The Wedding Caper Page 7

  I’d just turned away when something caught my ear. What was that he said? I strained to better hear his end of the conversation.

  “I can’t believe I got away with it. And Annie doesn’t suspect a thing.”

  That panic attack feeling returned and for a moment I felt as if I might faint. Annie doesn’t suspect a thing? What in the world?

  Everything began to spin and I leaned against the wall to keep from going down. Tears started at once, followed shortly thereafter by a fit of coughing, which I couldn’t seem to suppress. I moved away from the door, hoping I hadn’t aroused suspicions. No sooner had I caught my wind than Warren joined me in the hallway, his face oddly pale.

  “Hey, Annie.”

  “Hey.” Felon.

  “I didn’t know you were home.”

  Obviously.

  He reached to pull the office door closed behind him, as if trying to shut the door on whatever had just happened in there.

  “I’m here.”

  He slipped his arms around me and gave a squeeze. I tried to squeeze back, I really did. But something about hugging a criminal just felt. . . wrong.

  He pulled back and gazed into my eyes. “Are you okay?”

  Um, no. . . But thanks for asking.

  “You seem kind of. . . quiet.”

  “Even a fool, when he is silent, people will think he’s wise.”

  I could’ve slapped myself silly. Why in the world did I say that out loud? A Sheila-ism floated through my head, confirming my inability to turn back. “Once the toothpaste is out of the tube, it’s hard to get it back in.”

  Warren looked at me as if I’d gone mad. “Annie, I’m getting worried about you.”

  “You are?” I backed away from him and tried to look normal. “Why?”

  The perplexed look on his face did little to console me. “This whole wedding thing has you. . . out of sorts. Are you feeling overwhelmed?”

  To say the least.

  “Because I’m thinking you need to take a little time for yourself for a change.”

  “Oh?”

  “How would you like a little get-away, Annie?”

  Get-away? Sounded like something a bank robber would say. “What did you have in mind?”

  I eased my way into the living room and he tagged along behind me behind me, still talking. I kept on listening, determined to stick to my lesson plan.

  “What would you think about a little trip to that bed and breakfast you’ve always wanted to go to? Sound good?”

  “W–What?” Forgiveness washed over me at once. A criminal would never offer to take his wife to a B&B in the Amish country. “Really?” I could see it all now—the rolling farmlands, the quaint shops, the ever-present buggies. Sounded dreamy, even if it meant spending time away with someone I wasn’t sure I trusted at the moment.

  He pulled me into his arms and rested his chin atop my head as he explained, “Yes. The girls and I were thinking you’d like a few days alone.”

  “Alone?” I pulled away as understanding set in. “You want to send me away?”

  He gave me one of those Is-this-your-hormones-speaking-or-is-this-really-you? looks. “Of course not. We just thought you would like the peace and quiet. We were thinking Sheila could go with you.” I could see the hurt in his eyes as he concluded: “I had a doozie of a time getting a reservation, but our travel agent owed me a favor.” He pulled a brochure from his shirt pocket and placed it in my hand.

  His words to the person on the other end of the phone now raced through my brain once again: I can’t believe I got away with it. And Annie doesn’t suspect a thing.

  That made perfect sense to me now. He’d been talking to our travel agent, Joan Edwards. Warren had been planning a surprise. . . for me! Suddenly, I felt absolutely ridiculous. In an attempt to make up for everything, I planted approximately a dozen kisses on his pouting lips and then apologized for my off-beat behavior. “I love you, and I’m very grateful. Thank you so much.”

  He nodded and offered a mumbled response, then headed off to the yard to rake the leaves. With my emotions now firmly in check, I settled onto the sofa and looked through the colorful brochure. What a tremendous blessing, especially in light of all I’d been through. Surely the Lord had dropped this little weekend get-away in my lap. Out amongst the simplistic backdrop of the Amish country, I could clear my head, think more logically, spend time listening to His voice, get His perspective on things.

  Then again, if Sheila came along, things might not be so simple. She always had a way of seeing deep inside me—to the places others rarely took the time to see. And she knew how to needle the truth out of folks, one painful sliver at a time.

  Hmm. I contemplated the inevitable a bit longer. Yes, if Sheila came with me, I’d probably end up baring my soul—telling her what I’d been up to over the past couple of weeks. Before all was said and done, she’d know about my suspicions.

  Would that be so bad? What would it hurt, really, for someone else to know? Maybe, between the two of us, we could get this crime solved, set my husband free from the cloud of guilt hanging over his head. Maybe we would become known as Clark County’s “Crime Fighters Extraordinaire”—an example for all young would-be sleuths.

  Or maybe we’d just spend the weekend eating chocolate and talking about pedicures.

  Either way, we’d have a whopper of a time.

  Chapter Nine

  I couldn’t help but laugh as Sheila backed her SUV into my driveway. Her new “Honk if You Love Peace and Quiet” bumper sticker seemed just right for our weekend getaway in the Amish country. Surely she had purchased it with this occasion in mind.

  In my heart, I did long for peace and quiet. Ached for it, in fact. That’s why, as I watched Sheila’s arrival through the living room window, I had to wonder if having her along on this little jaunt to “God’s country” had really been His idea—or my husband’s. Only time would tell.

  She bounded from the front seat in her usual quirky fashion. I chuckled as I noticed the leopard print scarf she wore around her neck. Very fashionable. The autumn wind snagged a hold of it and whipped it across her face, nearly knocking off her jeweled sunglasses. Sheila caught them with her index finger and pressed them back in place. What a diva.

  As she headed my way, I took in the rest of her outfit: The bright teal sweater and black jogging pants seemed to suit her, and the hot pink trim on the new tennis shoes finished off the colorful ensemble. Girl, you are something else. Everything about this woman just screamed menopausal.

  And I totally got it. Which is why inviting her along suddenly felt just right.

  Sasha and I met her at the door, tail wagging—Sasha’s, not mine.

  “Hey, girl!”

  Sheila and I both spoke in unison, then the chuckling began. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have to say we weren’t just kindred spirits, we were “sisters from another mister” as Sheila liked to call us.

  Within minutes I’d loaded my bags and we were on our way. In true Sheila form, the chattering began right off. She caught me up on all the action I’d missed at the political league and I offered up a sigh, along with an apology for my latest absence.

  She shushed my concerns with the wave of a hand. “You’ve got daughters to marry off. We all know that. Besides, if you stay away long enough, they might elect me president. So, take your time.”

  After that laughter we dove into a lengthy dialogue about Brandi’s registry items and Candy’s cake selection. Unlike Warren, Sheila really seemed to appreciate the self-made humor behind my Don’t-forget-to-register-for-your-toilet-paper joke.

  She got me. And that felt mighty good. So good, in fact, that I nearly forgot about the $25,000. Nearly forgot about the mental image of Warren in a Pennsylvania State Penitentiary jump suit.

  Nearly.

  We arrived in Lancaster in record time, and then turned off on a country road toward the smaller Amish communities I’d grown to love. Apparently Sheila didn’t make it out
to the Pennsylvania Dutch country very often, as was evidenced by her fascination with every shop and restaurant along the way. The childlike “oohs” and “aahs” warmed my heart.

  Her fascination ended, however, as we encountered our umpteenth Amish buggy. She didn’t seem to handle them with the same degree of kindness I would have displayed, had I been the one behind the wheel. Let’s just say, the words, “Hey, mister, could you speed that thing up a little?” were a bit overused that day.

  As we rounded the corner to the Heritage House Bed and Breakfast, my heart soared. The surrounding property took my breath away, and the farmhouse, quaint and lovely, drew me with its simple charm. Colorful leaves had fallen in abundance offering up a dizzying scene of reds, golds, and browns. I drank it all in and whispered, “Oh, God! You have surely kissed this place with your beauty.”

  Sheila let out a whistle as we pulled to a stop. “You should’ve warned me,” she said with a look of awe. “I would’ve brought my tissues. And some theme music.”

  “I knew you would love it. I just knew it.”

  For a moment we sat in blissful silence. Words would have spoiled everything, so I listened, instead, with every one of my senses.

  Finally, a stirring on the driver’s side roused us from our trance-like state. A portly woman in traditional Amish dress rapped on the driver’s side window. Sheila pushed the button to lower the glass.

  “Wilkum! Are you the Peterson party?” the woman asked. She ran her fingers along the edges of her white Kapp and I couldn’t help but wonder if she ever tired of wearing it.

  We nodded in unison, as kindred spirits would.

  The jolly woman let out a laugh. “Well, get on inside, you’s two! We’re about to serve lunch and you don’t want to miss it. I’ve prepared a lovely ham, and a huge crock of the best corn chowder you ever tasted. And I just pulled a loaf of fresh bread from the oven.”

  “Mmm mmm.” Sheila and I spoke in unison again and my stomach rumbled in anticipation.

  The proprietor, who introduced herself as Mrs. Lapp, continued on as we exited the car: “There’s Shoo-Fly Pie for dessert—best to be had, if I do say so myself. I hate to brag, but folks from around these parts say I’m the best cook in the Dutch countryside.” The zealous woman continued on talking a mile a minute as we snatched our luggage and headed inside. So much for peace and quiet.

  After one of the most amazing lunches I’d ever eaten, Sheila and I rested in our room. She took the brass daybed with the colorful quilt and let me have the larger, double bed with the rich blue and white quilt. I’d almost dozed off when her voice roused me.

  “I’d say it’s about time you told me what’s really been going with you these past few weeks.”

  I sat up and gave her a quizzical look. “What do you mean?” The thump-thumping of my heart nearly gave away my feigned innocence.

  She gave me that I’m-older-than-you-so-treat-me-with-some-respect look and, in true Sasha style, I tucked my tail between my legs. Perhaps the time had come to spill my guts.

  Sheila’s penetrating gaze wouldn’t let me off the hook. Yes, I needed to tell her what I’d been up to. She would run it all through her “Sheila-filter” and let me know her thoughts on the matter.

  And so I began—tentatively at first, then with ever-increasing fervor. She listened to my tale with her lips clamped—a rarity. I tried to gauge from her expression what she might be thinking about my involvement in crime fighting. I told her, with a few tears, actually, about Warren and the $25,000. I filled her in on Nikki Rogers, single mom and security guard. Sheila’s brow knotted as I got to the story of Janetta Mullins and her wayward son. And her eyes misted over as I shared the specifics regarding Richard and Judy Blevins.

  As I concluded, I expressed my concerns about not being able to narrow down the suspect list. Sheila nodded and popped out a rather atypical remark: “Well, Annie, if all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.”

  “What?”

  “I mean—” she gave me a pensive look, “—you’re swinging at anything and everything. You haven’t narrowed down your list because you’re all over the place with this. Truth is, you’re just following whatever feels right at any given moment. You’re not looking at the whole picture. You’re not listening to the clues. Not really.”

  “Ah.” How do I do that?

  “You’re the most trusting person I know,” she added. “And that means you’re easily swayed.”

  “Hey, I—” I really couldn’t say more, all things considered.

  Sheila grew quite serious. Kind of threw me. “Truthfully, we don’t know if any of those people took the money. We don’t even know for sure that Janetta’s daughter made the night deposit drop like she said. The power was out, right?”

  “Right.” To be honest, that had worried me all along.

  “So, really, you could be chasing around after absolutely nothing. And all in an attempt to exonerate a man you know in your heart couldn’t have done this. Am I right?”

  I swallowed hard and nodded.

  “Maybe that’s why we’re here this weekend.” She yawned and leaned back against the pillow. “Maybe you need to go back to square one and see where all of this started. If the Lord is asking you to be involved—and that’s a big if—then you’ll probably need to go back through all of the clues one by one and ask Him to help you sort things out.”

  If He’s asking you to be involved. . .

  Her words caught me off guard a little. And kind of hurt my feelings. Didn’t she know me well enough to know I wouldn’t dive head-first into something unless the Lord had prompted me to do so?

  On the other hand, Sheila had witnessed my impulsive side on more than one occasion. And she clearly had my best interest at heart. Maybe that’s why her opinion mattered so much to me. I wanted to ask what she thought about all of my suspicions—wanted to know if my ramblings had opened her eyes to any possibilities. Come on, girl. Tell me what you think. Who did this?

  She never said a word. Instead, with all of the love of a true friend, she continued to encourage me to get alone with God this weekend—to seek Him on the matter. And not to let the “outside noises” sway me.

  Outside noises, eh?

  As Sheila settled down for an afternoon nap, I dismissed myself to spend a little time out-of-doors with the Lord. My heart swelled as I strolled across the countryside toward the little creek behind the bed and breakfast. In one hand I clutched my Bible, worn from years of reading. In the other, my notebook and pen.

  I settled down on the embankment of the rippling creek and pulled my jacket tighter to ward off the chill, ready to hear from the Lord. Within minutes, the lyrical sound of the water as it rushed across the rocks lulled me into a blissful state. There, in that place, I found myself tuned in as never before to His voice. He seemed to speak through the water, the wind, the color of the leaves as they fell upon the water.

  And His words rang out loud and clear as I stumbled across one of my favorite verses in the old Bible. “But blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD, whose confidence is in him. He will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream.”

  I leaned up against the huge maple tree and spent some time in quiet reflection. I wanted to be like that tree—sturdy and strong. I didn’t want to be blown about by every wind that came along. Not a hammer, swinging at every nail. I didn’t want to bounce around from one “suspect” to the other, making mountains out of molehills. But how could I separate them out in my mind? How could I see the bigger picture, as Sheila had suggested?

  There was only one way, really. I had to approach this logically, thoughtfully. I had to listen to the clues, my heart and the Lord’s voice.

  One by one, I went through the list, asking God to give me His perspective on each. Then I began to put together a comprehensive list, just to set things straight in my mind:

  Warren Peterson.

  Outward appearances: Godly husband, fathe
r, and man of my dreams.

  Motive: Needed money to pay for two weddings ASAP. Fear of disappointing his two daughters.

  Suspicious behavior: Appearance of envelope with $25,000 cash. Closed-mouthed over the funds, won’t talk to me about it. Secretive and somewhat sullen in behavior for the past few weeks.

  Alibi: None available. As a banker, occasionally handles night deposits and was seen at the bank on the morning the money disappeared.

  Possible mode of operation: Could have taken advantage of the power outage/disabled cameras to snag the Clarksborough Catering cash deposit.

  My plan regarding this suspect: Check on our existing IRAs to determine if Warren cashed one in to pay for the weddings. Pray for discernment. Do not assume. Remember the “innocent until proven guilty” rule.

  Richard Blevins.

  Outward appearances: Brilliant Sunday school teacher, devoted husband, and dedicated banker with thirty years at Clark County Savings and Loan.

  Motive: Insurance company issues. Needed funds to help with his wife’s on-going cancer treatments.

  Suspicious behavior: Usually handles night deposits. Has avoided friends and co-workers for an extended period of time.

  Alibi: None available. His car was seen at the bank approximately fifteen minutes earlier than usual on the morning in question.

  Possible mode of operation: Carries a key to the building and has access to all security codes. Probably knew about the expected night deposit. Could have taken advantage of the power outage to pocket the cash.

  My plan regarding this suspect: Observe him carefully over the next few days to see if his behavior changes further. Spend some time at the gym with his friends and co-workers. Pray for discernment and pray for Judy.

  Nikki Rogers.

  Outward appearances: Loving single mom, in need of a listening ear.

  Motive: Tired of working two jobs to keep up with her life as a single mother; bitter over ex-husband/dead-beat dad.