“That’s right.”
“What made you move South?” he asked.
She tilted her head and shrugged. “I needed a change. I would always be Quin Jacobsen’s widow if I stayed there. I wanted to make my own way.” She smiled weakly. “That sounds self-serving, but I don’t mean it in that way. Quin was a larger-than-life type of guy, speaking academically. Sometimes I felt dwarfed by his presence.”
From the short time Zach had known Ella, she seemed down-to-earth and committed to her patients. Thinking of the picture he’d seen of her in the office, he could understand what she was saying.
She rubbed her hands together and glanced at her clinic. “What’s taking so long?”
“I’ll check.” Zach hurried inside and found Abrams. “The doc wants to assess the damage. Have you gotten all the photos you need?”
“Almost. Taylor needs to take a couple of her desk and then we’ll be finished.”
“What about fingerprints?”
“We lifted a few from the file cabinet and the folders strewn over the floor. Two or three look promising. I’ll run them when I get back to headquarters.”
“You’ll let me know?”
“As soon as I hear anything.”
As Taylor snapped shots of the desk, Zach stepped closer. He leaned over the engraved invitation he’d seen the night before.
Abrams glanced over his shoulder. “From the looks of that, the event appears to be a snazzy gathering. The doc seems more like a country girl.”
“I’m sure she would fit in no matter the environment.”
“You’re probably right.” The older officer looked around the clinic. “Looks like we’ve got what we need for now. Tell the doc she can come inside.”
When Zach opened the door, he was surprised to see a young man standing on the porch with her.
Ella introduced him as he neared. “Special Agent Swain, this is my neighbor, Levi Miller.”
The neighbor was dressed in the typical dark slacks held up with suspenders. A wide-brimmed hat sat atop his blond hair, and he wore a cotton shirt probably sewn by his wife.
“You live in the next house?” Zach pointed to the small one-story home.
“Yah. My wife and I live there.”
“Did you hear anything last night, Mr. Miller?”
“I heard the storm.”
“Did you hear sirens or see the police here?”
The man’s face clouded. “My wife glanced from the window. She was worried about Dr. Jacobsen.”
“But you didn’t check on her last night,” Zach pressed.
“That’s why I came today.” The Amish man turned to Ella. “You are all right?”
“Someone broke into the clinic. He shot Mary Kate Powers.”
Levi’s face blanched. “She was hurt?”
Ella touched the Amish man’s arm. “Quite seriously, I’m afraid. She’s at the hospital on post and is in critical condition.”
“May Gott’s will be done.”
Zach didn’t understand the comment. “You know Mary Kate?”
“Her parents have a home not far from here. We knew each other as children.”
Zach wondered if that friendship had continued into adulthood.
“What about the twins?” Levi asked. The concern in his voice was clearly obvious.
“They’re fine,” Ella assured him. “Thankfully, they were asleep in the treatment room, and the attacker left through the front door after accosting their mother.”
Levi let out a ragged breath. “I am relieved.”
“You know the twins?” Zach asked.
The Amish man steeled his gaze. “Twins are easy to recognize, Special Agent Swain. They have been getting treatments at the Children’s Care Clinic for some months now. I have a farm and work outside. Of course I have seen them.”
“What would you call your relationship with their mother?” Zach remembered the grandfather’s words about the Amish man who seemed much too attentive to his daughter.
“There is no relationship.”
“You haven’t tried to reconnect with Mary Kate?” Zach asked.
“A married man has eyes only for his wife.” He looked at Ella. “If you need my help, let me know.”
“Thank you, Levi.”
With a nod, he turned and walked back to his property.
Zach watched him enter his house. “There’s something Levi’s not telling us.”
Ella lowered her gaze, as if she, too, had something to hide.
Zach stared down at her. “Is there something about Levi that I need to know?”
“Of course not.” After an abrupt about-face, Ella pushed open the door to her clinic and stepped inside.
Zach glanced back at the Miller farm. A cold wind whipped across the expansive pasture area and along the road, picking up dust and blowing it in the air.
What was the truth about this Amish community and the doctor who had left her practice in Pennsylvania to move South? Was she being less than forthright? If so, why?
* * *
All her work had seemingly been for naught. Standing at the entrance to her clinic, Ella was overcome with despair. She had tried to create an environment where Amish children, used to the simple basics in their own homes, could be comfortable even when they were sick and upset. Surrounded by medical instrumentation and equipment, they could easily become wide-eyed and fearful, which only made their parents more on edge. The adults were often torn between their concern for their sick children and their own hesitation to trust the new doctor.
As she gazed at the disarray, Ella wondered what they would think if they saw the place in such a state of chaos. Her hard work up to this point and her dreams of what the clinic could be in the future had been all but dashed by the hand of a madman.
“Who would do this?” she asked, struggling to articulate even that brief question. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she glanced at the officers, who had stopped processing the crime scene and were staring at her.
Did they think she was becoming hysterical?
Zach entered the clinic behind her and touched her arm. Was he offering comfort or was he, too, afraid she might be ready for a breakdown?
“Who was the last person in here last night?” Ella demanded, feeling a swell of anger. She stared at Abrams. “Did you lock the door? Did you secure my clinic or did you leave the door open and vulnerable to the madman, who returned to find what he’d wanted the first time?”
They continued to look at her as if she were crazed, and perhaps she was—crazed with frustration at all that had happened.
Abrams stepped forward. “I asked one of my officers to make sure your clinic was secure. I trust he did as I directed.”
Officer Taylor moved closer. “The assailant could have had a key. You know he cut your power, ma’am. It wasn’t the storm that caused your outage. Someone tampered with your wiring. We got it working last night, and I checked your generator. The spark plug had been unscrewed. No wonder it wouldn’t engage.”
“So someone was prowling around here before the storm?”