you?” he asked abruptly.

“Esther Zook? Is that what this is all about?”

“That’s what started it.” He’d pulled a string, and it seemed the whole fabric of the community had started to unravel.

“No. No, I’m sure he wasn’t involved in the hit-and-run. He’s been too busy with his own little crimes.” She paused. “I could resign. Maybe do that traveling I’ve always talked about.”

“And let Tom Sylvester get away with blackmailing a public official?”

She sighed. “No, I guess not. Your ethics wouldn’t allow that, and oddly enough, mine wouldn’t, either. I’ll prepare a full statement for the district attorney.”

There wasn’t anything else to say. He rose. Nodded. Walked out of the study and out of the house. Everything didn’t seem quite so black-and-white just now.

* * *

SAFE IN HER own bed, Libby had slept for fourteen hours, only rousing when someone changed the ice packs on her neck. But by midafternoon, she couldn’t hide under the covers any longer.

A hot shower eased away some stiffness. She frowned in the mirror at the black bruises on her neck. Those she could, and did, cover with a turtleneck sweater. The black eye that had started to blossom wasn’t so easy—makeup just seemed to make it look worse.

Well, she’d have to tell people she ran into a door. Come to think of it, that might be true…Bess’s stall door. Bess deserved a handful of carrots and a sugar lump. She’d have to see to that.

She went downstairs, hand on the banister, and followed the sound of voices to the kitchen. Link sat at the table, a mug of coffee in front of him, while Mom cut into what looked like an apple walnut cake.

He broke off whatever he was saying at the sight of her. “Look who’s rejoined the land of the conscious. How do you feel?”

“Fine.” Her voice was husky, and her neck hurt when she talked. She waved that consideration away. “What’s been happening? Is Esther all right?”

“She’s perfectly safe.” Her mother shooed her into a chair. “What do you feel like eating? Soup? I have chicken soup on the stove, and Mary Esch brought over a potpie this morning, if you’d rather have that.”

Neighbors brought food in time of trouble. Everyone knew that.

“Soup sounds great, Mom.” Obviously her mother would only be happy if she could feed her little chick. “But what about Esther? Is the guard still there?”

“Only at night,” Link said. “Don’t worry. Marisa is there now. I made her promise the cell phone wouldn’t be out of her hand.”

“Are the Zooks okay with that?” After all, Link’s fiancée must be a stranger to them.

“They’ve made her very welcome,” Link said. “After all, Marisa’s mother was Amish. As far as they’re concerned, she’s almost kin.”

Of course. She’d forgotten, for a moment, the discovery of Marisa’s long-missing Amish mother, buried on Morgan land.

“I could go back to the farm—” she began.

“You’ll do no such thing,” her mother snapped. She shook her head, looking a little tearful. “Sorry. But you need to get feeling better first. Marisa and I will take turns until then.”

Given that she had about as much strength as a six-week-old kitten, that was probably for the best, much as she hated to admit it. She took a spoonful of the soup, easing it down her still-swollen throat. “Has Adam found out anything?”

“Not much.” Link frowned. “This character is either very lucky or very careful. There weren’t any identifiable fingerprints.”

“Even an amateur would know enough to wear gloves, with all those forensics shows on television,” Mom said. She set a mug of tea in front of Libby and a wedge of cake in front of Link.

“No fair,” Libby protested. “Don’t I get cake?”

Her mother smiled at the feeble joke. “After you eat all your soup,” she said.

“I’ve been causing you a lot of worry. I’m sorry.” The words came out impulsively, but she was glad she’d voiced them.

“I guess I should get used to my children finding trouble.” Mom divided a smile between the two of them. “But I can’t not worry, even when I know you’re doing what’s right.”

“You and Dad didn’t raise a bunch of wimps.” Link’s tone was teasing, but he clasped Mom’s hand for a moment.

Libby’s thoughts had skipped in another direction. Rebecca’s children had been raised to do what was right, as well, but for them, that right included a firm injunction against violence.