Plain Killing (5 page)

“But they get mail. She could have mailed them a letter or something.”

“I don’t think she ever did,” Rachel said grimly.

He was quiet for a minute, then asked, “If Beth left after her baptism, that’s serious, isn’t it?”

She indicated he should sit. They took their seats, and he waited as she bowed her head for just a moment of silent grace. It was a habit that even fifteen years away from Stone Mill hadn’t ended.

“Serious enough that her family declared her dead to them.” Rachel picked up her fork. “Before you’re baptized, sins are far more easily forgiven. The assumption is made that a person doesn’t know better. It’s more complicated than that”—she gestured with her fork—“but you get what I mean.”

“Right.” He took a bite of potato salad. “Maybe she was hiding with some other Amish group. This is good.”

Rachel shrugged. “What does Ada make that isn’t good?” Bishop strolled under the table and rubbed against her bare ankle. She toyed with her fork. As much as she liked potato salad and roasted chicken, she wasn’t sure she could eat even a forkful. She had the feeling that if she closed her eyes, she’d see Beth’s white face. “I suppose anything is possible, but Beth left her
kapp
.” She shook her head. “Chances are, she didn’t go to another Amish community. She became English.”

They ate in silence for a couple of minutes. She knew what he was wondering: If Beth had left the Amish, why was she in Amish clothes when she died? Rachel was wondering the same thing, of course. She pushed a piece of roasted chicken around her plate.

“How long will the autopsy take?” she asked. “By custom, family and friends sit with the body after death. I don’t know if that will happen or not, since she had been shunned. But the funeral is usually twenty-four to forty-eight hours after death. They don’t believe in keeping the dead above ground any longer than possible.”

“No embalming?”

“No. We don’t embalm.” She wondered if the Glicks would agree to bury Beth at all or if they’d refuse the body. “Off the record,” she said, looking at him across the table from her, “do
you
think someone killed her?”

He didn’t answer.

She went on. “You must have seen what the paramedic was talking about: the marks on her neck.”

“We’ll wait and see what the medical examiner’s report says,” he hedged.

She watched him. He kept his gaze fixed on his plate. “But you’ll tell me when you find out?” she asked.

“I shouldn’t.” He hesitated. “But it’s possible that I’m going to need your help when I go to talk to Beth’s parents. Sergeant Haley told me he hasn’t, personally, had much luck talking with the Amish on some other cases. I think he’s hoping that since I’m from here, they’ll be more willing to talk with me.”

She didn’t know that they’d be any more willing to talk to Evan than to Sergeant Haley, but she didn’t say so. She suspected Evan already knew that. “If you’re going to try to talk to the Glicks, you need to wait until after the funeral,” she warned. “That time should be private.”

“It’s not my decision, Rachel. Sergeant Haley wants me to interview them first thing tomorrow. My lieutenant wants me to do whatever the detective needs.”

“If you push them, they’ll refuse to talk to you.”

He considered that for a moment. “Will you come with me?”

“Not unless you wait until after the funeral. It wouldn’t be right to intrude on their grief.”

“Even if it helps us find out what happened to her?”

She laid her fork down. “That’s not the way they’d see it, Evan. They’re not going to care all that much about what happened. Don’t you understand?” she asked, trying not to be frustrated with him. “What matters is that she’s dead and was unrepentant. To the Glicks, to any Old Order Amish person, what happens in this world, or has happened, isn’t important. It’s what happens in the hereafter.”

“That may be their belief,” he said quietly, “but if she was killed, the sooner we find out the truth of where she’s been all this time, the quicker we’ll bring her murderer to justice. And maybe save the life of another young person who’s left the Amish.”

“You think this has something to do with Beth leaving?”

He dropped his gaze to his plate. “I don’t know. But I plan to find out.”

 

The next morning, Rachel was up before the sun. She’d slept poorly, repeatedly waking in the darkness, heart pounding. Beth Glick’s body kept floating past her or slipping out of her grasp and sinking into a bottomless, still well of blue-green water. At five, she gave up trying to sleep, jumped in the shower, and pulled on a pair of capris and a T-shirt.

Letting her damp hair hang loose over her shoulders, she unplugged her cell phone from the wall and took it with her. She made her way quietly down the front stairs from the third story, with Sophie running ahead of her and Bishop ambling one step behind. She let the dog out the back door and left her to play in the grass for a few minutes; she wouldn’t wander far.

The Siamese watched as Rachel filled the kettle and set it on the commercial-sized gas range. A dull ache settled behind Rachel’s eyes as she measured loose Assam into a porcelain teapot. She could enjoy coffee at a social event, but real tea, hot or cold, was her staunch ally. When the water was almost boiling, she poured it over the tea leaves and counted off the minutes until it was ready. She added a liberal amount of apple blossom honey and then padded, barefoot, out onto the back porch.

Questions about the dead girl surfaced as Rachel sat on an Amish-made chair, but she pushed them away. She had things to do this morning. Business matters. She needed to check her email for reservations and new orders for her shop. She had to make certain the changes she’d made to the website were up and running. She couldn’t keep going over and over the previous day’s tragedy when there were practical things she had to attend to. And nothing could get done until she’d had at least two cups of tea and cleared her brain of cobwebs.

She sighed and stared out into the first purple streaks of the coming dawn, her mind a tangle of pressing problems. When she’d quit her six-figure job in a rising company to return to her hometown, she had been determined to make a difference here. Stone Mill, like so many other small rural towns, had been dying. The lack of employment for young people was the biggest culprit. Traditional livelihoods, such as farming, coal mining, and manufacturing, had all but vanished.

The Amish community remained entrenched in their land, but like their Englisher neighbors, they suffered from the economic changes and the lack of available farmland. Large, growing families and the price of land suitable for growing crops meant that only a handful of Amish boys could hope to make a living as their fathers and grandfathers had. In some ways, the isolation of the valley, hemmed in by mountains, was a blessing because it insulated the communities and protected traditional ways of life. But isolation also had its drawbacks. The Amish might not want to be part of the modern world, but without cars to drive the distance to State College or Huntingdon, they needed local grocery stores, English doctors, feed mills, and places to sell what they produced. It was clear to Rachel that if the town ceased to exist, her Amish relatives and their neighbors would have a difficult time remaining.

Rachel sipped her tea. Sophie came up onto the porch and dropped to a sit.

When Rachel first left the valley, she hadn’t expected to ever return for more than a visit. She found the challenge of surviving in the English world exhilarating, first in college and then in corporate America. But as the years passed, she’d discovered something lacking in her success. She’d been homesick for family, for the slower pace of her girlhood, and for the joys of small-town values. When she’d returned to Stone Mill, she’d had a plan. Restoring Stone Mill House and opening the B&B was just the beginning. Without a thriving town, no one would come to stay in her charming rooms. Her problem hadn’t simply been how she would survive but also how she could help Stone Mill, both English and Amish, to prosper.

Extensive research had convinced her that it was possible for Stone Mill to survive the economic downturn. The valley and surrounding mountains had natural beauty, clean water and air, a rich history, and virtually no crime. What had been needed were jobs, up-to-date medical care, and good schools. She’d hit upon the idea of making Stone Mill a quaint tourist attraction. Luring visitors to the area would bring money, and higher incomes would provide stability.

Lancaster had become a national destination for tourists wanting the Amish experience. What she had dreamed of was for Stone Mill to provide a genuine window into Amish culture, without twenty-foot-high plastic whirligigs and souvenirs made in China. She hadn’t thought that it would be easy, and it hadn’t been. But in the three years since she’d returned, she could count a dozen new businesses in town, and her Amish crafts website was slowly gaining momentum. Artisans using centuries-old skills fashioned quilts, baskets, furniture, and kiln-fired pottery that were in high demand in New York, Houston, and Los Angeles, and sold over the Internet. And young people who might have left family and friends to work in a big-box store in the next county, or moved West to live with family, stayed in Stone Mill and apprenticed to experienced elders.

Her most pressing problem right now was that, so far, no one else had come forward with the Internet and marketing skills needed to ensure continued success. Mary Aaron showed an aptitude for business in general, but religious restrictions limited her to dealing with the craftsmen and filling orders once they’d been received. It was up to Rachel to manage the website, travel to meet with prospective resellers, and handle contact with Englishers. All these tasks had been added to running her B&B. It was a juggling act, and sometimes she wondered if she’d taken on more than she could handle.

She drained the last drops of tea from her mug and started to rise. A gray mist seeped in from the fields, seeming to distort the morning sounds of roosters crowing and an owl hooting from the loft of the old stone barn. Abruptly, a shape materialized out of the shadows.

Sophie rose and barked.

“It’s only me. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Hulda took hold of one of the porch uprights and eased herself up onto the open porch. “Saw your light on,” the small woman said. “Came to the front door, but it was locked. Gracious, Rachel, when did you start locking your doors?”

Last night,
Rachel thought as the adrenaline drained out of her muscles, making her sink back into the chair. Apparently, Hulda hadn’t heard about Beth.

“You startled me,” Rachel admitted, trying to make light of her overreaction. Hulda was often up early, and it wasn’t unusual for her to wander over for a cup of tea and a sweet. “Sorry I didn’t bring your van back last night, but—”

“I know. That nice young man of yours was here. I saw his police car come in not long before you got back.” Hulda tilted her head. “I’d come out to water my geraniums, the ones in the big pot on the front step, and there he came, still in his uniform. I think it’s nice that you find time for friends your own age.”

“I was just going back in for another cup,” Rachel said, holding up her mug. She wanted to tell Hulda about Beth, but she wasn’t comfortable being the source of the information. Not yet, at least. Not until she confirmed that Beth’s parents had been told. “Would you like one? I don’t know what Ada left in the sweets cabinet, but I’m certain there must be apple muffins or something.”

“I don’t want to put you out, but a cup of tea would go well,” Hulda agreed.

Rachel stood back as the white-haired woman strode past her and entered the kitchen. As usual, Hulda was dressed in a pantsuit and sensible black shoes, her hair and makeup done. Rachel hoped she had half of Hulda’s energy when she reached her nineties.

“Expecting more guests this weekend?” Hulda asked. “I’m surprised you haven’t been busier. Last month you were turning people away.”

“I know,” Rachel said, eager to move past the subject of why she’d locked her doors last night. There would be time enough to talk about it later, when they had more concrete information. She was just taking Hulda’s favorite mug out of the cupboard when her cell phone on the counter rang. Rachel stared at it. What time was it?
Too early for anyone to call with good news.

“Are you going to answer that?” Hulda asked. “Who could it be at this hour?” She looked at the vintage timepiece she wore on a gold chain around her neck. “Six oh-three.”

Rachel picked up her phone. “Hello?”

“Rachel. It’s Evan. I’m sorry it’s so early.”

She had a bad feeling about this.

“I’ve been to the hospital and spoken to the medical examiner. The paramedic was right. Beth Glick was murdered.”

Rachel drove past all-black buggies, gray-topped buggies, and open buggies that lined the narrow road that led to a stone-walled lane and the Glick farmstead. She parked in the field near the end of the dirt driveway, got out, and threaded her way between rows of horse-drawn vehicles and pickup trucks to walk to the two-story frame house. Dressed modestly in a navy calf-length riding skirt and two-button jacket, she was obviously an Englisher, but no one, not even her mother, would find fault with her clothing.

Before leaving Stone Mill House, Rachel had twisted her hair into a chignon and covered it with a dark-blue Italian scarf, similar in appearance to the ones Mary Aaron wore to work in the garden. Tonight, it felt, if not comfortable, then at least appropriate. Wasn’t there a saying about not being able to take the Amish out of the girl?

Rachel didn’t know how much discussion, or argument, there had been within the Glick household, and within their church, concerning whether or not the Glicks would accept their lost child’s body for burial. In other places, in similar circumstances, families had refused to accept the bodies of shunned family members, and the state had been forced to bury them. Thankfully, the innate good in those involved had prevailed, and Beth’s body had been brought home so that family and loved ones could pay their respects before burial. Where she would be buried had not yet been determined.

Families, friends, and neighbors, both Amish and English, stood in the yard, on the wide porch, and inside the front hall. In the heat, all the doors and windows to the home were propped open. It seemed like everyone in the valley was there. Tragedy brought the people of the valley together, and differences in race, religion, and age didn’t seem to matter when one of their own was grieving. It was what made Stone Mill a special place, and what Rachel had missed most in her time away. Wherever she fit, and she still wasn’t certain where, this was and always would be her home. Even in such a time of sorrow, there was a feeling of comfort knowing that your neighbors were there to catch you and support you if you stumbled.

It was nearly eight o’clock in the evening when Rachel approached the Glick farmhouse. The sun had already settled behind the mountains, and twilight would soon turn to darkness. Evening chores complete, Amish neighbors and church members would come and go late into the night. Others would come and stay, joining Beth’s brothers, sisters, and parents in keeping vigil over the deceased.

Rachel entered the front hall of the house, nodding to one person after another. Conversations and voices were muted, but she felt welcome, and knew almost everyone there. She hadn’t seen her parents or brothers and sisters yet, but she had no doubt that they’d already stopped by or would arrive soon. Even though they were not close friends of the Glicks, they wouldn’t fail to pay their respects.

Rachel steeled herself to view the body. She didn’t fear the dead; since she was a young child, she’d attended wakes and funerals. But neither was she eager to again see the tragic face of a girl who’d been wrenched from this world far too soon. She paused and whispered a silent prayer for Beth’s soul.

“She’s in the parlor. There to the right,” a rasping voice said. A tall woman in a black bonnet motioned toward an open doorway. Rachel knew that by
she,
the woman meant Beth. By tradition, the name of the newly dead was rarely spoken, even at her own wake.

Rachel moved to the doorway.

According to custom, and despite her separation from the Amish church, Beth had been laid out in the kerosene-lamplit parlor off the main hallway. Garbed all in white, she rested in a wooden coffin held up by two sawhorses draped with blue quilts. Straight-backed chairs lined the walls, but only a few were occupied, and those few by elders. Most of the furniture had been removed to make room for the coffin and the mourners.

Several middle-aged Amish women stood together near the cast-iron woodstove, cold now in deference to the August heat. From the open windows, a slight breeze fluttered the plain white curtains. The room smelled of floor wax, cinnamon, and too many people. There were no flowers.

Rachel held her breath as she entered the room. Her mouth felt dry and her palms damp as she forced herself to approach the coffin.

Beth Glick looked smaller than Rachel remembered. Thankfully, someone had covered the young woman’s face and throat with a man’s white linen handkerchief. Beth was clothed in a white dress and white stockings; only her bare hands were visible, fingers folded stiffly around a worn German Bible. Rachel exhaled softly. Such small hands . . . wrinkled from their immersion in water. Her eyes stung as she stared at Beth’s swollen and discolored flesh, two fingernails broken off raggedly at the quick.

Rachel swallowed once and then again, determined not to break down and cry.
Whatever happened to Beth, she’s no longer suffering,
Rachel told herself as Evan’s report echoed in her mind: “According to the medical examiner she was strangled unconscious before she met death by drowning.” Evan had gone on to say that the water in Beth’s lungs was identical to that of samples taken from the quarry, proving that death had occurred there. “No evidence of sexual assault,” he had added hastily.

Sounds of subdued weeping pierced her musing. Figures in Plain clothing moved around the coffin, and Rachel caught the scent of sour sweat.

“Good of you to come, Rachel.”

Rachel turned toward the familiar voice. “Bishop Abner?” She took another breath, grounding herself. It wasn’t
his
body odor that had offended her. His was a clean wholesomeness: green apple soap, licorice chewing gum.

Rachel glanced back at Beth’s pale form. “Thank you for this,” she whispered to the bishop. “I’d worried that the family would . . .” She trailed off, not wanting to speak of what she’d originally feared, which was that the Glicks would refuse to accept their runaway daughter’s body. She had been afraid that no one would give her the last rites of her faith.

“It was the least I could do. Who is more in need of our prayers?” Bishop Abner laid a lean hand gently on the edge of the pine box.

“Bishop.” A stern face beneath a white
kapp
appeared on the other side of the coffin, and the breeze from the open window carried the odor of unwashed underarms and clothing in need of airing. Rachel steeled herself so as not to flinch. It was something she’d had to get used to again after fifteen years away from the valley, and she’d discovered that she found it far more distasteful than she had as a girl. Her family had always used deodorant, but some Amish considered it forbidden as too worldly.

“Her poor mother,” the woman intoned. “To lose a child with no hope of salvation.”

“Yet,” Rachel murmured, her gaze downcast, “the Bible tells us that He is a merciful God.” She had plenty of opinions on the subject, but this was neither the time nor the place to discuss theology.

The woman stiffened and stared at her for a moment before her lips thinned and hardened. “For one who has broken her promise to the Almighty, there is no hope of salvation.”

“We are all sinners, and we can always hope,” Bishop Abner said. He glanced meaningfully at Rachel and then toward the door. Rachel nodded and followed him quietly out of the parlor. “Beth’s mother asked to speak with you,” he murmured.

“Me?” She wondered if she’d offended the Glicks with her presence. But there were many Englishers from the town, so she didn’t think so. A wake was a public event.

The main hall was crowded with Amish. She and the bishop worked their way past a cluster of elderly women in black prayer
kapps,
and several men who were members of her parents’ church community. Three little boys dressed in black trousers, black suspenders, and white shirts sat solemnly on the stairs that led to the second floor, straw hats in hand, feet decently covered in black stockings and high-top leather brogans. The bishop led the way toward the back of the house.

“Bishop Abner?” Eli Rust, her Uncle Aaron’s next-door neighbor, tugged at the bishop’s sleeve. “A moment of your time?” Rachel noticed that Eli’s brother was with him. Both men were members of Abner’s church community.

Joab Rust nodded in her direction. She nodded back.

Abner raised one finger in a gesture that she assumed meant she was to wait. “How can I help you?” he asked the men.

Rachel half turned to give them some privacy in the crowded space and stepped back against the wall to allow Polly and Ed Wagler by. Ed’s eyes were swollen, as if he’d been crying. “Polly. Ed.” The Waglers ran the town grocery, and Rachel had known them since she was small.

“Terrible business, this,” Ed said. “I can’t . . .” He choked up, pulled a red handkerchief from his pocket, and blew his nose loudly.

“To think that something like this would happen here, of all places.” Polly embraced her, enveloping her in a cloud of gardenia cologne. “And you had to be the one to find her.”

“Terrible,” Ed repeated. “Words can’t express . . .” Again, he seemed unable to go on.

Well-meaning Polly had no such obstacle. “Such a young girl, with so much life ahead of her, a lovely Christian girl, always so pleasant when she came into the store.” Ed blew his nose a second time, almost drowning out his wife, but she went on. “We brought a lunchmeat-and-cheese platter, the large one.”

Ed’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his thin neck. “No need to mention it, Polly. Least we could do.”

“Ed said he’d do the same again in a few weeks,” Polly said. “When our Calvin passed, Ed was fine during the funeral, but later, he just fell apart. Just sat and stared at the pond. Couldn’t seem to eat a bite or take pleasure in anything.”

“So much to do right afterwards, a body doesn’t have time to think. But later, later it all sinks in. Good thing the Glicks have their faith to sustain them,” Ed added. “It’s something you admire about the Amish. They accept death as part of life.” He took his wife’s arm. “Best we go in and pay our respects,” he said.

“Have you been in to see . . .” Polly glanced down the hall. “They say she looks peaceful, just like she’s asleep.”

Rachel said nothing. She’d never felt the dead looked like they were sleeping. They looked dead.

“Let’s do it, Mother,” Ed said.

The kitchen door at the end of the hall slid open, and a stout Amish woman carrying a wailing baby pushed through. “We’re holding up the show,” Ed said. “See you in church, Rachel.”

“Talk to you later,” Polly said, and they moved toward the parlor.

A minute later, Bishop Abner returned. “Shall we find the parents?” he suggested.

Rachel nodded and followed him toward the back of the house. She could smell the food before they passed through the pocket door at the end of the passageway.

The huge kitchen and attached dining room were women’s domain, and the amount of food and drink amassed there could have easily fed half the valley. Every flat surface of table and counter space was laden with bowls, platters, and plates of food. Pies, cakes, gingerbread, and sweet rolls stood cheek by jowl with trays of roast beef, fried chicken, and smoked hams. The sea of aproned women with rolled-up sleeves and sweaty foreheads parted. Nursing mothers whisked blankets over exposed breasts and babes, and toddlers were shushed from begging for bites of this and that.

Everyone stared at Rachel and the bishop.

“Bishop.” A plump-cheeked woman closed an oven door and stepped back to give them room.

“Bishop Abner.”

Rachel didn’t recognize the teenage girl who spoke, but her red and swollen eyes and the haunted expression on her face hinted at someone near and dear to the deceased.

“
Mam,
” the girl said, “Bishop Abner’s here.”

A tall, thin woman with sad eyes rose from the table. “Bishop, it’s good of you to come.” A young mother with a newborn wrapped in a shawl got up as well, and Rachel noted a strong resemblance to the dead girl.
A sister?
Under the table, Rachel caught sight of a toddler sucking a thumb. The child wore a close-fitting white baby cap and a shapeless white dress. Rachel couldn’t tell if it was a boy or girl. Wisps of brown hair curled around the baby’s rosy cheeks.

“I am so sorry for your loss,” Bishop Abner said. He turned to Rachel. “Do you know Mabel Glick?”

“You are the one who found our Beth?” the woman asked. She sounded as if she’d been crying for a long time, and her cheeks appeared sunken. “Thank you.”

Rachel added her condolences to those of the bishop. She recognized Mabel as someone she’d seen at the grocery and at the farmer’s market, but she couldn’t remember if she had ever spoken more than a few words to her. Mabel’s eyes were blue, her hair streaked with gray.

Did she know that her daughter had been murdered?

The young woman with the baby slipped an arm around Mabel but said nothing. The infant squirmed in the blanket and began to whimper. Rachel tried to think of something appropriate to say, but nothing seemed adequate. The kitchen was stifling, and she needed fresh air. She backed away from the table. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please just let me know.”

The thought of retracing her steps back through the kitchen and central hall was daunting, so Rachel edged toward the back door. As she opened it, she heard a man’s strident voice. The angry words were in Deitsch, telling Rachel that the speaker was Amish. She couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, though.

She glanced back at Bishop Abner, who had obviously heard the man as well. One rarely heard a raised voice among the Amish, and it was certainly even more unusual considering the circumstances of the gathering. As she stepped out onto the back porch, she immediately spotted the cause of the uproar.

A Pennsylvania State Police car was parked in the yard. Standing beside it, she saw Evan in full uniform and a small, red-faced Amish man. The bearded man was obviously angry, because he was shaking a fist at Evan and delivering a verbal tirade in Deitsch. And from what Rachel could now hear, she was thankful that Evan’s grasp of the language wasn’t good. Shocked by the violent gesture she rarely witnessed among her people, Rachel descended the back steps and crossed the yard toward them. Abner followed her, but she didn’t wait for him.