the sheriff and the bishop,
she harnessed Fern to her buggy, locked up carefully and set out. As much as she
loved Killibuck Creek and her home there, it was good to get away.
* * *
B EN WALKED OUT OF the sheriff’s office into the bright autumn
sunshine. Jack Freeman had said he’d “talk some sense” into Burt Commons and
would drive out after dark from time to time to the old Hanging Bridge to check
on things. And he’d told Ben, even if he was thinking of returning to the Amish,
to keep his cell phone for now and phone him day or night if anything “looked
fishy.” Ben hadn’t explained about returning to the church, but the sheriff had
guessed as much when Ben had refused to bring charges for assault and battery
against Burt. The sheriff was used to forgiveness from the Amish, at any
cost.
But Ben knew he’d held something back he should have told the
sheriff—that Abby had found a diamond on the bridge and then someone had stolen
it from her bedroom. Because Ben had to give his address to the Cincinnati
police and the insurance investigators, they had already informed Freeman about
the theft at Jeweled Treasures.
As he got in his truck, he wished he had a buggy instead, so he
could drive to see Bishop Esh and talk about possibly returning to the church.
Maybe he’d park out on the road and walk up the lane to the Esh farm. He did
miss his horse and buggy sometimes. It slowed life down, made the world seem
real and lovely, at a reasonable pace instead of rush, rush, rush.
He agonized, too, about whether his timing was right for
atonement and reinstatement among the brethren. Things sure weren’t settled in
his life. Hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of unset gems and designer
pieces had been carried out of the jewelry store either with or in his boxes. An
inside job, the police and insurance agency had decided. The theft had happened
after-hours and pointed to someone who knew his way around. Amish past or not,
Ben was the newest staff member, still the outsider, clever enough with his
hands and knives to jimmy locks. The theft had been so quick and clean, the
paper had called it a “cat burglary.”
And darn it, why didn’t Triana Tornelli, the co-owner of the
store, call him back so he could be certain that earring wasn’t hers? He hit the
steering wheel with a fist. Could she have driven out to see him? Cesar might
have followed and caught up with her, and they’d argued, maybe struggled on the
bridge? Triana had said Cesar sometimes played rough. Then when Abby’s
flashlight surprised them, Triana had lost an earring…. No, he was probably
just getting paranoid. A lot of women had diamond stud earrings, but the way it
had been taken from Abby’s drawer made him think of a cat burglar. And that was
Triana, sleek and smooth.
He tried to shake off the memory of the day she had come after
dark to his apartment, saying she wanted to see how he was doing on his first
seashell box, a special order for a rich customer who spent her winters in
Florida. He’d seen from the first that Triana had more in mind than looking at
his carving, which he would have brought in the next day.
It would have been so easy to sleep with her. But Cesar was his
boss, too. It was wrong, and she was wrong, but her perfume and her red
mouth…
He’d turned her down, literally held her off and talked her out
of it. She’d pretended not to care, had shrugged and flipped her jacket over her
shoulder and made a grand exit. But she’d treated him differently after that.
Like Melanie Campbell, she was always watching him, as if waiting to pounce.
Now, unlike Ms. Campbell, Triana seemed to be shunning him.
That was what Abby should be doing. Things were hardly settled
between them, and couldn’t be unless he returned to the church. Yeah, he
admitted, that was another factor pushing him to come clean with Bishop Esh.
Talk about a hidden gem—Abigail Baughman was that in the flesh. It might be a
short distance across
she harnessed Fern to her buggy, locked up carefully and set out. As much as she
loved Killibuck Creek and her home there, it was good to get away.
* * *
B EN WALKED OUT OF the sheriff’s office into the bright autumn
sunshine. Jack Freeman had said he’d “talk some sense” into Burt Commons and
would drive out after dark from time to time to the old Hanging Bridge to check
on things. And he’d told Ben, even if he was thinking of returning to the Amish,
to keep his cell phone for now and phone him day or night if anything “looked
fishy.” Ben hadn’t explained about returning to the church, but the sheriff had
guessed as much when Ben had refused to bring charges for assault and battery
against Burt. The sheriff was used to forgiveness from the Amish, at any
cost.
But Ben knew he’d held something back he should have told the
sheriff—that Abby had found a diamond on the bridge and then someone had stolen
it from her bedroom. Because Ben had to give his address to the Cincinnati
police and the insurance investigators, they had already informed Freeman about
the theft at Jeweled Treasures.
As he got in his truck, he wished he had a buggy instead, so he
could drive to see Bishop Esh and talk about possibly returning to the church.
Maybe he’d park out on the road and walk up the lane to the Esh farm. He did
miss his horse and buggy sometimes. It slowed life down, made the world seem
real and lovely, at a reasonable pace instead of rush, rush, rush.
He agonized, too, about whether his timing was right for
atonement and reinstatement among the brethren. Things sure weren’t settled in
his life. Hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of unset gems and designer
pieces had been carried out of the jewelry store either with or in his boxes. An
inside job, the police and insurance agency had decided. The theft had happened
after-hours and pointed to someone who knew his way around. Amish past or not,
Ben was the newest staff member, still the outsider, clever enough with his
hands and knives to jimmy locks. The theft had been so quick and clean, the
paper had called it a “cat burglary.”
And darn it, why didn’t Triana Tornelli, the co-owner of the
store, call him back so he could be certain that earring wasn’t hers? He hit the
steering wheel with a fist. Could she have driven out to see him? Cesar might
have followed and caught up with her, and they’d argued, maybe struggled on the
bridge? Triana had said Cesar sometimes played rough. Then when Abby’s
flashlight surprised them, Triana had lost an earring…. No, he was probably
just getting paranoid. A lot of women had diamond stud earrings, but the way it
had been taken from Abby’s drawer made him think of a cat burglar. And that was
Triana, sleek and smooth.
He tried to shake off the memory of the day she had come after
dark to his apartment, saying she wanted to see how he was doing on his first
seashell box, a special order for a rich customer who spent her winters in
Florida. He’d seen from the first that Triana had more in mind than looking at
his carving, which he would have brought in the next day.
It would have been so easy to sleep with her. But Cesar was his
boss, too. It was wrong, and she was wrong, but her perfume and her red
mouth…
He’d turned her down, literally held her off and talked her out
of it. She’d pretended not to care, had shrugged and flipped her jacket over her
shoulder and made a grand exit. But she’d treated him differently after that.
Like Melanie Campbell, she was always watching him, as if waiting to pounce.
Now, unlike Ms. Campbell, Triana seemed to be shunning him.
That was what Abby should be doing. Things were hardly settled
between them, and couldn’t be unless he returned to the church. Yeah, he
admitted, that was another factor pushing him to come clean with Bishop Esh.
Talk about a hidden gem—Abigail Baughman was that in the flesh. It might be a
short distance across
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