Plain Dead (7 page)

“I've got to go, too. I need to go to the school. We're rescheduling the ice sculpture contest.”

“Just one thing more,” he said, turning back to her. “Did you know Blade Finch had a recent falling-out with Billingsly?”

She thought for a minute. “I did. Coyote told me. Something about work Blade did for him that Billingsly refused to pay for. I'm not sure of the details.”

“You know Blade Finch well? You're friends with him?”

“I wouldn't say I know him well. I'm friends with his wife. He's really good to Coyote and a great father to the kids.” She frowned. “You don't think he could have had anything to do with Billingsly's death, do you?”

“I'm just gathering information at this point. I'll call you later. After work, if it's not too late.” He paused again in the doorway. “Be careful, Rache. Don't go wandering off alone.”

“I thought you said you were looking for someone who knew Billingsly and had a grudge against him,” she reminded.

“I've got a hunch that's what we'll discover, but meanwhile, I don't want you to take any chances. It took me long enough to convince you to marry me. I don't want to lose you now.”

“You won't,” she promised. “And the same goes for you. Use common sense.”

He grinned. “I always do.”

Chapter 6

The school gymnasium was busier than Rachel had expected. Some of the booths wouldn't open until noon, but most of the Amish stalls were already doing a brisk business. She paused to greet her sister-in-law Miriam, who told her that she'd sold two willow egg baskets and taken an order for one of her husband's wooden baby cradles. Rachel considered her brother Paul's woodworking skills to be superior, but he'd been dubious that anyone would pay what he was asking for his one-of-a-kind pieces. She was pleased with their success. As it was for most young Amish families, winter was a tough time financially for them, and the sales would be a well-earned reward for the long hours and effort they put into their crafts.

Naamah and Annie were already restocking their Amish food booth by the time Rachel reached them. “We had our first customer at eight thirty,” the bishop's wife proclaimed cheerfully. “One Englisher woman bought a dozen jars of my chowchow for her church bazaar.”

“They like Naamah's jams and jellies, too,” Annie said. “We'll make a lot of money for the school, I think.” She had dark circles under her eyes, and her face was pale. She looked to Rachel as though she hadn't had much sleep the night before.

“We sent Sammy to Annie's house with Joab to bring more pickled eggs and canned peaches,” Naamah explained. “Give those two something to do. Your mother has promised us two shoofly pies. The tourists love them, and we sold every one we had on Saturday.”

“Too sweet for me.” Annie pursed her lips. “But your mother's are very good.”

“Too sweet for me, too,” Rachel agreed. She exchanged a few more words with the women and then moved on to speak to Verna Hershberger, who was putting out a display of goat cheese on a bed of ice. “Did Alvin bring any of your goats for the petting zoo?” Rachel asked her. Verna nodded shyly. “I'm so glad,” Rachel said. “I know the goats will be a big draw for the tourists. If you need anything, please ask me or someone on the committee,” she added before she moved on to chat with one of Hulda Schenfeld's granddaughters.

As Rachel strolled from booth to booth, saying hello and checking to see if anyone needed anything, her mind kept drifting back to her conversation with Evan that morning. Regardless of his cavalier disregard for her suspicions, she just couldn't shake the feeling that the hat in the snow was important.

The fact of the matter was, it was definitely a wide-brimmed Amish wool hat she had seen in Billingsly's yard, and it shouldn't have been lying there. Amish men didn't
lose
their hats; at least, it wasn't likely. The hats were expensive, so most men only owned one, and a person would certainly know if his blew off his head.

So what was it doing there on Billingsly's lawn, and why did the owner or someone else whisk it away? Evan might have thought she'd misremembered what she'd seen, but she hadn't. There was no way it was a mitten or a tree branch or anything other than what it was. It had just taken a while for her to realize what it was because of the angle from which she'd glimpsed it.

“Rachel!” Ell waved to her from the book booth. “I've been waiting for you to get here. George said to tell you that they decided to reschedule the ice sculpture contest results for six. He hopes that works for you. He wanted to wait until you arrived, but he had a doctor's appointment that he couldn't miss. He's still having migraines, and the meds aren't doing anything to help.”

“Six is fine.” Finally warm, Rachel slipped out of her white parka and threw it over her arm. “I think he's pushing himself too hard. He's not that long out of surgery. He's got to give himself time to heal.”

“Exactly what I said, but you know George. There's no telling him anything.” As usual, Ell was dressed all in black. This morning's attire was a knee-length black lace dress over black leather boots and leggings, worn with a fringed shawl, also in black. Her shoulder-length hair and severe bangs were blacker than black, accented by sterling silver eyebrow and lip rings.

“What have you got here?” Rachel asked. She picked up a hardcover children's book from a stack on the counter and flipped through the pages. It was a collection of traditional Scandinavian fairy tales with beautiful watercolor illustrations. Another book appeared to be about whales and dolphins, and a third was a preschool retelling of “The Fox Went Out on a Chilly Night.”

“Aren't they scrumptious?” Ell fanned the other books out so that Rachel could see them. “George donated them as prizes for the kids' games after school today. Every one is autographed by the author.”

“Wonderful,” Rachel said. “Do you have anything suitable for Amish children?”

“We sure do. I have an illustrated nonfiction on beginning beekeeping and another about raising sheep. I made sure George remembered. No make-believe and no talking animals.”

“Super,” Rachel agreed. “Nonfiction or stories about children's lives in other countries are always welcome. So long as there's no violence.” Rachel glanced around the gymnasium. “There are more people here than I thought there would be on a Monday morning.”

“Tell me about it. Lots of locals, but a lot of unfamiliar faces, too. I thought after what happened to poor Mr. Billingsly that visitors might stay away from the town, but it seems to be just the opposite. I've talked to several people who weren't here for the weekend festivities, but came today after reading about the murder in their morning paper.”

“I'm not sure if I should say I'm glad to hear it or not.” Rachel grimaced. “I mean I'm glad people are coming—”

“But not exactly how we wanted to get word out,” Ell finished for her.

A browser picked up a book off one of the tables and held it up. “I'm looking for something by this author on Amish quilts,” the woman said to Ell.

“I think I have exactly what you're looking for, but it's back at the main store. I can call the desk and ask one of the girls to bring it over, if you'd like.” Ell smiled at the customer. “Talk to you later,” she said quickly to Rachel.

“No problem. I'm just going to leave my coat here with you, if you don't mind. I'll be back for it.”

“Of course.”

Ell took her coat and Rachel moved on. At Coyote's pottery booth, she found Blade with Remi and two small, very blond daughters. Remi had a real stethoscope hanging around his neck, and the girls were taking turns pushing a doll carriage with a stuffed monkey in it.

“I'm the pediatrician,” Remi declared. He rolled his eyes. “Mama said I have to be nice to them until she comes back. The
baby
needs his shots.”

“Remi is the doctor,” one girl proclaimed.

The stuffed monkey was wearing a pink baby hat and infant sleeper. One of the girls nodded and patted the monkey's head in sympathy.

“You're holding down the fort again?” Rachel asked Blade.

“It's what I do.” He opened his arms wide and grinned. “But Coyote should be back any minute. Some lady from Harrisburg wanted to take some of Coyote's pieces on consignment. The two them went to the studio to see what the woman might be interested in selling, but they've been gone a while.” He motioned toward an empty space on a table. “We sold that green pitcher you liked this morning.”

“Great,” Rachel said.

He smoothed the hair of his long ponytail. “I heard congratulations are in order. You and Evan Parks?”

“Yes.” She gave him a quick smile. “Thank you.”

From behind the counter came the wail of an infant. Rachel hadn't even noticed him there.

“And another country heard from,” Blade quipped.

The baby was swaddled in blankets in a large woven basket behind the display table. Blade fumbled in the front pocket of his flannel shirt and fished out a pacifier. He squatted down and popped it in the baby's mouth. He grinned at Rachel. “Works every time. Whoever invented those things, she should have gotten a Nobel Peace Prize.”

Rachel smiled and turned to watch as one of the girls pushed the carriage forward, nearly colliding with a lady in a black peacoat and a fur hat.

“Easy there, Shoshone,” Blade warned. But he hadn't spoken soon enough. The carriage tipped over, and the stuffed monkey slid out.

Shoshone's sister snatched up the baby and ran with it, and Shoshone scrambled after her. “No fair! My turn to be the mama!”

“Excuse me,” Blade said to Rachel. He went after his daughters, picked them up, and returned with the carriage in tow. “Behind the table, both of you,” he said. “Or there will be no ice cream after lunch for any of you. You, too, Remi.”

“But, Papa,” Remi cried, “I didn't do anything.”

“Sorry, son. Them's the breaks,” Blade said.

“Listen,” Rachel glanced around and said quietly, “Evan is the lead detective in the investigation into Bill Billingsly's death. I was talking to him this morning, and he may want to ask you some questions about that problem you two had.”

“He does, does he?”

Rachel felt the temperature drop significantly as Blade's friendly banter became serious.

Blade set his square jaw. “He wants to question
me
after Billingsly shortchanged me more than a thousand dollars?”

She shrugged, beginning to wonder if it had been a mistake to say anything. She had a feeling that this kind of thing was exactly what Evan had been talking about when he had asked her to stay out of the investigation. “I think he's talking to anyone who had a problem with Billingsly recently.” She gave a little chuckle, trying to lighten the conversation. “Shoot, I had a public argument with Billingsly Saturday. I'm probably at the top of the list for questioning.”

“Right.” Blade's mouth tightened. “But it's not really police business. I didn't file a complaint.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “It's an invasion of privacy, if you ask me.”

“But it isn't personal,” Rachel reasoned.

“What's he want to know?”

Now Rachel definitely wished she hadn't said anything. It had never occurred to her that Blade would react this way. “Just, oh, I don't know. Like, where you were on Saturday night.”

“So, now I'm a suspect?”

Rachel felt her cheeks grow hot. “No, of course not. He just needs to account for people's whereabouts. It's how you investigate a murder.”

Blade's face was hard. Clearly she'd struck a nerve. “I'm not crazy about cops,” he said. “Nothing personal.”

“But . . . you were at home on Saturday night. Right? Home with Coyote and the kids, like always? Especially with all the snow.”

“Who wants to know where you were Saturday night?”

Rachel turned to find Coyote walking up behind her.

“I was just telling—” Rachel began.

“Evan Parks wants to know.” Blade kept his voice low so the kids wouldn't hear.

Coyote looked at Rachel. Coyote was a pretty woman, tall and thin with long blond hair. She looked every bit a Californian, and she was gorgeous, even when she frowned. “He was at his book club. Every second Saturday of the month. He never misses book club. Why does your Evan want to know where Blade was Saturday night?”

“Apparently he's talking to everyone who had a problem with Bill.”

“Well, that list's going to be long.” Coyote walked around the table to put down her coat and the canvas sack she was carrying.

“That's what I said.” Blade tucked one hand under his arm and gestured with the other. “Could be anyone in Stone Mill. And there were plenty of people out Saturday night. Parks is going to have a hard time questioning everyone in town who had a problem with him.” He was clearly angry now.

“Blade.” Coyote rested her hand on her husband's arm, her tone suggesting he needed to calm down.

This was a side of Blade Rachel had never seen before. But she got the impression Coyote had.

Blade didn't calm down. “What's Parks going to do, go door-to-door?” he asked, loud enough for people at the booth next to them to look in his direction. “He'll have to go to every house in the valley. And not just Englishers. Amish, too. Hell, Saturday night on my way home I saw a buggy in Wagler's parking lot. Everything was closed up and there was this horse and buggy tied there.”

Rachel frowned. “What time was that?”

He shrugged, still clearly aggravated, but he had lowered his voice again. “I don't know. Late. Ten thirty, maybe?”

“Are you sure there was a horse?” Rachel was certain he had to be mistaken. By that time of night, most Amish families were snuggled in their beds in the winter. And certainly during a snowstorm. “It wasn't just a buggy?”

He lifted his dark brows. “Just a buggy?”

“Broken down? Maybe someone left it there with a broken wheel or something?”

“I know what I saw, Rachel. I saw a horse and a buggy at Wagler's, which is, what, a block and a half from Billingsly's house?” Blade turned to walk away. “So if your boyfriend is going to check alibis of anybody in town Saturday night, you'd better start looking for whoever was driving that buggy.”

 

Rachel arrived at the ice rink at five thirty that evening, soon after Olympic hopefuls brother and sister Neal and Chelsea Katz of Allentown finished their figure skating demonstration. She hadn't heard from Evan all day. She called his cell, but it went to voicemail and she left a message reminding him that she'd be at the Winter Frolic, first at the ice sculpture judging and then at the Amish supper.

Again, there were far more people at the event, both English and Amish, than Rachel had ever expected, and everyone seemed to be having a good time despite the cold. The fire company had cleared the snow from the makeshift ice rink and carried portable bleachers from the softball fields so that visitors would have places to sit. There were skates available to rent, and one of the local scout troops was running a hot chocolate stand. Whole families were enjoying the novelty of a safe place to skate, and both expert skaters and novices shared the ice.