When Secrets Strike

In Laurel Ridge, Pennsylvania, a community once united must suspect one of their own

Amish quilter Sarah Bitler’s dreams no longer feature a husband and family. Instead, she searches for success in the quilt shop within Blackburn House, a place once tarnished with deadly secrets. She refuses to let the past influence her future...until an ominous fire forces them to collide.

Firefighter Aaron King was the first to touch Sarah’s heart—and the first to break it. Now a widower and father of two small girls, his return to Sarah’s life brings her buried feelings to the surface. As a string of horrific incidents tears apart their community, an arsonist’s wrath threatens to destroy them all. With Aaron as the only suspect, Sarah must follow her instincts to find the truth. But to protect an innocent man, she might risk her heart to Aaron again...and risk her life to an unknown killer.

Praise for Marta Perry

“Abundant details turn this Amish romantic thriller series launch into a work of art.”

—Publishers Weekly, starred review, on Where Secrets Sleep

“Crisp writing and distinctive characters make up Perry’s latest novel. Where Secrets Sleep is a truly entertaining read.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Perry’s story hooks you immediately. Her uncanny ability to seamlessly blend the mystery element with contemporary themes makes this one intriguing read.”

—RT Book Reviews on Home by Dark

“Perry skillfully continues her chilling, deceptively charming romantic suspense series with a dark, puzzling mystery that features a sweet romance and a nice sprinkling of Amish culture.”

—Library Journal on Vanish in Plain Sight

“Leah’s Choice, by Marta Perry, is a knowing and careful look into Amish culture and faith. A truly enjoyable reading experience.”

—Angela Hunt, New York Times bestselling author of Let Darkness Come

“Leah’s Choice is a story of grace and servitude as well as a story of difficult choices and heartbreaking realities. It touched my heart. I think the world of Amish fiction has found a new champion.”

—Lenora Worth, author of Code of Honor

When Secrets Strike

Marta Perry

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

I’m so glad you decided to read my latest Amish suspense series. I always intended to make Sarah, the Amish quilt shop owner, the protagonist of this story. But as I began the planning, I became aware again of the difficulties involved in having Amish characters in a suspense novel. The Amish believe that faith means following Jesus’s teachings, including the one about turning the other cheek. They will not return violence for violence, and of course suspense often does involve attacks, danger and threats. Obviously my Amish characters could not be police officers or use violence in any way against another person. As I wrote, though, I found that this seeming handicap brought an interesting facet to my characters, as they had to struggle against the temptation of anger and violence in the face of attack.

If you’ve read Where Secrets Sleep, I hope you enjoy revisiting familiar places, browsing in the quilt shop and catching up with what’s happening in the lives of people you met there.

Please let me know how you feel about my story. I’d be happy to send you a signed bookmark and my brochure of Pennsylvania Dutch recipes. You can email me at marta@martaperry.com, visit me at facebook.com/martaperrybooks or at martaperry.com, or write to me at HQN Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

Blessings,

This story is dedicated to my husband, who always believes in me, with much love.

In nature there are neither rewards nor punishment. There are only consequences.

—Amish proverb

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Dear Reader

Dedication

Epigraph

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

BE CAREFUL OUT THERE. Sarah Bitler smiled, thinking of her mother’s familiar goodbye as Sarah had climbed into her buggy this morning. Mammi always said the same thing when any of her family left her sight. She’d really rather they stay safely on the farm, even Sarah, who was nearing thirty and had long since been accepted as a maidal, an old maid, by their Pennsylvania Amish community.

What was there to be careful of on this peaceful back road that wound between Amish and Englisch farms on its way to the town of Laurel Ridge? The route took a bit longer to reach her quilt shop than if Sarah had gone by the main road, but was worth it to keep her mother from worrying.

“Mamm is being a little silly, ain’t so, Molly?” She could talk to her buggy horse out here without fear of being overheard. “There’s not even a storm cloud in the sky today.”

Molly flickered her ears in response to Sarah’s voice and then broke stride. The mare tossed her head, snorting.

“What are you—”

Sarah stopped, seeing a few seconds later what Molly had sensed immediately. Smoke, snaking its way up between the trees ahead of her.

“Someone burning trash, that’s all.” But doubt threaded her words. There was too much smoke for that, surely. Hard on the thought she saw the sparks shooting upward, landing among the trees. Her heart thudded in her chest.

Fire. The one thing that farmers feared most, especially in a dry summer like this one. She slapped the lines, sending the mare surging ahead. She’d have to see for herself what was burning.

Around the next curve in the winding road, the source was visible. Flames licked the back wall of a barn, and smoke billowed upward, fanned by the summer breeze. An unused barn, thank the gut Lord, part of the property belonging to an elderly widow who lived in town. No animals were in danger, at least, but if the fire spread—

Sarah froze for an instant, undecided. Race to the nearest phone to call for help? Or check first in case someone needed help?

A glimpse of the small cottage near the barn decided her. The cottage wasn’t empty—Mrs. Everly let Gus Hill live there in exchange for keeping an eye on the property. Sarah had to be sure he wasn’t in danger.

Turning an unwilling Molly onto the lane, Sarah touched her with the buggy whip, and they bucketed up to the cottage. Sarah jumped down from the buggy seat and raced to the door, her breath coming quickly. If Gus was there, surely he’d have smelled the fire by now. Unless he’d somehow provided himself with a bottle, in which case he could well be passed out and unaware of the danger.

“Gus! Gus Hill! Are you in there?” Sarah pounded on the door, glancing toward the flames that licked at the barn roof. “Gus!” She twisted the knob, and the door swung open.

A quick glance around the two littered rooms told her that wherever Gus was, he wasn’t here. But the barn—

She ran back outside. The fire ate greedily at one corner of the roof, sending a shower of sparks toward the trees. He surely wasn’t in there. He couldn’t be. She should hurry to the nearest phone. But she couldn’t, not without being certain.

Her breath catching, Sarah raced to the barn. The heat radiating from it was terrifying, but she had to look—had to be certain Gus wasn’t in there. She grabbed the hem of her apron and held it over her mouth and nose. Eyes watering, she peered through the open doorway.

Empty—not even any old hay bales to feed the fire. And no crumpled body lying unconscious, either.

A timber crashed, flaming, to the barn floor, sending a trail of fire heading toward her. Sarah spun, fleeing to the buggy, not needing to use the whip to persuade Molly into a gallop. They jolted back down the lane, back around the bend. The Stoltzfus farm, that would be closest, and they had a phone shanty near their barn.

Molly raced up the Stoltzfuses’ lane, heading straight for their barn as if it were her own. Sarah halted the mare at the phone shanty, stumbled down and grabbed the receiver, hitting 911. By the time she’d gasped out the information to the emergency dispatcher, Ben Stoltzfus was running toward her from the barn, followed by three of his sons, while his wife, Miriam, hurried from the house, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“Was ist letz, Sarah? What’s wrong?” Ben grasped her arm.

A fit of coughing seized her, and she could only point.

“Ach, how did we not smell it? Fire—the old Everly barn, ja?”

Sarah nodded, catching her breath. “I spotted it when I was passing. The sparks...” She didn’t need to explain the danger to Ben. He was already turning to his sons.

“Buckets and shovels into the wagon, quick. We must keep the fire from spreading until the fire truck gets here.”

Wide-eyed, the boys ran to obey. Ben raced for the paddock and his buggy horse.

Miriam had reached Sarah by then and wrapped her arm around her. “You’re all right? Komm, let me see. You didn’t burn yourself?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” A cough interrupted the words. “Just need a drink of water, I think.”

“For sure. Into the house, now.” Miriam glanced to the oldest of her daughters. “Emma, go and call the neighbors. Tell them the Everly barn is burning. Quick!”

Ten-year-old Emma paled, but she bolted to the phone shanty.

Suddenly weak in the knees, Sarah was grateful for Miriam’s arm around her as they headed for the farmhouse. Miriam, like any Amish mammi, clucked and comforted and scolded all at once as she gently shoved Sarah onto a kitchen chair and then set a glass of water in front of her.

“You rest a minute. I’ll start coffee. Lucky I have a couple of jugs of lemonade I can take over, too. The firefighters will need a drink.”

Sarah nodded, accepting Miriam’s automatic assumption that they would provide what was needed. It was what neighbors did.

“Maybe take drinking water, as well. I don’t know what the water source is over there.”

“Ja, that’s true.” Miriam bustled around, putting one daughter in charge of the baby and enlisting the other two in carrying jugs and cups to Sarah’s buggy.

“I looked for Gus Hill.” Sarah cleared her throat and took another gulp of water. “No sign of him.”

“He’s never one to hang around if there’s trouble,” Miriam said darkly. “I don’t know what Julia Everly pays him for looking after the place for her, but he’s not worth it, that’s certain sure.”

Reluctant as she was to speak ill of anyone, Sarah had to admit that Miriam was most likely right. Gus was a fixture in the township, well known for his talent for getting by on the least possible effort.

By the time the buggy was loaded, Ben and the boys had already taken off in the wagon. The wail of a siren pierced the air. The fire truck roared by, followed by the usual cars and trucks carrying extra volunteers. Most of the able-bodied men in the area belonged to the volunteer fire company, both Amish and Englisch. Like Aaron King.

Sarah shoved the name to the back of her mind as she and Miriam drove Sarah’s buggy in the wake of the volunteers. She had no right to be more concerned for Aaron than for any other of her Amish brethren. Now if she could only convince herself of that fact...

By the time they reached the Everly property, the barn was fully engulfed. Figures in yellow protective gear swarmed around it, but Sarah could see they were more intent on keeping the fire from spreading than on trying to save the structure. It was too late for that.

Molly whinnied, shaking her head nervously, so Sarah led her a short distance away and tethered her to a tree. Miriam had shoved a folding table into the buggy, behind the seat. They pulled it out and began setting thermoses and jugs on it.

Scanning the firefighters, all so alike in their gear, Sarah couldn’t deny she was searching for Aaron. She caught a glimpse of a chestnut-colored beard, and her breath went out in an involuntary sigh of relief. He was there, of course, and he was safe. That slighter figure next to him was probably his teenage brother, Jonah. Aaron would be keeping a close eye on the boy.

The barn roof collapsed with a roar and a shower of embers, and for a few minutes the scene reminded Sarah of an angry beehive as the volunteers fought to extinguish the flying sparks.

Miriam caught her hand, and Sarah realized the woman was watching her husband. Ben leaned on his shovel, coughing, but a moment later he’d straightened and was back at work.

Finally the barn was nothing more than a sullen black heap, still sending smoke and fumes into the air. In twos and threes the firefighters began drifting over to the table, and Sarah and Miriam were suddenly busy pouring out drinks.

“Sarah?” The sound of her name had her turning.

Mac Whiting, Laurel Ridge’s police chief, stood behind her, pulling a notebook from his pocket. He looked very official in his blue uniform with a weapon at his hip, and only the fact that she’d known him since childhood kept her from retreating into the usual Amish reticence when confronted with Englisch officials.

“Some coffee, Mac?”

He shook his head. “Save it for the guys who did all the work.” He snapped his pen. “I understand you called in the fire.”

“I was on my way to town. To the shop,” she added, although Mac would know that well enough. “I saw the smoke before I came around the bend, and then I saw the flames. In the back, the fire was, then,” she said, pointing.

“So you went over to Ben and Miriam’s to call?” He jotted the information down, though what good it would do anyone, she didn’t know.

“Ja. But I checked first to see if Gus was here. I pounded on the cottage door. No answer, but I was afraid he was asleep, maybe.”

Mac grinned. “That’s a diplomatic way of putting it. I take it you didn’t see him.”

“The door wasn’t locked, so I checked inside, but the cottage was empty. Then I feared he might be in the barn.” Sarah seemed to feel the heat on her face again. “I looked, but no—”

“You never go near a burning building!” Aaron King was suddenly at her side, looking as if he’d like to shake her. “Ach, Sarah, whatever were you thinking?”

His obvious concern warmed Sarah’s heart despite the fact that he was looking at her as if she were an erring child.

“I was thinking same as you would have,” she said, her voice tart. “If someone was lying there in danger, I couldn’t just go away. And don’t go telling me I shouldn’t have, because I had to.”

Aaron’s hand closed around her wrist for an instant, and her breath caught. Then he let go, shaking his head, his brown eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. “You always were a stubborn one, Sarah Bitler. Quiet, but stubborn.”

Too quiet, she couldn’t help thinking. If she’d given him even a hint of what she felt, all those years ago, would it have made a difference?

“It’s just as well she looked, or we’d have thought there was a body in there.” Mac sounded practical. “We might have known Gus wouldn’t be anywhere around when there was trouble.”

That seemed to be the unanimous opinion of Gus.

“Julia Everly is going to be so upset.” Sarah pictured the tart-tongued elderly woman. “She never would let go of this property, because her husband used to love coming out here. And now that she’s laid herself up with a broken leg, she’ll really be fretting.”

“You mean she’ll be calling me every five minutes to find out what progress I’m making,” Mac said.

Sarah looked at him blankly. “Calling you? Why?”

“I’m the local fire marshal, remember? I’m supposed to have answers.”

“Ja, but what could you do?” she asked. “The firefighters did their best. At least they kept the blaze from spreading. As dry as it’s been, it’s lucky the woods didn’t catch.”

“It’s not about that.” Mac frowned. “Look around you, Sarah. There’s not a cloud in the sky. No lightning to set it off. Nothing combustible stored in the barn. No electricity, even. So how did the barn catch fire to begin with?”

Arson. She felt Aaron stiffen next to her. The word didn’t have to be said aloud to chill the blood.

* * *

SARAH FINALLY MADE it to town by early afternoon. Instead of heading straight for the quilt shop, she drove the buggy down a quiet residential street. Her business partner, Allison Standish, would have things in hand at the shop, and Sarah felt compelled to visit Julia Everly. The elderly woman would certain sure be upset by the fire.

After tying the mare to a convenient porch railing at the modern ranch-style house, Sarah walked to the front door, mentally rehearsing soothing words. Julia was normally the feistiest of eightysomething women, but being confined to a chair by a heavy cast on her leg had taken some of the starch out of her. Sarah had stopped by the previous week, bringing an apple crumb pie her mamm had made, and had found Julia surprisingly subdued.

The door opened almost before Sarah had touched the doorbell. “Oh. It’s you, Sarah.” Donna Edwards, a distant cousin of Julia’s who made sporadic efforts to look after her, gave the impression that a welcoming smile was too much effort. “I was just trying to get my cousin to take a little nap in her chair. I don’t think company is a good idea right now.”

“I don’t want to disturb her, but I thought she’d want to see me.” If anything, Sarah would think Julia needed more company, not less.

Donna looked at her blankly, her thin face registering nothing other than a rather peevish attitude, apparently toward being interrupted. She reminded Sarah irresistibly of one of her mother’s irascible hens.

“I was the one who discovered the fire,” Sarah explained patiently. “I understood someone notified her, but—”

“Yes, of course.” Donna’s expression relaxed, and she fingered the glass beads that dangled over one of the frilly blouses she always wore. “You must think I’m half-asleep. Chief Whiting came by to let Julia know a while ago. I just didn’t realize you were the one who’d found the fire.”

Sarah nodded. “I spotted it on my way in to work this morning.” She had a feeling she’d get tired of saying those words.

Donna glanced back over her shoulder toward the archway into the living room. “I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you, but maybe later would be better. I don’t want her upset any further.”

Donna’s air of authority was mildly annoying. Still, Sarah supposed she meant it for the best. “Well, just let her know I stopped by, and—”

“Donna? Who are you talking to? Why don’t they come in? You can’t expect me to get up and fight with this walker every time the doorbell rings.” The voice came from the living room in a subdued bellow.

Sarah grinned. That sounded much more like Julia. “It’s Sarah Bitler,” she called.

“Well, come in. Why are you standing on the doorstep?”

Donna shrugged, rolling her eyes as she stepped back. “Try not to let her get upset,” she muttered. “I thought I’d never get her settled down after that policeman left.”

Nodding, Sarah went past her into the comfortable living room. Julia, unlike most of Laurel Ridge’s wealthier residents, didn’t live in one of the town’s classic Victorian houses. After her husband’s death she’d sold the place she’d always referred to as a mausoleum, and bought this small, convenient one-story rancher.

The living room was designed for comfort, rather than fashion, with a pair of recliners on either side of a fireplace, a welcoming love seat and built-in bookshelves that were filled primarily with bright paperbacks. A large-screen television sat at an angle to face one of the recliners, and as Sarah entered, Julia reached out to mute the game show she was watching.

“What’s going on? Don’t tell me Donna is trying to protect me again. I thought she knew better.” Julia’s round, wrinkled face was bright-eyed and sometimes a little malicious. Just now she darted an annoyed look toward the hallway.

Donna, shoulders stiff, obviously heard the words, as she was meant to. She marched toward the kitchen.

“You shouldn’t tease her,” Sarah said, avoiding the heavy cast on Julia’s leg as she bent to hug her. “She’s trying to take care of you.”

“I hate to be taken care of.” The older woman’s tone was so sharp, Sarah knew helplessness was the real cause of her annoyance.

“Give your leg time to heal. You’ll soon be able to handle things yourself.”

She hoped that was true, anyway. At Julia’s age, a badly broken leg could mean the end of independent living, and as far as Sarah knew, Donna was the only relative Julia had. In a typical Amish family, there’d be plenty of people to tend an elderly relative and it was taken for granted, but not so among the Englisch.

“Never mind telling me soothing things,” Julia barked. “Sit down here and talk. I heard you’re the one who spotted the fire.”

Sarah nodded, pulling over a straight chair to sit on. Julia’s short gray hair was ruffled, as if she’d been running her hands through it, and she glared at the cast as if it offended her. Obviously the only thing to do was to tell her the story.

“I saw the smoke when I was coming into town this morning. I supposed it might have been Gus burning trash, but as soon as I came around the bend, I saw the flames at the back corner of the barn.”

Julia’s jaw was clenched. “Mac Whiting said the barn was a total loss.”

“I’m afraid so.” Guilt pricked Sarah. “Maybe if I’d gone straight for a phone when I saw the smoke, the fire company would have been able to save it, but—”

“Nonsense.” The word was sharp, and Julia gripped her hand for a moment. “Mac said you went looking for Gus first. Naturally.” Her gaze searched Sarah’s face. “He says they’re satisfied Gus wasn’t caught in the blaze.”

“That’s certain sure,” she said quickly. “I looked, and the others did, as well. He wasn’t there.”

“I suppose he’s staying out of sight, afraid I’ll blame him.” Julia snorted, her fears allayed. “Silly old fool.”

Since Julia was probably a good twenty years older than her handyman, or whatever Gus claimed to be, the description didn’t seem to fit very well. And Sarah had never thought of Gus as silly. He managed to eke out a living doing nothing much at all, and he had a weakness for drink, but he had a certain amount of shrewdness, as well.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Julia said unexpectedly. “You wonder why I bother with the lazy layabout.”

Since that was just about what she’d been thinking, Sarah couldn’t deny it. “It’s not my business.”

“Oh, he doesn’t fool me any.” Julia’s eyes crinkled, increasing her resemblance to a mischievous monkey. “I know what he is. But my husband was never happier than when he was pottering around that piece of property, hunting and fishing with Gus. I’m not sentimental, but I just can’t bring myself to get rid of the place, no matter how many offers I get.”

“Have people been wanting to buy?” That surprised Sarah. She wouldn’t have thought the property was that much in demand. It had been a farm once, but the fields were overgrown now.

“Had a call not long ago, but I wasn’t interested in selling the place.” Julia brooded for a moment. “I suppose it’ll be worth less now that the barn is gone. Maybe I ought to get rid of it before anything else happens.” Her hands worked on the chair arms, as if she’d like to propel herself right out of it.

Concerned at her agitation, Sarah clasped her hand. “You don’t need to decide anything right away. And I’m sure Gus will turn up soon.”

Julia nodded, but she still looked upset. Hadn’t Sarah agreed with Donna that she wouldn’t upset her? She sought for some subject that would divert Julia’s thoughts from a decision she clearly didn’t want to make.

“By the way, did you hear about the quilt display we’re putting together for the shop? It’s Allison’s idea. We’re setting up a showing of some antique quilts. Allison thinks it will draw in customers from out of town.”

Julia grunted something that sounded like agreement. “Probably will. Your partner’s got a good head on her shoulders when it comes to business. But she’ll never know as much about quilts as you do,” she added, as if Sarah might be jealous.

“Ach, I was born knowing about quilting, I think, given the way my mamm and grossmammi love it. And with Allison being so smart about things like the internet shopping, we make a fine team, ain’t so?”

“I guess you do,” Julia said. “Good thing, too. A woman’s got to be able to take care of herself in today’s world. Even an Amish woman.”

“Especially a single one,” she said firmly. There was no point in pretending it didn’t make a difference whether a woman was married or not. It did in a community like the Amish that was centered on family.

Julia’s gaze seemed to search Sarah’s face for a moment. She gave a short nod, as if satisfied with what she read there. “You know, I might have a few quilts to go in your display. Come to think of it, it’s about time I got them out and did something with them. Donna!” She shouted the name loudly, and Sarah jumped.

Donna appeared in the doorway so quickly that Sarah wondered if she’d stayed within earshot. “What is it?”

“You remember those family quilts I showed you a few years ago? I’m going to lend them to Sarah for a display. Box them up for her, will you?”

“Box them up?” Donna’s voice rose. “That was ages ago. I have no idea where those quilts are. I thought you got rid of them years ago.”

“Of course I didn’t.” Julia sounded testy, and her eyes were dulled, as if she was tiring. “They’re in one of those trunks in the attic. I can find them easily.”

“You can’t go climbing those attic steps with your leg in a cast. You shouldn’t do it anyway, not at your age.”

It was inevitable that Julia would flare up at that. “My age has nothing to do with it. I’m twice as active as you are, except for this stupid cast.”

“You don’t need to...” Sarah began, but neither of them listened to her.

“I won’t hunt through a bunch of old trunks for something that isn’t there,” Donna declared. “Sarah doesn’t want them, anyway.”

Sarah opened her mouth and closed it again, unable to think of anything that would resolve the sudden hostilities. As far as she could tell, this was what always happened when Donna got one of her periodic urges to take care of her elderly relative. They couldn’t tolerate each other for long. The truth was that they were both stubborn and opinionated, and that inevitably led to a clash whenever they’d been together for a time.

“Sarah will find them for me. Won’t you, Sarah?” Julia sent a triumphant look at her cousin and patted Sarah’s hand.

“Ja, yes, of course,” she said. “But not today,” she added firmly. “I must get to the shop. I’ll come another time and find them for you. We don’t need them right away, in any event.”

She rose quickly, before she could get more involved than she already was. “I’ll see you soon.”

“All right, all right.” It was said in a grumbling tone, but Julia sank back in the chair, closing her eyes briefly. Donna, with a speaking glance at her, accompanied Sarah to the door and opened it.

“Thanks for putting her off,” she murmured with a glance back toward the living room. “I shouldn’t have argued with her, but really, she gets to me. After all, here I am giving up my time to help her, and does she appreciate it? No.”

“I’m sure she does, really.” Sarah stepped outside, the heat of the July day hitting her.

“Well, I’m the only family she has, so I guess it’s my duty.” Donna assumed the air of a martyr. “Don’t worry about those old quilts, now. She’s so forgetful lately she probably won’t even remember talking to you about them.”

Forgetful? That assessment didn’t match with Sarah’s impression of Julia, but she certain sure wasn’t getting into a discussion of Julia’s mental state with Donna. Instead she gave the woman a quick smile and hurried to her buggy, relieved to get away.

* * *

AFTER SETTLING THE mare in the small stable behind Blackburn House, where her shop was located, Sarah rounded the massive Italianate Victorian mansion to the front door. She always found it hard to imagine that the building had once been a private home. Who could possibly need such an imposing residence? Amish families, even those with eight or ten children, were content with simple farmhouses.

Well, Blackburn House had long since been turned into shops and offices, and she was fortunate to have her quilt store in what had once been a fashionable parlor. Doubly fortunate, because her business partner was Allison Standish, the owner of the building.

Once she was inside the double front doors with their elaborate fanlight, Sarah could glance up at the marble hallway that stretched practically the depth of the building. The quilt shop was on the right, with a small workroom behind it, while to the left was the showroom for Whiting and Whiting Cabinetry, with its office. Toward the back, the bookstore and storage rooms took up the rest of the downstairs space. The cabinetry showroom appeared to be empty at the moment, which probably meant Nick Whiting was in the workshop behind the building.