Plain Dead (17 page)

“Don't assume that Blade's deceiving you,” she said. “It could all be true. I know this family, Evan. I can't imagine that he'd ever leave her and the children, and I don't see him as a killer.”

“Not even when you know that he killed before?”

“People change, Evan. I don't think that Blade's the man he was before he met Coyote . . . before he opened his heart to God. He might be capable of violence to protect his wife and children, but not over money.”

“I hope you're right. But don't be too quick to overlook Blade's past. He wouldn't be the first jailhouse convert to religion. I know sometimes it sticks, but you'd be naïve not to realize that sometimes it doesn't.”

“He's not like that,” she insisted.

“I have to go with the evidence, Rachel.” He was quiet for a second. “Is Skinner still at your place?”

She sighed. She'd seen him that evening on her way up to bed. He'd tipped his hat to her. “He is still here, but there's something about him . . . I still think he's hiding something.”

“Isn't everyone?” Evan asked.

Again, she thought about the note, the paper now lying only an arm's reach away on her nightstand. “I guess by that you mean me,” she said.

“You should have told me you had a record.”

Guilt suffused her, and she bit her lower lip. “It was wrong of me,” she said. “You're absolutely right. I should have told you. But when? At first, we were friends, and then . . . then things started to get serious between us. I was afraid that if you knew what I'd done, you wouldn't give me a chance. It's like I said about Blade. People change. I don't pretend I haven't done things that I'm ashamed of, but I've grown up. I think I understand more about what's right and wrong. I'm not that foolish young woman anymore.”

There was silence on his end.

She hesitated. She really didn't want to lose Evan. It had taken her a long time to realize that, but she really did love him. “Can you come over, Evan? I want to tell you what happened, but not on the phone. It shouldn't be over the phone,” she said softly.

Again, he was quiet for a moment. “Not tonight, Rachel. I just can't. I've got a lot to finish up here before the start of shift in the morning. I—” He stopped and started again. “I think we should table this discussion until the Billingsly case is solved. The truth is, Rache, I'm getting pressure from higher-ups to bring my primary suspects in for questioning. You may want to think about getting legal representation.”

Her mouth went dry. “Me? You think I need a lawyer?”

“I think you'd be a fool not to have one if I do have to bring you in. And you're no fool.”

“Are you going to say the same to Blade?”

Evan sighed. “If he can't give me a reliable alibi for Saturday night, yes. Like it or not, you, Blade Finch, and Jake Skinner are my only persons of interest right now. I can't bring them in without treating you the same way. There's already been talk of pulling me off the case because of my conflict of interest.”

She felt light-headed. If Evan took her in to the troop, if she was questioned, people would find out. How long would it be before her past record became public knowledge? People wouldn't understand. Something like this could ruin her reputation in Stone Mill. She felt like she was about to burst into tears. “I didn't kill him, Evan.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I believe you?” he asked. “Have you not heard anything I've been saying? I don't believe you killed Billingsly, but I have to follow the evidence, and the evidence suggests that you could have murdered him.”

She could hear the emotion in his voice, almost see the pained expression on his face.
He's a good man,
she thought.
If I lose him, I may never meet anyone to match him.
But maybe it wasn't up to her anymore. Maybe she'd already lost him. The words
I love you
formed on her lips, but she couldn't say them. Again, this wasn't the right time.

“So let's table this for now because I'm not ready to give up on us yet and I don't think you are either. But I have this investigation,” he said. “You have the rest of the frolic to attend to. We're both carrying a heavy load, and neither of us is at our best. There will be time later to work this out between us.”

“I want to,” she said.

“Me, too.”

She rose from the bed and padded across the cold floor in her bare feet. Finding her slippers, she slid her feet into them. “This probably isn't the right time for this, but I have to ask you. I know you went through Billingsly's files, the stuff he was intending to run in his column. Did you find anything about an affair between an Amish man from the community and an English woman?”

Evan's reply was firm. “I couldn't tell you if I had and you know it.”

She sighed. She had expected him to say that. In fact, she would probably have been disappointed if he'd answered otherwise. “I've found out something about an old scandal involving an important member of the Amish—”

“Rachel, isn't that what we've been arguing about? You trying to do my job.”

“I didn't realize we were arguing.”

“Right. Maybe that's the real problem. We're not speaking the same language.”

“I only thought that it might be—”

“You don't give up, do you?” He stopped and started again. “This isn't getting us anywhere. We're going in circles. I'm tired; you're tired. I need to go. How about if we see what tomorrow brings? But I'm serious about the attorney. If I do have to take you in, don't say anything more to me or to anyone until you've hired a lawyer. Okay?”

“Okay,” she repeated.

His tone softened. “Good night, kiddo. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Evan . . . I love you.” But her last words were too late. He'd already disconnected. “I do,” she murmured. “I love you, and I'm so, so sorry.”

Sleep wouldn't come. Another hot shower didn't help and neither did two cups of warm, honey-sweetened herbal tea. She finally drifted off into dreams sometime after three a.m.

The incessant ring of the house phone cut through her muddled fantasies. She forced her eyes open, and light rushed in. What time was it? She tried to think. Was that her landline? She recovered her cell phone from the nightstand. Two missed calls? From a number she didn't recognize. She climbed unsteadily out of bed and made her way to the table where her landline phone stood.

“Stone Mill B&B,” she said groggily.

It was Mary Aaron's hoarse voice on the other end. “Rae-Rae. I've been trying to reach you.”

“What's wrong?” Rachel could hear the panic in Mary Aaron's tone. “Where are you calling from?” Rachel wondered again what time it was. She must have overslept.

“A friend's cell. Rachel, you have to get over to Bishop Abner's house right away. There's been a terrible accident.”

“Who? Wha—”

Mary Aaron cut her off. “It's bad. Really bad. Hurry, Rachel. We need you!”

Chapter 16

By the time Rachel arrived at the Chupps' home, the road leading to the bishop's house was already lined with buggies. Two Amish men crossed a snowy field and climbed through a fence as she watched, and more Plain folk were walking toward the house. Rather than adding more confusion to the barnyard, Rachel parked at the edge of the road and hurried up the lane that led to the house. An ambulance and a single state police car stood in the yard. She caught a glimpse of uniforms amid the throng of black Amish clothing. Rachel didn't need to have been told that something dreadful had happened here this morning. The air seemed to smell of sorrow and tragedy.

A familiar figure broke from the crowd in front of the barn and ran toward her. “Rachel!” Mary Aaron threw herself into Rachel's arms and the two embraced. Her cousin's face was strained and damp with tears, her eyes bloodshot and swollen. “It's terrible,” she managed.

“What happened?” Rachel peered over Mary Aaron's shoulder, attempting to see. Through the milling group she saw a stretcher and someone lying prone on the snow-covered slush, a sheet covering the whole body. Emergency responders only covered the faces of dead people. Her first thought was that Abner had committed suicide. He had realized Rachel had too much evidence against him and ended his life. “Tell me,” she whispered, looking into Mary Aaron's teary eyes.

“Sammy,” Mary Aaron choked. “He fell out of the hayloft and broke his neck. He's dead, Rae-Rae. Sammy Zook is dead.”

Rachel frowned, struggling to understand. “But that doesn't make any sense. Sammy would never go up into the hayloft. He was terrified of heights. Are they sure that's what happened?”

Mary Aaron pulled away from her and wiped her nose with a handkerchief. “Of course, that's what happened. They found him dead right there under the open door.” She pointed to the swinging door high on the second floor, through which bales of hay and straw were loaded.

Rachel stared up at the red door that was flung open, then down at Sammy's body covered with the white sheet. “What was he doing up there?” Something wasn't right. Rachel knew it immediately. Something didn't ring true. Why would Sammy climb up in the loft and open the loft door? It had to be a good fifteen feet off the ground. And to fall out, Sammy would have had to venture right to the doorsill. It wasn't logical.

“What difference does it make why he was up there?” Mary Aaron said. “We all knew that Sammy wasn't smart.” She twisted the handkerchief in her hands. “Naamah and Bishop Abner are devastated. How are they going to tell Sammy's mother?” Fresh tears ran down her cheeks.

Rachel heard the metallic click of the ambulance door opening. An English woman's authoritarian voice cut through the murmur of conversations. “Can we get everyone to move back, please?” They were putting his body on the stretcher now, to take away in the ambulance.

Mary Aaron turned toward the house. “They need someone to take Naamah to Sammy's parents'. The policewoman offered, but Naamah says she won't get into the car. I called you because I was hoping you could take her.”

As the two of them reached the back step, Rachel glanced back to see the medics loading Sammy's body into the vehicle. The door closed, and the men got in. The driver slowly turned the ambulance around. As they pulled away out of the yard, there was only the crunch of snow and ice under the tires. They didn't bother to use the siren.

“Miss Mast?” A tall female trooper crossed the yard to the back door.

Rachel recognized her. Lucy Mars, who'd responded to the Billingsly death. And now this. Her face was pale, and lines around her eyes etched deep into her face. Rachel felt a wave of pity for her. This wasn't a good week for Trooper Mars.

“I understand that Mrs. Chupp wants someone to drive her to the boy's family to notify them,” the policewoman explained. “It's really my job to notify the next of kin, but . . .”

“I can do it,” Rachel offered. “Naamah and the Zooks will be more at ease if I drive her.”

“I'll have to accompany you in my own car,” Trooper Mars said. “I can be ready in a few minutes, if that suits. I have a few details to finish up here first.”

“No problem,” Rachel answered. She put her hand on the doorknob. “You can follow in your police car. Just keep it as low-key as you can.” Trooper Mars nodded, obviously glad to have someone else sharing the onerous task of bringing the worst kind of news to the Zook family. Rachel hesitated, stepping aside so that Mary Aaron could go into the house ahead of her. She looked into the trooper's face. “Can you tell me exactly what happened to Sammy?”

Trooper Mars met her gaze. “Such a shame, these farming accidents. The victim fell from the loft window. He landed wrong. There will be an autopsy, naturally, but I assume he simply broke his neck.” An expression of slight discomfort passed over her features. “Am I correct in assuming that Mr. Zook had some sort of learning challenges?”

“Yes, that's correct. Do you know what he was doing in the loft?”

“Bishop Chupp stated that Sammy went out before breakfast looking for his cat,” the trooper replied. “It was just an accident.”

“Yes, it must have been,” Rachel agreed. She offered a tight smile to the trooper, then followed Mary Aaron into Naamah's kitchen. Through the archway, Rachel could see the men in the parlor. Again, as always, the menfolk were clustered together in one area and women in another.

The kitchen was packed with women of all ages, young children, and babies. Already pies, cakes, and platters of cooked ham were beginning to line the counters and fill up the table and stove top. Where had the food come from? Rachel wondered. Surely no one had time to cook before rushing over to comfort the grieving Chupps.

But this was the tradition, the way it had always been. In times of loss, neighbors and friends brought baked goods, casseroles, and meat so that those who were suffering would not be further burdened by kitchen chores. Likewise, men and boys would show up unbidden to milk the cows, tend the horses, feed the chickens, and gather the eggs. Visitors would come and remain with the family, staying to help lay out the deceased and then sit watch over the body. They would share memories and prayers, and they would help to fill the void that death brought until the dead were placed into the ground, passing on from the trials of this world to the comfort of the next. It was the Amish way, one that had not changed in Rachel's lifetime, in that of her mother, or her grandmother, customs that she strongly suspected would not be altered in another three hundred years.

Naamah sat woodenly at the table, tears running down her stunned face, surrounded by women, mutely accepting their sympathy and whispered words of comfort. Bits and pieces of conversation drifted over the heads of the gathering.

“. . . God's will.”

“. . . A good boy, a credit to his family.”

“One of the Lord's special children.”

“Such a loss for his mother.”

“And for you and the bishop.”

“. . . Praying for you.”

Aunt Hannah was at the sink making a fresh pot of coffee. Cups clinked. Milk was poured for children, space made for a nursing mother to feed her infant. Someone placed a cup of tea into Rachel's hand, and she realized with a start that it was her sister Annie. “Such a shame,” Annie murmured.

Rachel nodded. “Is
Mam
here?” She'd been certain she'd heard her father's voice in the farmyard. She hadn't seen him, but she was sure that it had been him.

“
Ne,
” Annie answered. “
Dat
and Amanda and I came over together.
Mam
wasn't feeling good this morning.
Dat
told her to stay home and keep warm and he'd bring her over later.”

“Annie? Can you get those cinnamon twists out of the oven?” Aunt Hannah called.

“
Ya
.” Annie glanced back at Rachel, taking in the denim skirt. “You'll need a proper dress for the funeral. That's pretty awful.”

“I know,” Rachel murmured. “But it's all I could find in a hurry.”

“Come by the house,” Annie said. “We're about the same size. I'll give you one of mine.”

Mary Aaron signaled to her, and Rachel saw her opportunity to speak to Naamah. “I'm so sorry,” Rachel said, approaching her.

“I wanted him to have his breakfast,” Naamah was saying. “A cold morning. He needed his breakfast. I made him scrapple. But he ran out the door. He was looking for his cat, that gray cat. He left before . . .” Her lower lip quivered. “Didn't even stop to put on his hat. Poor Sammy. So young. And now I have to tell his mother that . . .” A sob wracked her body, and she covered her face with her broad, work-worn hands.

Rachel hugged her. “I'm so sorry,” she said. “I'll be glad to drive you to your sister's farm so you can tell her that her boy's gone to heaven.”

“It would be a kindness,” Naamah said. “I would appreciate it.” She glanced around, seeming disoriented. “When should we go?”

“Whenever you feel up to it,” Rachel assured her. “You've had a shock.”

“Where are the extra mugs?” someone called.

“Naamah keeps them in the pantry,” Aunt Hannah said. “You can't miss them.” And then to Rachel, she said, “Could you take coffee to the bishop?”

“Of course.” Her aunt passed her a steaming mug of black coffee, and Rachel carefully made her way through the women. She saw Abner standing in the doorway, a hat in his hand.

“He wasn't my blood relative,” Abner was telling one of his parishioners, “but I felt like he was.” He looked down at the hat, turning it aimlessly between his hands. “If only I'd not taken so long at my morning prayers. Maybe I—” He glanced up, noticed Rachel, and hung the hat on the back of a chair. “Rachel. How good of you to come.” He moved toward her. “Your father tells me that you've offered to take Naamah to Sammy's mother's. How can I thank you”—he lowered his voice—“especially after yesterday?” Abner's eyes were red and swollen, and Rachel felt a stab of guilt as she met his gaze.

She looked at the hat, wondering.

“
Ya,
” Abner said. “That was his. Poor child. Poor lost lamb.”

“But in the Lord's hands now,” one of the men said.

Bishop Abner nodded. “I pray so.”

“At least he didn't suffer.” That was Rachel's father's voice. “We can be grateful for that much.”

And the deacon's soft rasp: “God's will be done.”

“I'm sorry if I seemed harsh yesterday,” Bishop Abner began.

Rachel shook her head. “No need for that. I should never have . . .” She trailed off, feeling terrible that she'd ever suspected this good man of committing the crime of murder. Maybe Mary Aaron was right. Maybe she was too suspicious. And maybe she should leave the investigation to Evan and the professionals. She handed Abner the cup, and he took it, careful not to spill the hot liquid.

“Thank you, Rachel,” Bishop Abner said to her.

“If there's anything else I can do for you and Naamah . . .”

“Keep us and Sammy in your prayers,” he replied.

“Always,” she promised.

 

Several hours later, Rachel pulled her Jeep into the parking lot of Wagler's Grocery. It had been an awful morning, first the shock of Sammy's death and then the trip to the Zook farm. As promised, she'd driven Naamah and Abner to Sammy's parents' home and witnessed the family's grief. Rachel had expected that it would be just Naamah who would go to carry the tragic news, but Abner had insisted he go with her. And because of his position as a respected spiritual leader, he'd been able to support not only his wife but also Sammy's closest relatives.

Although she was no longer a part of the Old Order Amish church, she couldn't help being touched by the way that Naamah, Abner, and Sammy's parents and brothers and sisters relied on the strength of their religion and their absolute acceptance that Sammy was safe in heaven. In spite of his own grief, Abner seemed to search in his heart for exactly the right words that would provide solace and use them to soothe the pain his wife and the others were experiencing.

Seeing Bishop Abner's steadfastness and faith, hearing his words of hope and the promise that they would be with Sammy again in a better place, made her feel intense shame that she'd suspected him of evil. As Mary Aaron had said, Abner was a man of God, a truly good person, who couldn't possibly have killed Billingsly, no matter how much he deserved it. What kind of person was she that she could so misjudge Abner? How could she have been so wrong?

Yet in the midst of her self-castigation and waves of guilt, Rachel couldn't quite silence the small voice at the back of her mind. Something still didn't fit. Like a puzzle with a misshaped piece, the thought nagged her. Why would Sammy, terrified of heights, have climbed into the hayloft? And once there, even if he was searching for his lost cat, what would make him unhook the heavy iron latch and open the loft door? And if he did swing the door open, why would he have ventured to the opening?

Her cell buzzed and she picked up. Evan was on the other end.

“I just heard about Sammy Zook,” he said. “I'm sorry, Rache. How terrible for the community.” His voice conveyed the gentle compassion that had first drawn her to Evan, and she couldn't help wondering if she deserved him. She certainly hadn't acted like it lately. “I understand that you took Bishop Abner and his wife out to inform the boy's parents.”

“Yes,” she said. “It was awful.”