Where Secrets Sleep Page 3

* * *

  NICK WOULD ALWAYS rather be working in the shop than the office. On this April morning, with sunshine pouring through the big windows in the front of the showroom, it was almost bearable to be stuck in the office.

  The sunlight showed a faint rim of dust on one of the display cabinets, and he wiped a cloth over it. One of the disadvantages of an old building—the dust must seep through the walls or drift down the chimney.

  One aspect of his partnership deal with Dad, made when he’d come home after the disastrous end to his marriage, was that he’d take care of the sales and paperwork, letting Dad concentrate on what he loved best—working on the cabinets. At the moment, Dad was focused on the pine jelly cupboard he was making for Mom’s birthday. It was only fair that Dad should have his choice, and Nick didn’t resent taking on the book work.

  But today he was having trouble getting down to the tax records that waited for him in the office. His mind was too preoccupied with Allison Standish and the changes that were undoubtedly coming to Blackburn House. How difficult was she likely to be? It wasn’t that they couldn’t move the business elsewhere if they had to, but it would be inconvenient and expensive, most likely.

  Nick glanced across the wide center hallway and spotted Sarah Bitler pausing in the door of her quilt shop. Seeing him, she smiled and raised her hand.

  Taking that for an invitation to talk, Nick seized the chance to delay the taxes a bit longer. He crossed the marble hallway to join her.

  “Morning, Sarah. Quiet today?”

  “So far.” Sarah brushed an invisible bit of thread from the blue apron that matched her dress as well as her eyes. Her normally serene face was alive with excitement. “Have you heard? The new owner is in town. She checked into the bed-and-breakfast last night.”

  “Yes, I know.” He hesitated, not sure he wanted to discuss the woman with Sarah when his own impressions were so negative.

  “I hope she comes in today,” Sarah hurried on, oblivious to his discomfort. “I’m so excited to meet her.”

  Well, he could hardly keep it from Sarah. “You won’t be the first. I met her last night.”

  “You did? But how? Why? I assumed she went straight to the bed-and-breakfast, and Mrs. Anderson said it was nearly nine when she checked in. Mrs. Anderson thought she must have gotten lost.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I spotted her wandering around Blackburn House when I came back to the shop to take care of a delivery. I suppose she wanted to have a look at her new acquisition.”

  What had Allison Standish made of Blackburn House? Apparently not much, since she was so eager to get rid of it.

  “And you came in to tell her Wilkom,” Sarah said.

  He had to grin. “Not exactly. I saw the lights going on and off in the bookstore and this place and our showroom, and I figured it was the prowler everyone has been talking about.”

  “Nick, you didn’t!” Sarah shook her head. “A prowler wouldn’t be turning on the lights, knowing he could be seen from the street.”

  “You’re too practical, Sarah. I didn’t even think of that. Just got caught up in the moment, I guess. I thought I’d catch him in the act. So I slipped in, hiding in the shadows like we used to when we were kids playing hide-and-search.” He could laugh at his actions now. “Then I jumped out and grabbed her.”

  “No— Nick, how could you? Did you hurt her?”

  “It was the other way around. She rammed the case she was carrying into my leg.”

  “Serves you right,” Sarah said severely. “I hope you didn’t give her the wrong impression of us.”

  He shrugged. As far as he could tell, Ms. Standish had already had a negative impression of Laurel Ridge and all its inhabitants before she arrived.

  “Poor thing. Coming all this way alone to be greeted like that.” Sarah’s tender heart asserted itself.

  “She wasn’t exactly alone,” Nick said with a vivid memory of the cat hissing at him. The animal would have been happy to sink its claws into his flesh. “She had a cat in the case she hit me with.”

  “Well, I’m not one to believe in keeping animals in the house, but after all, I live on a farm. A woman on her own in a city apartment might be lonely, poor thing.”

  That was Sarah all over, always seeing the best in everyone. He was afraid she was going to be disappointed in Allison Standish, and he wasn’t sure how to warn her. It was annoying that so many people had to depend on the whims of this stranger.

  “Evelyn loved the quilt shop.” Sarah was obviously following her own train of thought. “But she was always content to be a silent partner. Ach, I couldn’t expect anything else, she was such a busy woman. Maybe Allison will want to be more involved. I hope so.”

  “I hope you won’t regret what you wished for.” There was no point in trying to sugarcoat the facts for Sarah. At least he ought to try and prepare her for the woman who was now her partner. “Look, Sarah, I wouldn’t count too much on Allison Standish if I were you. I can’t picture the woman I met working in a quilt shop. She struck me as a snobbish yuppie who can’t wait to shake the dust of Laurel Ridge from her feet.”

  He realized that Sarah was staring past him, a horrified expression on her face. He swung around. Allison Standish stood not more than five feet behind him, well within earshot. She’d undoubtedly heard him.

  Well, what difference did it make? She’d told him herself that she was eager to sell up and leave.

  “And here she is,” he said. “Good morning, Ms. Standish. What did you do with the cat?”

  She blinked, apparently not expecting that question. “As it happens, Mrs. Anderson turned out to be a cat person. As soon as her tabby established her dominance over Hector, they settled down together.”

  “She likes to be the boss, I take it.” He felt a momentary sympathy for Hector. “Well, you’ll be wanting to meet your new partner. Sarah, this is Allison Standish. Allison, Sarah Bitler.”

  Allison’s eyes widened as she took in the fact that Sarah was Amish. Then she extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Sarah. I saw a bit of the shop last night.” Her glance swept back to Nick. “Speaking of last night, you must have thought it was amusing when I told you I planned to sell the building as soon as possible.”

  Nick realized he was staring at her blankly. “Why would I find it funny? A sale could have serious consequences for all of us.”

  “So you don’t know.” There was an edge to her voice. “I’m surprised. I thought you knew all about everything having to do with my inheritance.”

  “Listen, I’m sorry. I gave you the wrong impression last night.”

  She seemed to ignore what he said, preoccupied with some issue of her own that had her fuming. “You may as well know. I’m sure it will be all over town shortly. It turns out my inheritance has strings attached. I can’t sell or do anything else except run the building for an entire year.”

  * * *

  THE AMISH WOMAN was staring at Allison with a puzzled expression.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “We were told you inherited Blackburn House and Evelyn’s share of the quilt shop.”

  Apparently everyone in town had known her grandmother better than she had. Allison pushed aside the sense that she’d lost something of value. How could she mourn a relationship that had never existed?

  Sarah turned to Nick Whiting. “Did you know about this, Nick?”

  He shook his head, frowning a little. He seemed honestly confused, although Allison wasn’t inclined to take anything at face value where Nick was concerned.

  Seen in daylight, her impression of his rough-hewn good looks was confirmed. Attractive enough to cause a quiver in the stomach, if you went for men who wore jeans and flannel shirts to work. She didn’t.

  “Evelyn always was wily about keeping her secrets.” His f
rown dissolved in a reluctant smile. “She certainly put one over on all of us this time. Including you, I guess.” His smile included Allison, but she thought she detected an edge of malice in the curve of his lips. “Evelyn tied your hands, did she?”

  Sarah gave him a quelling look. “That’s enough, Nick. This is no way to get acquainted with the new owner.”

  Somewhat to Allison’s surprise, he took the reproof with a nod. “Right you are. Guess I’ll get to work and let you two sort it out between you.”

  Before she could deny there was anything to sort out, he had turned and crossed the hall to his showroom.

  And little though Allison wanted to admit it, she was trapped in a situation she hadn’t foreseen, with no knowledge of who she could trust. She needed information before she could attempt any decisions, and Sarah might be able to supply it.

  At the moment, Sarah was watching her with a slightly anxious expression. “Will you come into the shop?” She gestured to the quilt store. “Ach, it seems strange to invite you in when it’s half yours, anyway.”

  Allison responded with a smile. She’d already broken her cardinal rule several times with Nick Whiting by letting him see her reaction to him. There was no point in compounding the problem by letting Sarah see her as anything but pleasant and professional. She’d realized when her father walked out on her and her mother that there was a lot to be said for being independent, and a big part of independence for her had meant hiding her emotions, especially the negative ones.

  “I’d love to have you show me around the shop. There’s so much I don’t know.”

  “Komm.” Sarah led the way, a tiny bell jingling as they opened the door. They moved into an aura of bright colors and soft textures that seemed to envelop and comfort at the same time.

  The shop was in what must have been a parlor in the original mansion. The front windows were angled to form a bay with a bench under them. Sarah must have been responsible for the quilted cushions that turned it into an inviting seating area. The wallpaper, if not original, was a good copy of the flowered style so common in Victorian homes. Allison hadn’t had much occasion to decorate homes of this period, since most of Diane’s business had been with the busy young corporate execs who moved into a house, decorated in the latest style, then sold and moved on when they reached the next step of the corporate ladder.

  But she knew something good when she saw it, and the fireplace was a masterpiece of High Victorian with its intricately carved and mirrored mantelpiece that dwarfed everything else in the room. Sarah had wisely not tried to change the intrinsic charm of the room but allowed her quilts to make their own statement.

  “Didn’t you know that your grandmother intended for you to have this?” Sarah’s gesture took in the quilt shop and beyond it, the whole building.

  “I hadn’t the slightest idea until her attorney called me.” It was pointless to hide the fact, since probably everyone in town would know the details before long. Evelyn Standish had apparently been someone important in Laurel Ridge. “As far as I know, she never saw me or attempted to make contact.”

  Sarah’s blue eyes darkened with sympathy. “I’m so sorry. I can’t understand any grossmammi doing that.” She flushed slightly. “Ach, I’m sorry. Sometimes the Deutsch word just comes out when I’m talking Englisch. And the other way around, too.”

  That little tidbit caught Allison’s imagination. “You mean you use Englisch words when you’re speaking dialect?” The instant she’d asked the question she wondered if Sarah would take offense, but Sarah responded with a quick smile that showed a dimple in each cheek.

  “For sure. I guess you could say Pennsylvania Dutch is an old dialect. Dates from when the Amish came here in the 1700s. So when new things come along and we don’t have words for them, we just use the Englisch words.”

  Allison nodded, relaxing in the face of the other woman’s friendly attitude. It would be foolish to let herself be put off by the fact that Sarah’s clothes were old-fashioned and her hair pulled severely from a center part and confined under a white covering at the back of her head. Those externals didn’t affect the warmth of her smile.

  “You haven’t seen much of the Amish, ain’t so?” Sarah’s tone was matter-of-fact.

  “Am I being obvious? To be honest, you’re the first Amish person I’ve ever talked to.”

  Sarah’s dimples showed. “You’re not the first Englischer I’ve talked to, that’s certain sure. Mostly around here the Englisch and Amish know each other pretty well.”

  “I could see that you and Nick Whiting know each other.” She hoped her tone didn’t give away her impression of him.

  Sarah paused, her hand on a double bed in the front of the shop. It was completely covered by colorful quilts laid one on top of another. “Nick’s family lives on the property next to my parents’ farm, so we’ve been friends since we were small.”

  So naturally her sympathy would be with Nick. She’d spoken to him as she would to a brother.

  Well, that was enough of betraying an interest in Nick Whiting. He’d already made his attitude toward her presence plain.

  “These quilts are all for sale?” she asked, touching the blue-and-white one on top.

  “Ja, this is what we have in stock now.” Sarah seemed happy to turn her attention to the quilts. “I always display them this way so folks can see how they look on a bed.” She flipped the top quilt back to display the next, an intricately designed one that glowed in jewel tones. “The maker’s name and the price are on a numbered tag in the corner of the quilt, and I keep a card file with all the information about it.”

  It seemed a simplistic method of keeping track of stock in the twenty-first century, but maybe that was what Sarah was comfortable with. “They are beautiful.” Genuine admiration filled Allison’s voice. “Works of art.” She stroked the detailed quilting on the border, each stitch put in perfectly by hand.

  “You have that in common with your grandmother, then,” Sarah said. “Even though she didn’t do much in the shop, she really loved the quilts.”

  Somehow she was surprised that they’d had anything at all in common. “How did the two of you become partners?”

  Sarah’s smile became reminiscent. “I worked for Mrs. Standish when I was a teenager—cleaning the house and such. When I didn’t marry...” She shrugged. “Well, most Amish are pairing off by the time they hit their twenties. Evelyn was...” Again she hesitated. “Evelyn asked me what I wanted to do, and I told her my hope was to start a shop to sell the things Amish quilters made.” Sarah lost her hesitancy, her blue eyes sparkling. “Women like my mamm, who didn’t have a gut place to market their quilts. And she offered me this.” A sweep of her arm encompassed the shop.

  “So you became partners.” That argued a generosity on the part of her grandmother that surprised her. Evelyn Standish might have been more complicated than Allison’s impression of her.

  “She put up the money to get started, and I paid her back out of the profits.” Sarah sounded more knowledgeable than Allison would have expected. “I have my copies of our agreements if you want to see them, but I’m sure Evelyn’s will be in her office upstairs.”

  Allison nodded. “The attorney mentioned the office to me. I suppose I’ll have to go through it before I can make any decisions.”

  “Decisions,” Sarah repeated. “But didn’t you say that you can’t sell for a year?”

  “Meaning there’s no decision to make?” Allison shrugged. “I can always walk away. Go back to my life in Philadelphia and let Blackburn House go to Brenda Conner.”

  Sarah actually looked disappointed. She’d have thought the woman would be only too happy to see the last of her.

  “I hope you don’t. I’ve always wanted to have an active partner in the business.”

  “Me? I don’t know anything about quilts.”
<
br />   “You appreciate them,” Sarah said. “I saw your expression when you touched them.” She smiled. “It’s like mine.”

  “I know what goes into them. I’m an interior designer by profession, so naturally I have an appreciation. But—” Before she could add that she had no desire to spend the next year of her life in Laurel Ridge, they were interrupted.

  “Hey, Sarah, do me a favor, will you?” Nick stood in the doorway, holding a large dog of indeterminate breed by a piece of rope that looked inadequate. Even as Allison watched, the dog made a dive for the nearest display rack, which was hung with an assortment of baby crib quilts.

  “No!” Allison’s instinctive cry was echoed by Nick, and he hauled the dog back by the rope. The animal didn’t seem to show any resentment of the handling. It sat on Nick’s foot and looked up at him with an adoring doggie expression, tongue lolling.

  “Is this bring-your-dog-to-work day?” she asked tartly.

  “Not my dog,” Nick replied, his face relaxing in a grin that invited her to share his amusement. “A beauty, isn’t he?”

  Her expression must have spoken for her, because he chuckled.

  Sarah hurried to interpose herself between them with the air of one who was used to being a buffer between fractious personalities. “I see Ruffy showed up again. Mr. Sheldon must have let him slip out of the house.”

  “Who is Mr. Sheldon, and why is his dog here?” Surely, as what she supposed was provisional owner of the building, she had the right to ask.

  “Randall Sheldon had an office upstairs before he retired,” Nick said.

  “And Ruffy used to come to work with him every day,” Sarah contributed. “Ruffy doesn’t seem to understand retirement. He keeps trying to come to work.”

  By this time the dog was sniffing at Allison’s boots, probably smelling Hector on them. She stepped back. “Wouldn’t it be a good idea to call this Mr. Sheldon to pick him up?”

  “No need.” Nick hauled the animal to him, forestalling an effort to pursue Allison and the interesting smell of cat. “I’ll take him home. Sarah, I’m expecting Mr. and Mrs. Pierce in to look at cabinets. Will you tell them to start looking around? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”