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  Amish Undercover (Amish Romance Mystery)

  (Amish Secret Widows’ Society Book 6)

  Samantha Price

  Copyright 2014 Samantha Price

  All Rights Reserved

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  Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  *****************

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The personal names have been invented by the author, and any likeness to the name of any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 1.

  Thy mercy, O Lord, is in the heavens;

  and thy faithfulness reacheth unto the clouds.

  Psalm 36.5

  “Yours was a lovely wedding, Emma, and everyone enjoyed themselves so much,” the elderly widow, Ettie, said as Emma sat down to the first widows’ meeting after she had gotten married to Wil Jacobson.

  “Denke, Ettie. I’m glad I finally married Wil. I mean, I guess it was fast to marry someone just over a year after Levi died, but…”

  Ettie’s sister, Elsa-May, who was sitting next to Emma, put her knitting down, reached out and grabbed her hand. “There are no rules for things like that, Emma. No one can live your life for you, you just have to do what’s best for you.”

  Emma thought back to the first widows’ meeting she’d ever gone to. It had been a little over a year ago and just after her husband, Levi, had died. Her best friend Maureen who had been a widow for some years invited her to the small group who met at least once a week. Elsie-May and Ettie were schweschders who were around eighty years of age and the younger widows Silvie and Maureen were in their early thirties. Theirs was an informal gathering, much like a support group, where the ladies were free to speak their mind and share their concerns.

  “Now what about you, Silvie? Surely you’re next to marry? What’s that nephew of ours up to?” Ettie asked as she sipped a hot cup of tea from the edges of a white china teacup.

  “I keep forgetting that Bailey is yours and Elsa-May’s nephew,” Maureen said.

  Silvie beamed at the mention of Bailey, the handsome FBI agent who had fallen in love with her. “If he keeps his word, he’ll be coming to join the community in three months or sooner. He said he’d come even if he’s not able to close the case.”

  The widows all looked at each other in silence. They knew that it was unlikely that Bailey would solve the case anytime soon. After all, he had been working on the stolen art case for years.

  “Emma and I had the idea that we should all help him figure it out,” Silvie said.

  “Well, Silvie, I was joking. I don’t think it’s a good idea because he’ll feel that you think he’s not capable,” Emma said.

  Ettie made a sound, which meant she agreed with Emma. “Menner can be funny like that sometimes, they always like to be the one in control. They need to feel superior.”

  Elsa-May put her knitting down into her lap again. “Unless… unless we do it in a clever way.”

  “Like what?” Silvie warmed her hands around a teacup.

  “Don’t know. We have to come up with a plan,” Elsa-May said as she continued with her one purl one plain.

  “What if we ask him if he wants us to help him?” Maureen asked.

  The widows were silent for a while, then Silvie said, “But, what if he says no?”

  “I think the only thing we can do, unless someone comes up with a better suggestion, is to ask him straight out if he wants our help. He’d probably want all the help he can get, so the case is solved before he joins the community,” Elsa-May said.

  “Bailey told me that thousands of paintings all over the world have been stolen, and a great many of them are never found. He said that only one in ten stolen paintings is ever found. He’d have to expect that the case might never be solved,” Ettie said. “The numbers are against him.”

  Elsa-May said, “He might think that the numbers are against him, but not when he’s got Gott to help him. We’ve nothing to lose by asking Bailey if he wants our help. You ask him Silvie, in your next letter to him.”

  Silvie smiled, put her teacup back down on the saucer, which was balanced on her knees, and said, “He’s coming here next week.”

  “Is he staying long enough so we can all have dinner at my place one night?” Emma knew that Wil would like to see Bailey again. The bishop had arranged for Bailey to stay at Wil’s haus for a time, many months ago, when he was working undercover on the very same case on which he was still working.

  “Jah, he’s staying at the Wilsons’ B&B for a few days. That would be gut, denke, Emma, and that would be the perfect time to talk about this with him.” Silvie looked around at the other widows, and they nodded in agreement.

  Emma tilted her head to the side. “Only one in ten stolen paintings is ever found? I would have thought that a famous painting would have been easy to find.”

  Ettie shook her head. “Not according to Bailey and he’d know since he heads up the Stolen Art division of the FBI.”

  “What else did he tell you, Ettie?” Maureen asked.

  “The FBI only has a small team dedicated to stolen artworks compared to other countries. Bailey’s team has recovered three major works of art in the past nine years. They were stolen in Germany just at the end of World War Two, and they ended up at an auction house near Philadelphia.”

  “So that’s what led Bailey to believe that Frank and his daed were involved, because those paintings ended up in Philadelphia?” Emma asked of the case that brought Bailey to Lancaster County. Someone had murdered old Frank from the community while his house was searched for valuable paintings proving that Bailey was not the only one who thought that Frank had the paintings.

  “Jah. Frank and his daed were art auctioneers in Chicago and then moved here. At the same time as they moved from Chicago, some paintings were stolen and shortly after that, the stolen paintings turned up in Pennsylvania. Bailey became suspicious of Frank because those stolen paintings followed his geographic movements.”

  “Frank legitimately owned the valuable paintings that Wil was storing for him,” Maureen said.

  Ettie nodded. “That’s right, and now Bob Pluver has inherited those paintings. Do you know what he’s doing with them, Maureen? I hope he’s not just hanging them in his haus; they’ll be stolen if the right people figure out he has them.”

  Maureen shrugged. “I’m not sure what he’s doing with them, Ettie. He could’ve sold them for all I know.”

  “So you haven’t seen them in his haus?” Silvie asked with a smile on her face.

  Maureen laughed. “I can see straight through all of you. I know that you’re trying to figure out whether I’ve been into his haus recently.”

  Elsa-May arched an eyebrow. “Well, have you?”

  Maureen shook her head. “Nee, I don’t think his mudder likes me.”

  “Nonsense, she’s sweet; she’s not like everyone thinks she is. It’s just that the expression on her face is not happy, but when you talk to her, she’s as sweet as pie.”

  “Lemon Pie?” Silvie laughed at her own joke.

  “Nee,” Ettie said. “She’s nice and harmless. I heard that her husband, Bob’s daed, was a hard man to get along with. No one knew it when it was happening, but I found out that she had a life of misery with him. No doubt Bob had just as hard a time of it.
I’ve told you all this before, Maureen.”

  “I knew that Bob’s daed was a hard man, but I never gave too much thought to the effect it would have had on Bob’s mudder.” Maureen frowned. “You might be right. I should give her a chance. It’s the way she looks at me that upsets me, as if she doesn’t approve of me, but it might just be the way she looks.”

  “Of course it is; she’s a nice lady,” Ettie said. “Give her a chance and you’ll see what I mean.”

  Emma knew why Maureen thought the way she did. Bob’s mudder had always looked to her as if she was sucking on a lemon. Always as if she disapproved of everything and that was even before her husband had been killed.

  “Have you moved into the new haus, Emma?” Ettie asked.

  “Jah, we moved straight in. Wil’s still working on it and probably will be for a while.” Emma wrapped her black shawl tighter around her shoulders. The fire was doing nothing to warm her.

  “What are you and Wil doing with your old houses?” Ettie asked.

  “We’re going to lease them out and that way we’ll have some money left over to keep going with the renovations. I’ve already leased my haus out to Wilhelm and Grace; they’re moving in as soon as they’re married.” Emma chewed on a fingernail as she thought of all the work that had to be done on the new haus.

  Chapter 2.

  But let all those that put their trust in thee rejoice:

  let them ever shout for joy,

  because thou defendest them:

  let them also that love thy name be joyful in thee.

  Psalm 5:11

  Bailey Rivers pressed the button on his car window and breathed in the chilly Lancaster County winter air as he made his way along the narrow winding roads. He was glad to be closer to Silvie Kiem, the woman he loved and intended to marry.

  He was sure he was not the same Bailey Rivers he was before he met Silvie. Silvie had changed him. He now saw that the life of an Englischer was a futile one, a life of chasing riches and pleasures without the fear of Gott. His grandfather had been Amish and now he was about to return to the Amish. The irony caused him to smile, but deep in his heart there was an underlying uneasiness. No one had ever told him why his grandfather left the Amish all those years ago. His grandfather’s answer was always that he would tell him when he was older, but he died before that day came.

  Lost in his thoughts, Bailey slammed on the brakes to avoid rear-ending a slowly driven Amish buggy. His car screeched to a halt. The buggy clip clopped up the road as if he wasn’t even there. Embarrassed that he might know the driver of the buggy, Bailey figured this was as good a place as any to stretch his legs after hours behind the wheel.

  Either the sky was clearer and more beautiful in Lancaster County or he was too busy to notice the sky as he traveled about the country. The air was most definitely fresh and clean. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply the aroma of the snow as it slowly thawed in the fields.

  It was when he opened his eyes that he remembered this parcel of land. He had played on this land as a child; more accurately, he had played in the creek on the land. He knew the creek was not far from where he stood. Nostalgia made his legs move before he had even made the conscious decision to do so.

  Being back on Amish soil filled Bailey with a sense of belonging. He wondered whether his grandfather had made the right move in leaving his Amish roots so long ago. He had brought Bailey back to the land of his forefathers to play, but he never visited his Amish family, remaining distanced from them.

  As a child, nothing about his grandfather made sense; now Bailey had to assume that his grandfather had been shunned and was no longer accepted by anyone in the community. He often wondered what his grandfather had done to cause him a shunning, but that was the least of his concerns right now. For now, the sole thing on Bailey’s mind was his decision to return to the Amish and marry Silvie, his one true love.

  He’d been in love many times before and was not lacking in the attention of women, but Silvie was different to all the other women he had never known. There was something sweet and wholesome about Silvie, something that brought about deep urges within him to protect her and keep her safe.

  As he stood on the slight rise of the land, looking down toward the icey creek, he wondered how the life of his children would be different from the life that he’d had. He had fond memories of spending time with his grandfather, but not so his father. His father was aloof and distant. Bailey often thought it was because he traveled a lot with work, but now, with his years of being a detective, he knew that there was something about his family life that did not add up. Rather than try to work things out, Bailey threw himself into his work, quickly rising up the ladder to gain a position with the FBI.

  Bailey did not know where or when it happened, but he knew he witnessed a scene, a dark and grisly scene so horrific he could not bring himself to share it with another human being. His therapist questioned the fact that he had recurring nightmares and put it down to suppressed childhood memories. He stopped going to the therapist when his nightmares worsened; it was as if his nightmares were daring him to tell of their existence.

  Bailey shrugged his body as if in doing so he was shaking off the demons of the past. The only thing that concerned Bailey at this point was how his nightmares and his inability to have a decent night’s sleep might affect Silvie once they were married. It would be a tragic thing if he had to sleep in a separate room from the woman he loved. He would have to give her some reason for his nighttime terrors.

  * * *

  In honor of Bailey’s visit, all the widows were seated in Emma and Wil’s living room when Silvie and Bailey walked through the front door.

  “It’s gut to see you again, Bailey,” Wil said as he slapped him on the back. “Come into the warmth; everyone’s in the living room.”

  “Hello, aunties,” Bailey said as he leaned over and gave Elsa-May and then Ettie a hug. It was only as an adult that Bailey had met his elderly great aunts, his grandfather’s schweschders.

  “Good to see you,” Ettie said. “Sit down on this wunderbaar comfortable couch.” Ettie moved over so there would be room enough for both Silvie and Bailey.

  Emma could barely keep the smile from her face as she thought of Ettie and Elsa-May’s hard, wooden, creaky chairs they had instead of a couch. “Dinner will be ready in about half an hour,” Emma said, pleased that her haus was at least at a livable standard so that they could entertain guests for dinner. The kitchen had been the first thing to which Wil turned his attention.

  The kitchen was the warmest room in the house since the stove had been working for hours. When they were all seated around the long dinner table and after they had said their silent prayers, Ettie skillfully steered the conversation towards Bailey’s case. “So, Bailey, how are you getting along with the case you’re working on?”

  Bailey took a forkful of corned beef off the plate that Wil offered to him. “The same really, not much is happening.”

  “Can you tell us more about it?” Wil asked.

  Bailey gave a chuckle. “I can give you an overview if I’m not going to bore anyone.” Bailey looked at all the eager faces around the table. “Well, alright. I’ve been following a case from 1990 where an art gallery had a lot of valuable paintings stolen. The two men who broke in were dressed as policemen. It was in the early hours of the morning and the two security guards on duty buzzed what they thought were two policemen into the building. Once they were inside, they immediately handcuffed the guards.”

  “Go on,” Wil said.

  Bailey smiled, took a deep breath and continued, “Once they were inside, they took their time and got what they came for. Funny thing was that they picked certain paintings. They didn’t take the most expensive, or the ones that were easiest to grab – No, they picked and chose the ones they wanted.” Bailey motioned with a fork. “Now, why did they choose the ones they chose?”

  “They had people they could sell those particular ones to?” Ettie ask
ed.

  “Was it to do with politics?” Elsa-May asked.

  Emma turned and studied Elsa-May’s wise face and wondered what politics would have to do with paintings.

  “Could be either of those things. If it were special orders, as Ettie suggests, then there would likely have been a central broker who the buyers approached to steal the paintings.”

  “What do you mean?” Silvie asked.

  “Well, it’s unlikely that five or even three separate people would find the same thieves willing to break into the gallery. It would have been one person who organized it, and this person would have been known to deal in stolen artworks. My thoughts are that one art dealer was approached by different people who wanted particular paintings. And of course, he would not have risked his own neck stealing the paintings himself, he would have had others do that.”

  “What makes you think that it is more than one person who wanted the artwork?” Maureen asked.

  “The paintings were all very different in style, so it’s unlikely that the same collector wanted them all. And, if it were just thieves doing it to make money, they would’ve grabbed what was convenient and got out of there fast. Some very famous and priceless paintings were bypassed. The robbery was very well planned and organized.”

  Maureen loaded her fork with potato. “Do you have someone who you think has done it?”

  “I’ve had my eye on someone for a while. I haven’t proof enough to do anything about it at this stage. I’ve had his phone tapped for the last eight months and have nothing we can pin on him. He has conversations about paintings and artwork, but his conversation is evasive, it’s as if he knows that we’re listening.” Bailey took a mouthful of cider. “He’s not stupid.”

  “Hmm, it was so long ago wasn’t it? Why do you think he’d talk about it now on the phone?” Elsa-May asked.

  “There’s nothing else I can do,” Bailey said. “Except keep an eye on him and see if he tries anything else. I think the man I’m keeping an eye on is the one who organized things – the central broker. He’s a collector himself, and I’m sure he had one of those paintings stolen for himself, and he’s keeping it at his house.”