Her Amish Protectors. Janice Kay Johnson

today.” She wrinkled her nose. “What am I saying? I’m nowhere near halfway through the day. There’s plenty of time.”

      “You heard her?”

      This smile felt genuine. “And you. Thank you for the defense.”

      Colleen shook her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with everyone. Peggy is a good example. She’s a nice woman. This wasn’t like her.”

      “I’m the newcomer. The outsider.” Nadia had figured out that much Saturday. “Painting me evil is better than imagining someone you’ve known all your life stealing money that would have helped struggling people hold onto their land or rebuild.”

      The other woman sniffed. “I’ve lived around here all my life, and I have no trouble imagining a few of my neighbors feeling justified in doing whatever they pleased.”

      Nadia was laughing when the bell on the front door clanged. She turned to meet a pair of very dark eyes. Ben Slater wore his uniform today, a badge on his chest and his holstered gun at his hip. The visible weapon had the usual effect.

      Her laugh had already died before she saw his stone face. “Chief Slater.”

      He bent his head. “Ms. Markovic. Mrs. Hoefling.”

      “I’m happy to stay a little longer, if you need to speak to Nadia,” Colleen offered.

      “That would be helpful,” he said. “Perhaps we could go upstairs, Ms. Markovic?”

      As chilled as she was by the expressionless way he was looking at her, Nadia didn’t see that she had any choice. She thanked Colleen and led the police chief through the side door. She sidled by the chair she’d left at the foot of the stairs, since she had every intention of bracing it in place again tonight—and every night, for the foreseeable future. She didn’t look back to see what Ben Slater thought about her primitive defense.

      In the small living room, she faced him, chin high. She couldn’t make herself ask how she could help him. Hating her awareness of him, she just waited.

      “I’m here to ask if you would permit a full search of this building without my getting a warrant first.”

      “I feel sure you wouldn’t have any trouble getting one,” she said bitterly. “Given the local consensus on my guilt.”

      Something flickered in his eyes, but he said only, “You must realize this is something I need to do.”

      Nadia crossed her arms. “Shouldn’t you have done it Saturday? Over the weekend, I could have taken the money box anyplace.”

      He didn’t say a word. His expression stayed impassive. She stared at him, understanding embarrassingly slow to come.

      “You’ve had me watched. Did somebody follow me Saturday?”

      “I’m doing my job.”

      Air rushed out in what felt too much like a sob, but she clung to her dignity—and her anger and despair. “Do you know what it will do to my business once word gets out that the police suspect me to the point of searching my premises?”

      “The sooner we can clear you,” he said woodenly, “the sooner your reputation will be restored.”

      Her laugh was caustic. “What a nice, positive spin! I suppose practice makes perfect. I guess all that experience is why they made you chief.”

      The only satisfaction he gave her was the tightening of his jaw muscles and some tension at the corners of his eyes.

      “When do you plan to do this search?”

      “If you agree, immediately.”

      Nadia was so law-abiding she’d never so much as gotten a traffic ticket. The police officers who spoke to her after the shooting in Colorado had admired what they called her bravery. Now, seared by humiliation, she wanted to tell Ben Slater to get a warrant. I should have hired an attorney, she realized. She would, first thing tomorrow morning. But not anyone local.

      Knowing her cheeks were burning red, she said, “Fine. Do it.”

      He took a step closer. Lines deepened on his forehead and his voice came out rough. “This is not meant to suggest we believe you stole the money.”

      “No? What other homes and businesses are you also searching?”

      “You know there aren’t any yet.”

      “I didn’t think so. If you’ll escort me downstairs, I’ll let Colleen go home. I’d just as soon no friends were here to watch.”

      Nadia walked past him, pride all that held her together. She heard his tread on the stairs right behind her. Naturally. He couldn’t let her out of sight, in case she tried to move her stash.

      Alone in the store, Colleen had been studying a quilt hung on the back wall. Her eyes widened. “Nadia?”

      “I’m fine. Thank you for staying, but I think I’ll close up now.”

      “I’m sure people will understand.” Colleen obviously didn’t, but she knew not to ask questions. “Call me anytime, okay?”

      “I will.” Nadia gave her a swift hug and retreated before she could burst into tears. “Thank you.”

      The other woman gathered her purse and bag full of fabric and thread, leaving after a last, worried look over her shoulder. Nadia hastened after her, flipping the sign to Closed and locking the door.

      “Make your calls,” she said with frozen dignity, and went to the back room to sit in front of the quilting frame. With her hands shaking, she couldn’t so much as thread a needle, far less work on the half-finished Bear’s Paw quilt in the frame.

      She heard Slater’s voice, coming from just outside the doorway. Which probably meant he hadn’t taken his eyes off her for a moment. “It’s a go,” he told someone. “I’ll wait here for you.”