Anathema (12 page)

“It will be if you let it.”

Hannah glanced at her then. “Could you just walk away, Asia? Look that little girl in the face and walk away without knowing?”

Her friend hesitated, then sighed. “Probably not. But there ’s no way I’d go back to the guy who beat me.”

“I’m not going to.” But would she? If Reece had her daughter, she would have no choice but to go back long enough to grab the little girl and flee. “Maybe I’ll go talk to the sheriff. He might know something about the child.”

A woman’s voice Hannah recognized as her aunt’s raised in a sharp protest, though she couldn’t make out any words. Asia exchanged a long glance with her. “I wonder if Sarah told her I’m here,” Hannah said.

Footsteps sounded on the wooden floor, then her aunt burst through the doorway, followed by Sarah. Tears marked Aunt Nora’s eyes with puffiness, and she swiped a hand at her wet cheeks but only succeeded in smearing dirt on them. Her bonnet was askew, but her dark blue dress and white apron were neat and pressed. She had to be fifty now, but she looked older.

Hannah took a step toward her, arms open. Aunt Nora rushed into them. She hugged Hannah with a desperate grip, and a keening cry burst from her lips.

“I know,” Hannah whispered, rocking the older woman a little. “I know.” Tears rolled down her cheeks too.

How well she remembered the grief, anguish, and disbelief. The emotions had never left her. The horror of that night colored everything she ’d done since. Every time she thought of the monster who’d destroyed her baby, her anger and hatred grew. If she was right and it was Reece who had killed her parents too, she ’d spit in his face, rake at his eyes with her nails. No punishment would be great enough for all he ’d done.

Every time she thought of her hate, the insistent voice of conviction came. Forgive. A voice she ’d gotten good at ignoring. She knew her hate hollowed out her insides and drove nails into her compassion. She should pull it out by its roots, but the thought of justice was the only thing that kept the tears at bay. If she suffered for it in the end, then so be it.

If that man was Reece, he ’d killed her parents to get to her. And his plan had worked. Was it her bitterness that made her want to believe he was guilty? Or could she be on the heels of truth? What if he’d struck again, killing Moe this time? A tremor ran through her, and she tightened her hold on Aunt Nora until the older woman managed to choke back her sobs.

Her aunt pulled away and dabbed at her face. “Thank you for coming, Hannah. I know it wasn’t easy for you.” She straightened her shoulders. “I know my Moe is in God’s hands. I must accept God’s will. I shouldn’t have meddled.” Fresh moisture flooded her eyes.

“Meddled?”

“I was warned to stay quiet, stay out of it. But I saw the child.” She bit her lip. “I knew then the sins of the past would come out.”

“You saw
my
child?” Hannah tried to keep her emotions in check. This was no time to push her aunt.

“Later,” Aunt Nora whispered. “Oh, why didn’t I listen?” She wiped her cheeks with her apron.

Rebellion stirred in Hannah’s heart. Why had God allowed this? He could have kept Moe and her own family safe, but he didn’t. If this was his will, it wasn’t fair. She didn’t understand how her cousin and now her aunt had been able to just shrug and accept it. She was never going to forgive the man who had done this.

Who had warned her aunt to stay quiet? And about what? It seemed impossible that Aunt Nora knew something, but maybe Hannah’s mother had confided something in her sister-in-law.
Mamm
had no close family of her own, and
Datt
’s family had taken her under their wing.

Nora tugged on Hannah’s hand. “Come say hello to Bishop Kirchhofer.”

Hannah hung back. “I—I don’t think I’m ready.” She knew what was waiting for her, and the thought of a lecture at a terrible time like this made her want to run. But her aunt pulled harder and led Hannah to the living room.

More than ten years had slipped away since she ’d been in this room she used to love. She and her mother had come over every week for tea and quilting, fellowship and belonging. The same hand-crocheted runners topped the end tables. The overstuffed sofa was looking a little threadbare. Everything was spotless, just like always.

The last time Hannah had been here, her mother and father were still alive. Her mother sat in the rocker by the window so she could see to stitch the quilt block she worked on. The light gilded her blond hair and made her look angelic.

It had been two days before she went to join the heavenly choir.

Hannah tore her gaze from the scarred wooden rocker to face the bishop. The last time she ’d seen him, he ’d ordered her to repent of her unforgiveness toward Cyrus Long.

He was looking at her again with the same loving sternness. Her entire life had trained her to submit to authority, and the need to do it was like an itch she couldn’t reach. Her knees weakened with the desire to fall to them and confess her sins. She reminded herself it was a trained response. He didn’t know her any longer. She was a different person from the pliable, easily deceived girl who had left here at twenty-two.

“Hannah, you’re well?” he asked in his deep voice.

When Hannah was a child, the tones and cadence of his voice always made her think she was hearing God’s voice. The bishop had always looked as old as the limestone along the creek, and his flowing white beard and weathered face under the broad brim of the hat brought to mind Old Testament prophets.

“Yes,” she said.

“We ’ve missed you. Your family needs you.”

She stepped back a pace. “Please. Now isn’t the time to bring pressure. We need to help Aunt Nora get through this.”

“It’s never the wrong time to do right,” he said in a gentle voice.

Hannah didn’t answer. She turned to her aunt. “Have you heard any more from the sheriff ’s office?”

“They’ve managed to get the autopsy scheduled for tomorrow, even though it usually takes much longer. Matt is a sweet boy who seems to care.” Aunt Nora wiped her eyes again. “The Lord’s will be done.”

“Indeed,” the bishop said. He turned his gaze on Hannah again, and an uncomfortable silence followed.

“I guess we ’d better go,” Hannah said. She couldn’t stand much more silent pressure from him.

Sarah had been standing silently by the table with her children. “Do you have a place to stay?” she asked. “Or are you going back home?”

“I’ll find a motel room somewhere,” Hannah said.

“You’ll stay here,” her aunt said. “You understand I can’t eat with you or accept any favors from you. But I won’t turn you out on the street.”

“I know the requirements,” Hannah said. “Thank you. I’ll bring in our suitcases.” With Asia in tow, she fled the presence of the bishop and Sarah.

“What was that all about?” Asia asked. “Gosh, the tension just vibrated in the air. Did he expect you to say you wanted to come back to the Amish faith?”

“That’s exactly what he wants. And it’s even tempting,” Hannah said. “It will be hard to be here as an outcast.”

“Could you ever go back and give up your life?” Asia shuddered as if it was the worst thing she ’d ever heard.

“Family is important,” Hannah said. “We try to preserve that as much as possible and lock out the world. When I didn’t have the conveniences, I didn’t miss them. Even now, there ’s not that much to miss. I don’t watch much TV, and we always had gaslights and propane-powered appliances.”

“So why not go back?” Asia smiled. “You said ‘we.’ Like you are still Amish.”

“It’s too late. Divorce is never accepted—not for any reason. But I’ll always be Amish at heart. Even if I reconciled with Reece, I’d have to forgive the murderer, too, and I’ll never do that. Never.” She thought about her aunt’s words. Who could have warned her? And about what?

THURSDAY MORNING, TWO days after the murder, and he was already getting an autopsy. It paid to have friends in the right places. The cold in the coroner’s lab penetrated Matt’s bones. The rank smell nearly made him gag, but he stood his ground near the door. Ajax whined and pawed at his nose. Matt rubbed his dog’s ears. “It’s okay.”

Whit Grout had done him a favor and pushed the autopsy to the top of his list, so Matt decided to meet him here in the basement of the hospital, though it was never a pleasant experience. The coroner came through the door peeling off his rubber gloves. Matt didn’t want to speculate what the stains were on the man’s lab coat. Whit shucked it, too, revealing khaki shorts and a T-shirt that read “Greenhouse Gas Coming Through—Hold Your Nose.” About forty, he was so thin the only thing that cast a shadow was his blond hair, bushy as a porcupine. In spite of Whit’s appearance, Matt had never met a smarter person. Whit noticed things. Important things.

Matt and Ajax fell into step beside him as they went to Whit’s office. “What’d you find out?”

Whit didn’t answer, plowing on ahead through the door and straight to the coffeepot. It smelled burned and stale, but he smacked his lips as he gulped half a cup. “Ah, that hits the spot. Want some?”

“No thanks. You figure out what killed Moe? Was it strychnine?”

“He had enough poison in his system to kill ten people his size.” Whit dropped into his chair, a wooden piano stool that let him twist in any direction.

Matt took the more comfortable wooden folding chair, and Ajax curled up at his feet. The coroner had a big enough budget to get some decent furniture but seemed to relish putting guests at a disadvantage. When he came in here, Matt felt like a bug under the microscope, and he suspected Whit was always analyzing how people reacted to his environment.

“He inhaled it. Check any flowers at the house.”

“We did. They were loaded with poison. They were sent to his mother. He was the one who put them in water and must have gotten enough of a whiff to kill him.”

Matt had hoped for something easier to track down, but the flowers didn’t seem to have come from any local florist. And Moe was dead and couldn’t tell them who delivered the box of roses. Nora had no idea either. He rose and moved to the door. “Thanks, Whit.”

“Got a Jane Doe that you might be interested in. About the right age. Drowned, natural causes looks like.”

Matt’s fingers tightened on the door handle. “Hair color?”

“Light red with gray.”

The right hair color. “Can I see her?”

“Sure.” Whit drained his coffee cup and rose.

Matt followed him down the hall to a room that held the cadavers in cold storage. When Whit pulled out a drawer, Matt drew in a deep breath. The rasp of the zipper sliding open on the body bag sounded loud in the cavernous room. He focused on a spot on the wall, probably the spray from a soda can.

“Well?” Whit prodded him on the arm.

Matt looked down into the woman’s face. His gaze took in the sharp nose, the narrowset eyes, the wide forehead. “It’s not her.” Relief and disappointment did a two-step. Why did he even think it might be? Only Whit knew of his secret search. “Thanks, my friend.”

“No problem.” Whit zipped the bag closed before shoving the drawer back into place.

Back outside, Matt drew in a lungful of clean air. But the taint of death stayed with him. His cell phone jangled at his belt, and he flipped it open. He noticed he ’d missed several calls while he was in the dungeon. “Beitler.”

Blake ’s voice came over the phone. “Where you at, partner? I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“Talking to the coroner. My cell doesn’t work in the basement.”

“Your grandma called. She said she saw something the night Moe Honegger died.”

“I’ll meet you in front of headquarters.” Trudy probably was one of his missed calls. He put Ajax into the backseat, then drove to the sheriff ’s office, where he slowed down long enough to allow Blake to jump into the passenger seat.

“She say what she saw?” Matt asked Blake.

Blake shrugged. “Someone cut through her corn patch, knocked down some stalks.”

“Might be kids.”

“Maybe. She seemed adamant she had to talk to you.”

She was always adamant. Matt drove west out of Rockville. When he passed the road toward Nora’s house and the other Amish farmlands, he wondered if Hannah had stayed in the community or gone home. And why had she come? She’d never explained.

Blake ran his window down. “How’s Gina?”

“Fine. You two need to work it out.”

“I’m working on it.”

Matt’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Is it true, Blake?”

His partner didn’t look at him. “Is what true?”

“You having an affair?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Matt closed his mouth. He wanted to ask where Blake had gotten the money for the ring, but he feared to hear the answer. If Gina’s suspicion wasn’t true, wouldn’t Blake deny the charge?

He turned down his grandmother’s road. Trudy’s house was the only one on this narrow way. She came to the door before Blake ’s raised fist could fall on the door.

“Don’t just stand there—come in,” she said, standing aside so they could enter. “Not the dog.” She pointed her finger at Ajax. “Stay.”

Ajax’s tail drooped, but he settled down with his head on his paws and a mournful look in his eyes. “I’ll be right back, boy.” Matt pressed his lips together but didn’t say anything. This was an old disagreement, and one he wasn’t going to win. Trudy’s ways were set by seventy-two years of foot-steps encased in concrete.

She wore her gray hair loose on her shoulders. Even at seventy-two, her skin held a pink bloom. Tiny wrinkles crouched at her eyes and around her mouth, but she didn’t look her age. The flowing red caftan gave her frame an elegance that matched the proud tilt to her head.

Matt followed her past stacks of old newspapers and magazines. He’d tried to clear out the clutter for years before finally giving up. Trudy was who she was. There was no changing her. She settled in a worn chenille rocker. He and Blake took the matching sofa. The crocheted doilies on the arms and the back of the sofa were starched and spotless.

“You’ve been neglecting me, Matthew,” she said, fixing her blue gaze on him. “It’s been three weeks and four days since you were here last.”