Falling to Pieces (13 page)

Then he sat back, and the cockiness returned.

Callie’s stomach clenched into a small, tight fist—no bigger than the size of a rock she might as well have picked up and swallowed.

“You want to know what’s in the folder? All right. I’ll show you.” He spun the folder once, twice, three times. Then stopped it with the flat of his hand, leaned forward, and stared into Callie’s eyes. “What’s in the folder is the testimony of four witnesses—four, Miss Harper. Do you know what they said?”

Callie shook her head, tried to look away but found she couldn’t.

“They all say that last night, only hours before Stakehorn was found dead—” Black shook his head and sat back as if he was sad to deliver the last bit of news. “—you threatened Stakehorn, in public.”

He opened the folder, made a show of running his finger down the printed lines. Callie could read them from where she sat, could read the names upside down.

His finger stopped at Baron Hearn and Gail Caldwell. She felt the sweat pool in the palms of her hands even before he began to read aloud. “Apparently you swore to—quote—get even.” Continuing down the page he stopped at the names Kristen Smucker and George Simms. “You also said—again I’m quoting two witnesses—’You will regret making an enemy of me.’”

B
EFORE BLACK
even finished speaking, Callie’s left hand started trembling.

She grabbed it with her right hand and pulled it into her lap.

Her mind raced over the events of the night before. Somehow she’d been suppressing them the last twelve hours. That was the only explanation. She hadn’t even told Deborah about the argument with Stakehorn—the episode at the deli, the peach mango tea, losing her temper … She hadn’t thought to mention any of it.

“Something you’d like to say, Harper?”

“No, there is not anything she’d like to say.” Adalyn pushed back her chair and picked up the Louis Vuitton bag. “Let’s go, Callie.”

Callie stood, surprised when her legs didn’t betray her as her arm had.

Black stood as well, offering his lazy grin. “You both know it’s best if she cooperates now.”

“Do you have any indication that Stakehorn was killed?” Adalyn asked. “Could have been a heart attack or a stroke. The man likely had high cholesterol—be sure and run that test along with your toxicology reports.”

“If I didn’t have reason to suspect murder, do you think I’d even be conducting this investigation?”

“Do you have any evidence against my client?”

“We found Harper’s phone at the scene, with calls to the deceased approximately one hour before his death.” “Which proves what?”

“It proves she was one of the last to speak with him, Adalyn. Even you have to acknowledge the significance of that. Perhaps she found a way to get even.” Black’s hands came up, his fingers adding quote marks to his last two words.

“A dozen people could have seen Stakehorn or talked to him in that hour.” Adalyn shook her head, hooked her hand in Callie’s arm, and practically dragged her toward the door. Opening it, she shoved Callie through, then turned and wagged her finger at Black. “You’re going to need more than cell phone records and the testimony of a few gossips.”

“Motive is half the battle. Means the other half. If she had both—” Black spread out both hands, indicating it was beyond him to control events after a certain point.

Callie watched them both, watched them as if she was sitting at her home in Houston, sitting in front of the big screen television, viewing an episode of some hour-long television series, some courtroom drama.

But it wasn’t television.

It was her life.

She couldn’t simply pick up the remote and change the channel on the big screen.

Deborah jumped when the door opened up again.

Adalyn had been in the back room less than ten minutes. When she marched back out, Callie in tow, Deborah wanted to shout for joy. Then she saw the pale look on Callie’s face. She’d literally lost every ounce of color, and her eyes seemed unable to focus on any one thing.

Gathering her knitting and stuffing it into her bag, Deborah rushed over to join them. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Not here,” Adalyn said.

They walked out into the early afternoon sunshine, and Callie nearly dropped onto the steps of City Hall.

“Did he hurt her?”

“Course not. She’s just had a bit of a shock.” Adalyn placed her bag on the cement walk, stepped in front of Callie, and put both hands under her elbows. She waited until Callie’s eyes settled on hers, then cocked her head in something bordering on amusement. “Where’s the girl who was standing up to Black when I walked in the room? Hmm?”

Callie glanced down at the ground, as if lost. Then she looked up, over, and her eyes met Deborah’s.

“You’re okay, ya?”

“Yes. Maybe. I’m not sure.” But she pulled in a deep breath, looked steadier.

“Would you like some
kaffi?”
Deborah tucked her hand into the crook of Callie’s right arm, and Adalyn tucked hers into the bend of Callie’s left.

“Coffee would be good,” Callie murmured.

“And pie,” Adalyn added, picking up her leather bag. “We could all use a piece of pie.”

Ten minutes later they were seated at a back table inside The
Kaffi
Shop. The table had the double bonus of a side window which looked out over the parking lot (filled with both buggies and cars), while still affording them a bit of privacy. The waitress brought two steaming mugs of coffee and one hot tea, then returned with three pieces of pie—one cherry, one apple, and one chocolate.

“Officer Black acted as if he had evidence a murder had been committed,” Callie said. “I’ve seen heart attacks before. Folks usually clutch their heart, pull at their clothes trying to catch their breath. Looking back, perhaps that’s what frightened me. Stakehorn’s
body looked wrong—coffee spilled, hand stretched out as if he’d knocked it over, sitting at his desk like he was still working on the evening edition.”

Adalyn pointed a forkful of cherry at Callie and said, “You don’t have to tell me everything. Lawyers don’t want to know everything in every case. But it’s not like television either, where lawyers don’t want to know anything. Shane Black is good at his job, and you can bet he’s going to turn over every rock, or in this case every piece of newsprint.” She swallowed the piece of pie and stabbed another. “Probably best to tell me all you can. I do my finest work with maximum information.”

Callie nibbled around her apple pie and gave a replay of the last twelve hours. Deborah listened as she glanced around the café she’d been in many times. She often came here with Daisy; it was even a place Jonas liked to take her for a special treat.

While Callie spoke of the previous night’s events, Deborah tried to piece together what it all meant for her new friend as well as the repercussions for Melinda and Esther and their quilting venture.

When Callie reached the part where she’d thrown the tea on Stakehorn, Deborah put down her forkful of chocolate pie and covered her mouth with her hand.

“You didn’t, Callie.”

“I did. I have a terrible temper, but I usually control it. When I’m finally pushed to the brink, I snap—but then it’s over.”

“Probably don’t want to say those exact words if we do wind up in court.” Adalyn pushed away her empty plate, smiling as she did. “Still, I wish I could have been there to see it. There are a lot of people in this town who would have applauded you for standing up to Stakehorn. Being new, you probably don’t realize how much influence his little paper has.”

“Had,” Deborah said softly.

“Excellent point.”

“I admit that I acted poorly in public,” Callie said. “My mama would say that I forgot my southern manners, which is a sin where I come from, but not against the law in northern Indiana as far as I’m aware. I don’t know what Black hoped to accomplish with his intimidation tactics, what he thought I’d confess—” Now her hands came out, gesturing and nearly knocking over her coffee. “Truth is I don’t have anything else to tell.”

Deborah hadn’t heard Black’s threats, but she could see how they had unnerved Callie. They had done something else as well; they had incensed her.

Now that she’d found her balance, she was becoming adamant about defending herself again, as she had been with Stakehorn. Her old spunk was returning. Deborah liked that side of Callie. It was what had drawn her to Daisy’s niece in the first place, what had convinced her that Callie could help her with the quilts, and in the process help Melinda and Esther.

And suddenly, Deborah was reminded of Daisy.

The two women had the same determination and positive attitude—except in Callie it seemed to have been beaten down. At times she appeared lost, like the morning Deborah had first shown up at the shop, the morning Callie had still been in her bed clothes. She’d had the same bewildered look when she walked out of the police station. Other times though, her spunk returned, like now. It was as if Callie was trying to find her identity.

“Callie, do you have any family that I could contact if I need character witnesses? I don’t think it’s going to get that far, but I’d rather be ahead of this.”

Callie shook her head, at first refusing to look up. When she finally did, there were tears in her eyes. “Daisy was the last of my family. My parents were both killed in a car accident when I was a freshman in college, which could be why I married young. At least that’s what Rick—my husband—used to say.”

“You’re married?” Deborah asked. She had no idea.

“Was.” Callie gulped the coffee, seemed to hesitate over revealing
any more, then pushed on. “Rick wanted to wait to get married until I graduated, but I insisted I’d study better if we were married. He was older, ten years older, and claimed he’d grabbed me cradle and all.” Callie smiled a bit.

“Where is he now, Callie?” Deborah ran her fingers down the strings of her prayer
kapp.
She wanted to reach out and touch her friend. This dear woman had so many things in her past that Deborah didn’t know about.

“He died.” Callie said it blandly, without emotion—but Deborah knew how the death of a beloved husband affected a person. “Cancer, over a year ago.”

All three women leaned back in their chairs, studying one another. Finally Adalyn cleared her throat. “Do you have friends I can contact?”

“My job involved a lot of travel, so I wasn’t close to anyone, not really.” Callie turned the coffee cup once, twice, three times. “Why would Black suspect me? How could he suspect me? This is ridiculous and it is not fair.” Callie sat up straighter and motioned the waitress for a refill on the coffee even as she continued to push the apple pie around on her plate.

“He must be floundering because he has no idea what happened,” Deborah offered. “Or maybe he can’t accept the man died of natural causes.”

Adalyn had been watching Callie closely—not interrupting with questions or insights. Now she reached down for her bag and pulled out a wallet which matched the brown leather perfectly. “You could be right, but I suspect something else is at work here, and Shane simply isn’t showing his hand yet. I’ve never known the man to bluff for the fun of it. Fishing? Possibly. But always with good cause.”

“What would cause him to harass Callie?” Deborah asked, dread filling her stomach.

“He has reason to believe it was a murder. Remember the list of names he showed us? The man has already been busy interviewing
witnesses. Who knows how many others he has brought in and questioned. He either believes Callie is guilty or knows something more that can lead him to the person who is.”

“I’m not guilty though, and I don’t know anything.” Callie had been stirring cream into her coffee, but she dropped the spoon against the saucer in frustration. The clatter seemed to echo through the café.

“No doubt you think you don’t, but you were on scene. Often people don’t remember things for hours or days. My guess is he thought by scaring you, something would bounce out of your memory.” Adalyn withdrew some money and laid it on the table.

“Well, it didn’t work.” Callie gulped the coffee, then glanced up at Adalyn. “Are you saying I don’t have to worry about being arrested again?”

“No. I won’t lie to you—I don’t think you’re paying me to give you false hopes.”

“Which reminds me, we haven’t discussed rates. I didn’t exactly remember to put a line item in my budget for lawyer fees.” Callie stared back into her coffee.

Deborah reached over and clasped her hand. “We’ll help you if need be.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“You barely even know me.”

Adalyn scooted her chair back from the table. “In a town like Shipshewana people either become friends or enemies real fast. Seems to me, you’ve made at least two friends, Callie, and they’re both sitting here at the table.”

Deborah was relieved when Callie nodded instead of arguing. She even looked a bit choked up.

“As far as what I said earlier—about paying me to give you false hopes—it was a phrase. I don’t plan on charging you for this one.” When Callie started to protest, she held up her hand to stop
her. “I owe Deborah more than one favor. What you can do is let me know if you remember anything else. And call me if Shane Black contacts you again.”

Adalyn handed Callie her business card as they walked out of the café.

Deborah drove her back to the shop in the buggy, and they discussed quilting, the auction, and how things were going at Deborah’s farm. It helped to speak of normal things.

“As I mentioned the other day, we have no church service this Sunday. Instead we’re meeting at one of the farms for dinner and to visit and play games.”

Callie looked uncomfortable as she climbed out of the buggy and walked toward the shop. “I’ll probably be busy.”

“Say you’ll try. It’s at our home this week.”

“I don’t even know where you live.”

“It isn’t that hard, Callie. Shipshewana is small, and we’re but a few miles on the outskirts of town. I’ll draw you a map.”

“Won’t that be odd? Having an un-Amish person there?”

“Actually we call you Englishers, and it’s not so unusual. We often have Amish, Mennonite, and Englishers. In spite of how outsiders paint us, we enjoy visiting with others. Come and see. There’s always a volleyball game going. We can find out if you remember anything.”

Callie gave her the look that said she knew she was being baited, but she didn’t turn her down cold.

Deborah drew her a map before they left. When she and Melinda and Esther were on the road again, she couldn’t help wondering how this turn of events would resolve itself.

The entire situation reminded her of a mystery quilt. She still remembered the first one she’d sewn as a teenage girl. It had seemed so exciting, and she kept pestering her
mamm,
asking her how it would turn out. “No one knows, until the day we sew the
pieces together,” her
mamm
had explained. “That’s what makes it a mystery.”

Callie’s past was mysterious; she seemed to be keeping some things hidden. Amish were a closely knit people, so Deborah understood the desire for privacy, but it seemed to go deeper with Callie. Then there was their current situation.

Like the mystery quilt, each piece made sense when she considered it individually. For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine the completed picture though.

In time she knew it would all make sense.