Plain Killing (6 page)

“I only came to pay my respects,” Evan said. “I know that today is—”

“Not for outsiders, with your guns of the hand and your shiny buttons!” the little man exclaimed, switching back to English. “This is my land, my home. Tonight we sit with the body of our daughter, who is lost to salvation because of you Englishers.”

Evan caught sight of Rachel and flushed an even deeper red than his accuser.

Bishop Abner spoke up quietly. “Mose, I’m sure that this officer of the police meant to give no offense. He is a good man, trying to do the proper thing.”

Mose.
Aunt Hannah had told her that Beth’s father was Mose. “This is the trooper who was with Beth,” Rachel explained in Deitsch. “At the quarry. He stayed with her until the ambulance took her to the hospital. Bishop Abner is right. This Englisher is a good man. He was a good friend to my Uncle Aaron when he had his trouble over Willy O’Day.”

Mose glanced at her, unclenched his hand, and dropped his arm to his side. “Not today is he welcome here,” he said firmly in English. “Not with my Beth lying cold in there.” His eyes, nearly hidden behind round, black-rimmed glasses, were full of pain.

Rachel looked back at Evan. “Maybe it would be better if you came another day,” she said, “unless Mose is required, by law, to speak to you now—”

“No. No.” Evan shook his head. “I only wanted to let the family know how sorry I was, to show my respects for their loss.” He seemed to recover a little of his composure. “I didn’t want to cause you further upset, Mr. Glick.” He offered his hand, but Mose stepped back, ignoring it.

“I want no gun of the hand here for my children to see. Such a gun is not for hunting. Only for shedding the blood of other men.”

“I’m sorry,” Evan said. “I should have thought . . .” He grimaced. “I was on my way to fill in for another . . .” He shook his head. “I’ll leave you, Mr. Glick. I just wanted you to know how badly I feel about what happened to Beth.”

Mose’s beard bobbed as he swallowed. He stepped back and pointed. “Leave now.”

Evan gave Rachel a stricken look and got back into the police car. Mose folded his arms and stood stiffly as Evan backed up the vehicle and drove back around the house.

“I think that he meant well,” Bishop Abner told Beth’s father. “Did he come to ask you more questions?”

Mose shook his head. “
Ne.
He did not. Early this morning, another two Englishers with guns came. They had many questions, but what could I say? She has been lost to us for a long time. We do not know where she goes or what she does. What evil people she might have . . .” He trailed off.

“This is a terrible time for you and for Mabel and for your other children,” Rachel said. The bishops had broken the news of Beth’s death to the family, but it was the police who had come to them this morning to tell them that she had been murdered. “But Evan Parks is a good man. He will help find the person who did this awful thing. They will be brought to justice.”

“You believe this?” Mose regarded her intently. “You think that finding the murderer and putting him behind bars will right the wrong?” He shook his head. “It will not. ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.’ It is for God to make justice on the sinners, not man.” He made a choking sound and turned away. “I will not allow hatred for a bad man to make my heart as black as his. I will find a way to pray for his soul, that he may yet be saved.”

Rachel was at a loss for words. The Amish way was to forgive the sin and forgive the sinner. Revenge wasn’t a concept they accepted.

“When the police find the killer and bring him to trial, he will be put away for the rest of his life,” she said. “To make certain he will never do to another human what he did to your daughter.”

Mose walked away without answering. A group of middle-aged Amish men standing beside the barn parted to let him into their midst, but he walked through the space between them without speaking. He didn’t pause when a tall man in a black coat and hat uttered his name.

“That is Mose’s bishop, Bishop Johan Schroder,” Bishop Abner explained. “And those are the elders of his church.” He raised his gaze to meet hers. “This isn’t easy for any of them. Deciding what should be done with Beth. With her body. Where she should be buried. They don’t know what is right.”

“You know what’s right,” Rachel said, fixing her gaze on her family’s bishop. “You took pity on Beth. You did what you could for her, despite her having left the faith.”

“Some think I interfered where I should not have. Even some of my own church feel that I am not firm enough in condemning her.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Rachel said. “I’m glad we came to you first.”

He sighed. “I wish I could be glad. And I wish I could be certain that my detractors are not right. Maybe I am too lenient in my decisions.”

“Or maybe you are a wise leader,” Rachel said. “One who knows the true meaning of love.”

 

Rachel sat in Evan’s driveway outside his house the next morning at eight ten; it was his day off. He was a creature of habit, so she knew he’d be back from the gym any moment.

The evening before, she’d left the Glick house soon after Mose had ordered Evan to leave. After another fitful night’s sleep, she’d risen early and worked in her office. Then she’d scooped up some of Ada’s sticky buns and brought them to Evan’s.

When she saw him pull in, she got out of the Jeep.

“Still mad at me?” he asked as he joined her in the driveway. He was dressed in athletic shorts and a T-shirt. He drank water from a green Nalgene bottle she’d given him for his birthday. “I pretty much made a fool of myself last night at the Glicks’, didn’t I?”

She rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I know you meant well.”

“I didn’t go there to interrogate her parents. I just wanted to express my condolences.”

“I know that.” She held up the plate of sticky buns she’d covered in plastic wrap. “I thought I’d make breakfast for us. You jump in the shower, and I’ll whip up a cheese omelet.”

He groaned. “No cheese. I ate the last of it on a slice of stale bread last night.”

She chuckled. “I thought there might not be.” Evan was notorious for having an empty refrigerator. The ingredients for his pasta sauce, yes. Other staples, not so much. “I came prepared.” She went to the back of the Jeep and retrieved a bag with a dozen eggs, a green pepper, mushrooms, and cheese. “Do you have milk?”

“I think so.” He took the bag.

“Good, then we’re making progress.” She walked up the sidewalk, waited while he unlocked the back door, and followed him inside the small, neat rancher.

“It’s pretty early in the morning,” he said. “Are we going to ruin your reputation if anyone sees your Jeep in my drive?”

She smiled up at him. “I’ll just tell them that I’m
rumspringa
.”

He grinned back at her. “Thanks for coming. I still feel bad about what happened last night. You warned me to stay away, but I thought that since I hadn’t come on official business. . .” He stopped and started again. “Guess it was dumb to come in the car and the uniform, but with the overtime hours . . .” He exhaled and downed the rest of the water in the bottle.

“Don’t worry about it.” She walked past him, into his kitchen. “What’s important is that you find out who did that to Beth. Quickly.”

“I fully intend to.”

“That’s what I told Beth’s father.”

“But
you
aren’t,” he warned, pointing at her. “You know what happened when you got involved with Willy O’Day’s murder. You took chances you shouldn’t have. You’re not to try and play detective with this case. It’s not safe.”

She held his gaze steadily, the bag of groceries between them. “That thought never occurred to me.”

“Right.” He frowned. “Well, good, so we agree on this. I’m the cop. You—”

“I’m the proprietor of a B&B.” She set the plate of sticky buns on the kitchen counter and went back to him for the bag of groceries.

“You’re more than that to me, Rachel.” His voice grew husky. “I care about you.”

“I know. Why do you think I’m here? I thought you needed a friend this morning.”

“I won’t let you put your life in danger again.”

She nodded, taking the grocery bag from him. “I hear what you’re saying, but—”

“But nothing. It’s not up for discussion. I shouldn’t have called you yesterday with the medical examiner’s report. It won’t happen again. No more privileged information. It just encourages you.”

“Fine,” she said, offering him a smile. “Now let me start this omelet before we ruin a pleasant morning by quarreling.”

“I’m sorry you ever went to that quarry.” He touched her cheek. “Sorry you had to see something like that.”

“Me, too,” she agreed, taking the bag to the counter. “But not nearly as sorry as I am that Beth Glick had to die like that.”

Rachel suppressed a shudder as the massive steel door slid shut behind her. Gooseflesh rose on her arms, and she thought of a hundred places she’d rather be on a Saturday afternoon than in prison. She had been here several times already, but the atmosphere creeped her out now as much as it had the first time. At least now, even as she felt that the walls were closing in around her, she knew what to expect. She would pass through several sets of doors, each guarded, then enter the reasonably cheerful lounge where prisoners received their guests.

Hopefully, George had received the box she’d mailed to him a week ago: books and educational material he’d requested. The items would have all been inspected and approved before they were delivered to him. The rules of what was and wasn’t permitted and how it had to be sent were numerous and unyielding. As much as she would have liked to bring George some of Ada’s homemade treats, baked goods that were not commercially packaged were on the forbidden list, even on his level of relatively low supervision. Maybe lots of convicts had Amish women baking tiny files into their blueberry muffins.

Rachel had been afraid that the unframed photograph of Sophie she clutched in one hand would be confiscated, but the burly, shaven-headed guard at the next set of doors examined the picture closely, remarked on how cute the little “poodle” was, and then handed the snapshot back. She was tempted to explain that Sophie was a bichon frise, not a poodle, but she held her tongue. People mistook her for a miniature poodle all the time.

“Enjoy your day, miss,” he said, with a wide smile that revealed dazzling-white veneers. Despite his imposing appearance and his jailhouse pallor—the man was as gray as tallow—he was both soft-spoken and cheerful.

“You, too,” Rachel replied, forcing a smile. How could anyone have a pleasant day in prison? She couldn’t imagine coming to work here every day, let alone being locked up for years as poor George would probably be. She hadn’t really felt like coming today; Beth’s death and the funeral the day before were all too fresh in her mind. If there had been any way to wimp out without disappointing George, she would have. But she knew how much he was looking forward to her visit, and she hated to break her promise to a friend.

Another set of barred doors loomed ahead. The escort guard was replaced by a tiny, gray-haired female officer with the demeanor of a Buddhist nun and arms like a Ukrainian wrestler. “Right this way,” she said kindly.

Rachel gave her name to the uniformed officer behind a bulletproof glass window the guard led her to. The man checked her name off a master list, and once all the visitors were cleared, she and about two dozen others were ushered down a long hall to a set of glass double doors marked
Reception Area
. The wrestler/nun grandmother punched in the code in the keypad, opened the door, and waved the visitors inside. The high-ceilinged room was painted pale blue and furnished with round white plastic tables and red chairs, many already occupied by eagerly waiting inmates.

“Rachel!” George’s hearty welcome greeted her as she stepped into the room. She saw him at once as he hurried toward her. “First in line,” he said, beaming. The gray jumpsuit he wore was overlarge and sagged around his middle; his full head of white hair was close cropped in a short military cut. Stenciled letters identified him as a prisoner. To her surprise, George threw his arms around her, hugged her, and kissed her cheek.

Rachel stiffened and glanced around, half expecting a guard to tase them. They hadn’t hugged during her previous visits. “I didn’t think we were allowed to touch,” she whispered.

George chuckled. “You’ve been watching too much TV, honey. Everybody gets one hug, coming and going.” He gestured to the other prisoners and their visitors exchanging hugs and kisses. “This isn’t Alcatraz,” he continued. “For criminals, we’re a pretty civilized lot.” He caught her hand and tugged her to a table in the corner of the room. “Sit, sit,” he urged. “Would you like something to drink? A soda? Water? Chips?” He waved toward the row of snack and soda machines along the far wall. “My treat.”

She sat in a red molded plastic chair. “No, thank you. I’m good.” She held out the snapshot of Sophie. “I took a video of her chasing a ball last weekend, but it’s on my iPhone and I couldn’t bring it in.”

“That’s right. No electronics.” George took the chair beside her and studied the photo with obvious affection. “That’s my Sophie,” he pronounced. He looked at Rachel. “She looks a little thinner. Is my girl eating well?”

“Sophie is fine,” she assured him. “The vet said that she could even stand to lose a pound or two.” She patted George’s arm. “She misses you, but I’m taking good care of her.”

George’s sparkling blue eyes began to water, and he removed his glasses and mopped at the tears. “Dry air in here,” he muttered. “Poor duct work.” He forced a wan smile. “I knew she’d be happy with you.” He glanced at the photo again. “I’m going to put this on the wall right next to my bed so I can see her last thing before the lights go out.” He clasped his forearms and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I had a letter from Ell. She has exciting plans for expanding the bookstore.”

“It is exciting, isn’t it? And the package I sent. It arrived?”

His kindly face creased into a grin. “It did. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it. Our classroom is sadly lacking in up-to-date textbooks and notebooks. Mine is the most popular GED course offered. We had to turn people away, if you can believe that. Twelve is the limit, but I’ve applied for another time slot. I can easily fill another class. You know, I’ve always taught teenagers, but most of these men are at or below sixteen-year-olds emotionally. And only a few of them can read on a seventh-grade level. Educate them, and you’ll cut the rate of recidivism dramatically. But . . .” He paused for effect and then went on in a rush. “I’m going to have to brush up on my Spanish. One of my students doesn’t speak a word of English.”

Rachel listened as George rattled on about his class. He was in better spirits than when he first arrived. He seemed to be adjusting well, and it was clear to her that he was thrilled to feel needed.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a few minutes. “I’m not letting you get a word in edgewise.” He sat back in his chair. “Tell me what’s going on in Stone Mill.”

She hesitated and glanced away. When she looked back at George, tears stung the back of her eyelids.

“What is it?” He took her hand. “Rachel, what’s wrong?” She had seriously considered not telling George about Beth’s murder, but she knew that he received the Stone Mill newspaper by mail. She’d seen that morning’s edition. The same edition that George would receive in a couple of days. Owner and editor Bill Billingsly, who was always looking for a way to increase his readership, had plastered the details of Beth’s murder across the front page. He had included photos of the Glick farmhouse and of the buggies lined up at the cemetery. The funeral had just been the previous afternoon; she couldn’t imagine how he’d gotten the edition out so quickly.

“It’s just awful, George.”

He rubbed her hand between his dry, wrinkled ones, and she told him everything there was to tell. She told him about finding Beth in the quarry, about the bishops, the medical examiner’s report, and the wake. George was a good listener who didn’t interrupt but knew when to speak an encouraging word to help her relay the story.

When she was done, she sat back in her chair, hands in her lap, feeling spent.

“What a terrible tragedy,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry you were there. That you had to find her. Are you all right?”

She nodded.

He was quiet for minute. “If I may ask . . . where did the Glicks bury their daughter? I know that someone shunned cannot be buried in their cemetery.”

“Outside the fence, on unconsecrated ground,” she said. “I know that some in their church, in the whole Amish community, weren’t happy about it, but I think it was a good compromise.” She looked up at him, her sadness almost overwhelming. “I went to the funeral. A nice funeral. As funerals go,” she added.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to drink? You’re looking pretty peaked.”

She sighed. “No, thank you. I just feel so awful for her . . . for everyone. I can’t imagine who would do such a thing.”

George glanced around the visiting room, and his expression hardened. “There are a lot of heartless people out there in the world, Rachel. Some are not in their right minds, and others are . . . just evil. Most humans are innately good, thank the Lord, but those who aren’t can be terrible. It troubles me that good folks have to live in fear of them.”

“And that people like Evan have to risk their lives chasing them,” she added.

He rubbed his palms together in a way she’d seen him do many times, usually when he was upset. “We get complacent. We think that bad things won’t happen to innocents in a place like Stone Mill, but evil creeps in when we’re least expecting it.” He looked down at the photo of his dog on the table, then back at her. “I suppose the police have no leads.”

She shook her head. “They’re not having much luck getting Beth’s family to answer questions. I may go and try to talk to them myself. In a few days.”

He regarded her for a minute. “I know I don’t have to tell you to be careful, Rachel.”

She met his gaze, but didn’t respond.

“I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you,” he said.

“I can take care of myself.” At least, she thought she could. And if she’d had a sheltered childhood, the years between leaving home and being admitted to Wharton had been tough. She’d lived and worked in some pretty unsavory neighborhoods, and more than once, she’d had to use her wits to get out of a dangerous situation.

They talked about other things, safer things, for the better part of an hour. Then an unseen buzzer went off notifying the visitors that there were only fifteen minutes remaining. “Send me a list of what else you need for your classes,” Rachel said. “Between Ell and me, we should be able to find the material—”

“No need,” he answered. “I’ve made arrangements. I’ve spoken with my attorney, and he’s going to contact my accountant. Ell can make a donation toward our education fund from one of my personal accounts. Then I can order what I need in the way of books, supplies, and media directly. Anything I want.”

Rachel’s face must have shown her disbelief because George laughed. “Educational materials only. It’s not as if I can place an order for dynamite or plane tickets. I’m thinking of starting a book club and maybe a creative writing class. We’ll need recording devices for that. None of my students have the basics for writing in the traditional manner, but we’ll get there. Baby steps. But some of these men have led amazing lives. Telling their stories may go a long way toward giving them goals and a sense of self-worth.”

“
You
be careful,” she warned. “If anyone is too trusting, it’s you, George. You always think the best of everyone.”

“No, that’s not me,” he said with a grin. “That’s my little Sophie. Bring more pictures next time you come. You will come back, won’t you?” His eyes narrowed anxiously. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I have only you, Ell, and Sophie left.”

“I’ll be back soon, probably in two weeks,” she promised. Others visitors were getting up and saying their good-byes. “And I’ll bring more photos of Sophie.” She got up from her chair.

“Bless you, Rachel. I knew I could count on you.” He rose and put his arm around her shoulder. “Hopefully, by then all this trouble will be over, and you can get back to making Stone Mill House the best B&B in the state.”

“Hopefully,” she said, but secretly, she was afraid that Beth’s death wouldn’t be that easy to put behind them. Even if the police caught the killer, losing one of their own would cast a pall over the valley for a long time . . . maybe forever.

 

Monday morning, Rachel decided she needed some fresh air and took a walk downtown to The George to pick up a book she’d ordered. Her guest, Professor Li, had apparently written several mystery books featuring a talking cat detective. That character was to be the basis for the screenplay she was writing. Rachel didn’t know how she felt about talking detective cats, but she thought it might be fun to read the book.

The bookstore sat on the corner of Main and Poplar and had originally been constructed as an opera house in 1904. In the ’30s, it became a movie theater but fell into disrepair in the ’70s and was closed. It was her friend George who, after retiring from teaching, had repurposed it as a bookstore and opened the doors again three years ago.

Rachel walked into the front room, with its curved barrel ceiling, that had once been the lobby. “Good morning,” she called. “Are you open? Door was open.”

“If the door’s open, The George is open,” sang a familiar voice. George’s niece, Ell, who was now, in her uncle’s absence, the proprietor of the bookstore, popped up from behind the counter that had once displayed candies and popcorn.

“First customer of the day, I guess,” Rachel said, walking across the old brocade carpet.

Ell, just twenty-two, had a long, thin face, dark eyes, and a pale complexion marred by acne scars. Her round Irish nose was adorned with a shiny piece of hardware vying with the multiple piercings in her eyebrows, lower lip, and ears. She had inky-black, spiky hair and was dressed head to toe in black, but the moment she spoke, she lit up the room.

“I . . . I wasn’t expecting you this morning.”

“Came to pick up that book I ordered,” Rachel said.

“Ah.” Ell began to move stacks of books around on the counter. “I could have brought it by. After work.”

“It’s okay. I needed to get out of the house. Ada is in one of her moods. Apparently, there was a mouse in the kitchen last night. Bishop is in big trouble.”

“I bet he is.” Ell laughed and slid a stack of newspapers away from the edge of the counter just as Rachel walked up.