Fallen in Plain Sight

CHAPTER ONE

"IF YOU ARE NOT CAREFUL, Sarah Elizabeth Weaver, you will end up a maidal, as lonely and sad as that old man you work for." Mamm had what she obviously considered the last word as she drew the buggy to a halt by the Strickland house.

Mamm… Sarah hesitated, ready to jump down, but not wanting to leave her mother for the day with harsh words between them. I know you want to see me married, with a home and family of my own. But I’m just not ready.

Her mother shook her head, a mix of sorrow and exasperation on her face. "When will you be ready? Independence is all very gut, but having someone of your own is better, that’s certain sure. Ach, well, go on to work. She waved her hand toward the huge old Victorian house, its gingerbread trim and fancy touches a far cry from a simple Amish farmhouse. But think on it. All of your friends are starting families already."

"I will, Mamm." Sarah slid down. Easier to say that than to argue over a subject on which they’d never agree.

Anyway, not all her friends were married. She still had two dear ones, Abby and Lena, who weren’t. But since they all lived far apart, their only connection was the round robin letters they sent from one to the other. They understood, even if Mamm didn’t.

But she couldn’t take comfort in Abby’s unmarried state much longer. The long-awaited letter she’d received yesterday had contained surprising news. Her friend would soon wed Ben Kline. They’d been brought together at last after Ben’s return from the Englische world. That news from Abby had probably been what started Mamm on her current train of thought about marriage.

Sarah waved as her mother clicked to Bell and the buggy moved onto Springville’s main street. Mamm had stopped saying it, but they both knew who she had in mind for a son-in-law. She and Jacob’s mother had been planning their children’s marriage since the two of them were in their cradles.

But if they’d been serious about marrying Jacob and her off to each other, they’d have been better not bringing them up so close that they were like brother and sister. Jacob was her best friend and the brother she’d never had, but to think of falling in love with him was laughable. Why couldn’t Mamm see that?

Sarah unlocked the door into the back hall off the kitchen, pausing there to hang up her black bonnet and sweater and straighten the apron that matched the deep green of her dress. Getting dressed for work was simplicity itself when you were Amish. She’d had a choice between green, blue and purple dresses, all cut exactly the same.

Exactly the same, just like all her working days. She’d been taking care of the house for elderly Englischer Richard Strickland for over three years, and nothing ever changed, because that was how he liked it. Probably that was partly due to his bad eyesight. He didn’t want to trip on anything that had been moved.

She went on into the kitchen, reaching automatically to pick up the breakfast dishes on the table. And stopped. The table was bare, except for the napkin holder and salt and pepper shakers that always sat in the center.

Every day she let herself in the back door at eight-thirty, and every day she found Mr. Strickland’s breakfast dishes on the table. Her employer would be in the sunroom on the side of the house, enjoying a second cup of coffee while he listened to the news. But the coffeemaker was cold, the sink was empty and shining, and no sound broke the stillness of the old house.

A chill spread through her. Sarah spun, moving quickly toward the front of the house. Mr. Strickland must be ill…nothing else would cause him to change the immutable habits of a lifetime. She hurried through the hallway, thoughts racing faster than her feet—call Mr. Strickland’s doctor, or the rescue squad if it looked very serious. They could be here faster and—

She skidded to a stop a few feet from the bottom of the stairs. Neither the doctor nor the rescue squad would be of help. Richard Strickland lay tumbled on the polished stairs, one hand reaching the tiled floor of the hall. Sarah didn’t need to touch him to know he was dead.

She had to, of course. She knelt next to him, silent prayers forming in her mind, and searched for a pulse. Nothing stirred under her fingers, and his skin was cold. Pity and grief seemed to have a stranglehold on her throat. Mr. Strickland hadn’t been an especially likable man…eccentric, the charitable said. He was the last of the Strickland family, a name that had once meant something in Lancaster County, and folks just shrugged off his crankiness. But she was used to him, fond of him, even.

Standing slowly, Sarah went to the telephone in the small alcove off the hall and dialed 911. After she’d said what she must, she went back to kneel by the body, her lips moving in silent prayer.

Even so, she couldn’t keep her eyes from seeing, or her mind from wondering. What had Mr. Strickland been doing on the stairs in the night? And it must have been night, because the upstairs hall light was on. He never came downstairs after he’d taken his pills in the evening, because he said they made him dizzy. And he also never came out of his bedroom until he was fully dressed, so why would he be wearing a robe and slippers?

The doorbell pealed, followed by insistent knocking, and in a few minutes the hall was filled with people. The retired doctor who lived just down the street conferred with the ambulance attendants. A young patrolman stood by the door, looking so pale Sarah wondered if he’d ever seen a dead person before. Adam Byler, the township police chief, was deep in conversation with Leo Frost, Mr. Strickland’s attorney.

Sarah sat on a straight chair against the wall, hands folded in her lap, blinking against the tears that threatened to fall, wondering when she’d be able to go home. Wondering what, if anything, she should say.

Her gaze was caught by the leather slipper that lay on the tile floor, and she frowned.

Chief Byler picked up the slipper, holding it out to Mr. Frost. This is probably the culprit, he said. It looks as if Strickland was coming downstairs in the night, and he tripped on the slipper. Easy enough to happen, and these leather soles are slippery.

But Mr. Strickland wouldn’t come down in the night, wouldn’t wear those slippers.

Sarah pressed her lips together. She could practically hear Daad’s voice in her mind.

Amish have a duty to obey the law of the land and respect its officials, but we don’t become involved with them.

What would Daad say she should do now? Speak or be silent? She suspected she knew the answer to that. So she sat, silent, her gaze on her hands.

Sarah?

She looked up, startled, to find that Chief Byler stood in front of her, along with Mr. Frost.

I know this is upsetting for you, but I have a few questions.

Ja. She rose. For sure she should answer any questions the police asked.

He glanced at the paramedics, who were moving a stretcher into place. Let’s go into the kitchen to talk.

Nodding, she led the way back down the hall. He was being kind, but it didn’t bother her so much as he might think, being near the body. Death was a part of life, and she’d been old enough to help lay out the body when her grossmamm passed. It was only the Englische who thought people should die in hospitals and be taken off to funeral homes.

Chief Byler put a notebook on the kitchen table. Did Mr. Strickland seem well when you left yesterday? And what time was that?

Four o’clock, she said promptly. That was my time. Mr. Strickland had dinner at one o’clock, like always. Roast chicken, it was, so there was plenty left for his supper.

And did he seem all right then? Byler asked.

"Ja, he seemed fine. Her voice thickened despite her efforts. He was upstairs in his study, working at his desk. I asked if he needed anything, and he