Shunned and Dangerous (An Amish Mystery) (12 page)
Read Shunned and Dangerous (An Amish Mystery) Online
Authors: Laura Bradford
F
or the second time in as many days, Claire found herself staring at the run-down farmhouse that had been home to Harley Zook. Even now, she was still shocked by its appearance. She supposed there could be something to the notion of a person in a particular field of work not wanting to have anything to do with that same kind of work off the clock, but still. How hard could it have been to tack down a few roof shingles, or tighten an ill-fitting door?
Especially when it was obvious he’d taken such good care of the dairy barn and just about everything else pertaining to the cows who shared his address.
A soft tap at the driver’s side window made her nearly jump out of her skin. Jerking her head to the left, she willed her heart rate to slow as she took in the teenaged Amish boy standing just outside her door. She stepped from the car, scrunching her nose and extending her hand as she did. “Hi. I’m Claire. Claire Weatherly.”
“Yah.”
If the pervasive smell of spoiled milk bothered the young man, he kept it to himself. She, however, switched to a mouth-only breath that required its fair share of concentration. “And you are?”
“Luke Hochstetler. I live on the other side of Lapp.” It was such a simple reply yet told her everything she needed to know. The young boy bowed his head ever so slightly, a grim set to his mouth visible beneath the brim of his hat. “Mr. Zook is not here, Ms. Weatherly. He has passed.”
She glanced at the farmhouse and then back at Luke. “I know. I’m the one who found him in the corn maze.” At his widened eyes, she continued. “So what brings you out here, Luke? Are you looking after Harley’s place?”
“I’m looking after his cows. Dat is hoping we may get some of them.” Luke looped the fingers of his left hand around one of his suspenders and nudged his chin in the direction of the barn. “One of my sisters wants Mary, the other one wants Molly. Dat just wants fresh milk.”
She laughed, the sound diffusing the last of the tension ushered in by the teenager’s surprise appearance. The wants and needs of the Amish were so humble, so straightforward. “So how are they holding up?” At the uncertain rise to his brow, she swept her hand toward the barn. “The cows. Are they doing okay?”
“It is easy for them to be okay.” Luke grinned. “Dat brought my brothers here when they had finished with their morning chores. He wanted to show them how a mucked stall should look. I do not think they will complain again.”
“They’re that clean?”
“Yah. Even now, four days later, they are cleaner than most. And Dat said Mr. Zook did that with no sons to help. My brothers felt shame for their efforts.” Luke rubbed his hand along his jaw, a motion he’d probably seen his father make countless times. “Dat said we could chase cows, though.”
“Chase cows?” she repeated. “I’m sorry, I’m not following.”
“If we get some of Mr. Zook’s cows, we will not have such a fence as that.” Luke’s hand left his jaw to guide her eyes toward the pasture. “Dat has sons who can fetch a loose cow.”
“That’s probably smart considering the fact that a fence like that still couldn’t keep Harley’s cows where they belonged.” Then, at Luke’s knowing smile, she said, “I met Mary on Friday night. She was hoping to be milked.”
“I milked her and brought her home.”
She tried not to think about that night—a night that had started out so light and fun yet ended as far from those two adjectives as one could get. “It’s almost as if Mary was searching for Harley.”
Luke shook his head. “Nah. Cows do not know such things. Mr. Zook took care of his cows like children, Mamm said. But they are not. They are cows . . . with fancy names.”
She hadn’t really considered the fact that Harley lived alone until that moment, the loss of his brother sixteen years earlier coming a decade after the death of his wife—a woman unable to have children, according to Diane. Yet, according to Jakob and her aunt, Harley had been a cheerful man, offering forgiveness and work to his brother’s killer’s son and relentlessly trying to open Mose Fisher’s closed mind in regards to Jakob. It was a sad twist of irony to think that one of those kindnesses may have ultimately led to the man’s demise . . .
“Will your family sell the milk for cheese, too?” she asked.
“Dat will purchase a bulk cooling tank with an agitator. That way we can sell for a higher price.”
She allowed herself one quick nose breath, realizing her error almost immediately. “I’m sure your neighbors will be grateful.”
“I must go. Dat will be looking for me if I do not get back. There is much work to do at our own farm before sunset.” Then, with a nod of his head, Luke was gone, his pale blue shirt and black pants the last two things Claire could see before the teenager disappeared around a bend in the driveway.
Suddenly, she was all too aware of being alone, the knowledge that Harley’s beloved cows were mere steps away doing little to soothe the sense of unease Luke’s departure had set in motion. Yet, as little comfort as their presence provided, she found herself moving in the direction of the barn, nonetheless.
Once inside the large doors, she was able to breathe a little easier thanks to the thick walls of the well-constructed barn and a potpourri of new smells including cows, lots of cows. A quick mental count showed that there were two dozen bright-eyed Holsteins, all looking at her as if she could solve the many mysteries of the world, or at least the only one they cared to truly know.
It was an answer she wished she didn’t have to give.
Squaring her shoulders, she approached the first cow she came to, a large black-and-white animal with the kind of thick eyelashes most women would envy. She checked the small wooden sign above the cow and addressed her accordingly. “Well, hello there, Mavis. Did Luke take good care of you just now?” Mavis’s mouth moved round and round, her focus never leaving Claire’s face. “I wish I could tell you Harley will be back, sweetie, but I can’t. All I can do is tell you that Jakob won’t rest until he figures out who did this to him and why.”
Slowly, she reached out, stroked a hand down the side of the animal’s face, her touch unable to alter the rhythm of its mouth. She wished Mavis could understand her words, perhaps even give voice to whatever the animal was thinking behind those big, soulful eyes.
“Have a good day, okay?” she whispered in farewell as she moved down the line, passing Molly, Mindy, and Mandy before finally reaching the latest escapee, Mary. “Remember me? I met you on the side of the road a few days ago.”
Like Mavis, Mary worked her mouth round and round in response, giving Claire a few moments to look around at the rest of the barn. Like its other Amish counterparts, the dairy barn was simple, yet spacious, the walls and doors constructed by those to whom hard labor was second nature. Here, though, things were even tidier than normal, as if the care and comfort of the animals not only claimed the top spot on the daily to-do list but every other spot as well.
She swatted a pesky fly off Mary’s ear then wandered across the barn to inspect an odd swath of white paint to the left of the door. As she approached, she spied a second, bigger swath no more than ten feet from the first—the similar stroke pattern making her wonder whether Harley had been testing a paint color and found that he needed better light with which to make his final decision.
Part of her found it curious that someone would entertain the notion of painting the interior of a barn, but the other part—the part that had just seen the carefully etched names of each cow inscribed above their pen and heard the details of Harley’s meticulous care from Luke—knew it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Harley Zook had cared for his cows as if they were his children. Perhaps he’d wanted to give them something more than just a standard barn in which to live . . .
A wave of sadness rushed in and forced her back outside into the rancid-smelling sunshine. Everything she’d heard about Harley thus far had come together to create an image of a happy-go-lucky Amish man whose contagious smile and unfailing kindness allowed him to get away with being a little eccentric.
She picked her way across a hoofprint-strewn path to the empty pasture and leaned against the sturdy fence. Her gaze moved from hay roll to hay roll as she imagined Harley looking after his herd through the long winter months, covering them with handmade quilts to keep them warm as they ate. It was a ludicrous thought yet one she couldn’t quite shake loose even if she’d wanted to.
Yes, picturing Harley tending his beloved cows was far more appealing than remembering him as he’d looked in the corn maze. She ran her hand along the top rail of the fence as she walked, her feet stopping only when she reached the now-secured gate. Now that Harley was gone, she wondered if it would be Luke and his siblings who would fetch Mary and the girls if they headed off campus in search of greener pastures. Yet standing there, studying the gate’s intricate-locking mechanism, she couldn’t help but wonder how they got out in the first place. Or rather, why.
It was obvious Harley had invested time and money in securing his cows. In fact, now that she thought about it, all the other Amish farms between Harley’s place and Lighted Way boasted a simple handmade fence if they had one at all. So why go to the added expense and effort only to be careless in the end?
“What a waste,” Claire mumbled before turning back toward the farmhouse and her waiting car. Step-by-step, she made her way back to her starting point, her progress thwarted only by a poorly discarded can of spray paint that preyed on her inner neatness.
“Claire?”
She stilled her hand atop the dented can and listened.
“Claire? Is that you?”
Retrieving the trash from its spot beneath a row of overgrown hedges, she straightened at the vaguely familiar voice that didn’t fit with her current surroundings. “Hello? Who’s there?”
“Woo-hoo, Claire, it’s me . . . over here! You turned too soon!”
Scrunching her eyes in what she imagined was a mirror image of her nose, Claire looked past the farmhouse and her car to the line of trees that separated Harley’s property from that of his neighbor’s. And there, just inside a miniscule break in the natural border, was the face that went with the voice.
C
lutching the empty can to her chest, Claire navigated her way around a series of deep tire ruts before stepping through the opening in the trees that denoted the end of Harley’s property and the start of the next. “Megan, hi! Is everything okay?”
Megan waved aside Claire’s question with an air of distraction. “You just turned too soon is all.”
“Turned too soon?”
“You were supposed to take the road all the way to the end before you turned but that’s okay. I can’t imagine the Amish would mind you parking in their driveway.”
She tried to follow what her aunt’s guest was saying but came up short. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
Megan’s face paled. “Oh. I’m sorry. I . . . I thought you’d made a wrong turn on your way out to meet me . . .” Her voice petered off as she looked down at the stapled sheaf of papers in her hand. “I guess it was silly of me to ask in the first place on account of you having an actual life and all, huh? Kyle keeps saying we need to just make a decision and make the best out of whichever one we choose, but sometimes that’s harder to do than it sounds.”
Something about Megan’s demeanor, coupled with the tidbits Claire was actually able to follow, began to put things in focus. A glance at her wrist watch merely acted as confirmation.
“No, no, no . . . I wanted to come and help with the house thing, I really did—I mean, do. It’s just that”—she gestured over her shoulder with the spray can—“I guess I lost track of time. I would have remembered as soon as I got back in the car, though.”
She tried not to wince at the suggestion she’d forgotten their meeting, and focused, instead, on the smile that lifted at least one side of Megan’s mouth.
“So you didn’t make a wrong turn?”
“A wrong turn?” Claire echoed before putting two and two together in the conversation department. “Oh no, I meant to stop here first. That’s Harley’s farm right there, the man who—” She stopped mid-sentence and shook her head. No, there was no reason to rake Heavenly’s latest blemish back up to the surface. That, her aunt’s guest could read about in the paper. Instead, Claire nudged her chin in the direction of Megan’s car. “So what brings you here?”
Megan hoisted the papers into the air with one hand and waved to the area around her car with the other. “This is it.”
Claire’s gaze played follow the leader with Megan’s hand as it swept to the left and then the right. “It?”
“Yes. This is Serenity Falls—the development I was telling you about this morning. The one with the spectacular location.”
Finally on board with what was going on, Claire allowed herself to really take in her surroundings, the bits and pieces she’d managed to make out through the treeline from the passenger seat of Jakob’s car over the weekend finally assembling themselves into some sort of sense. The rusting metal boxes she’d caught only glimpses of were utility hook ups for the homes that would eventually be built on the land, the gravel pathways a precursor for the blacktopped roads that would surely follow. “Oh. Wow. You weren’t kidding about being able to live on the Amish side of town, were you?”
Megan’s smile crept all the way across her face. “See? Isn’t it perfect for people like you and me? People who love the same peace and tranquility the Amish enjoy twenty-four/seven?”
“Any chance they’ll erect a small cottage or two out here, too?” she quipped only to rescind her words at the mental knock of reality that was her financial situation. “You know what? Ignore me. I’m not ready to leave the inn just yet. Diane’s cooking is way too good.”
“That’s what Kyle said last night,” Megan replied, wide-eyed. “He said he wished we could buy the inn and hire Diane to dote on our whole family the way she’s doted on the two of us these past few days.”
“I’ll have to share that with Diane. She’ll be tickled to hear it.” Claire left the area where they’d been standing to walk around, imagining a handful of large homes scattered about the land, further blurring the invisible yet very real line between the Amish and English sides of town. Suddenly, she couldn’t help but wonder what such a blurring would mean for the Amish. Would the English who built there embrace the slower pace of its neighbors? Or would the slow-moving buggies and simple farming lifestyle eventually start to scratch at the nerves of the very people who chose to eliminate the line in the first place?
She hoped for the former but knew the latter was the more likely scenario. Right or wrong, it was the way things seemed to work in life. “So what’s the issue?” she asked, swatting at a fly with the paint can as she did. “If you like the lifestyle of the Amish and the location of this development, why don’t you just build here? They’re a custom-home development aren’t they?”
Megan looked down at the papers in her hand and nodded. “They are. They’ve got a number of existing plans they’ll build from if you find one you like, or, if you want to do your own thing, you can bring in your own plans. But the lots are expensive. And with the rules and regulations the builder has in place for this development, the homes won’t be cheap, either.”
“Oh.” Claire didn’t know what else to say. Megan and her husband’s financial capabilities really weren’t any of Claire’s concern. “Then maybe you really should consider the English side if they have homes that are more within your parameters.”
With several long strides, Megan closed the gap between them and offered the folder for Claire to see. “No, we can afford them. Kyle’s taking a nice pay bump to move here.”
Claire took the folder and flipped it open against her can-holding hand. The artist’s rendering of the proposed development along with the starting price of its homes caught her breath and held it tight. “Wow. This—this is
gorgeous
.”
“Isn’t it?” Megan’s eyes sparkled long enough to make their subsequent dullness all the more noticeable. “But Kyle said there is absolutely no way he’s going to spend that kind of money to never be able to open his windows.”
“Excuse me?”
Megan sniffed, her nose crinkling instantly. “Don’t you smell that? It’s awful!”
For the first time since stepping into Harley’s barn, she had to consciously think about the smell that wafted across the tree line along with a few handfuls of bothersome flies. “Oh, that?”
“Yes, that.”
She thought back to the last time she’d noticed the smell and said the first thing that came to her mind. “Honestly, if it helps any, you almost get used to it after a while.” And it was true. Though, now that Megan had called it to her attention again, she couldn’t help but wish for a nose plug.
“I tried to say that to Kyle when we came out here on Friday, but he said he isn’t going to pay Serenity Falls’ prices to have to get used to anything.” Megan reached across Claire’s arm and flipped the welcome page over to reveal the first of many renderings that walked prospective buyers through what could eventually be their neighborhood if they signed on the dotted line. In one picture there was a playground for the kids. In another, a fitness trail and workout stations for the adults. The next page showed families coming together under a pavilion to enjoy a potluck dinner and a series of old-fashioned family games. It was, in a word, the epitome of the American dream for a mom like Megan.
“I can see why you can’t put this place out of your mind.” And it was true. Then again, Megan’s answering flip of the next page brought Kyle’s position into perspective with an underscore or two to boot. “Oh. Wow. Yeah, those are kind of expensive, aren’t they?”
She tried to imagine making the kind of money that would allow her to even consider building a home like those pictured in the folder, but she couldn’t. Not when running a specialty gift shop in the middle of Heavenly, Pennsylvania, was her one and only source of income, anyway.
Then again, adding a detective’s salary to the mix wouldn’t get her a whole lot closer . . .
Her mouth grew dry at the thought.
Where on earth had
that
come from? Especially now, when her only thought should be on the income she was months away from losing altogether . . .
To Megan, she said, “I can see why you like it out here so much. I would, too. It’s like you’d truly leave the hustle and bustle of life behind every time you turned your car toward home. And when you
got
home, the atmosphere would be so different I’m not sure you’d even remember work or school or wherever it is you came from.”
Megan’s eyes glowed. “Yes! That’s exactly what I think every time I revisit this place in my head at night. I mean, can’t you just see two kids growing up here? The fun they’d have on that playground? The physical activity they’d get looking for frogs in the pond instead of trying to whack them over the head on some television screen? And out here, I wouldn’t have to worry about the next-door neighbor cursing as he worked on his hot rod in the driveway or having to pick up empty beer cans along the side of the road.”
Claire couldn’t help but laugh at the picture Megan painted. Yet, at the same time, she understood. Those were the kind of images Claire had, too, whenever she dared to let herself dream of having children one day.
Feeling the heaviness of her thoughts, she searched for a way to lighten the mood and seized on the can still wrapped in her hand. “If it’s any consolation, being out here doesn’t entirely negate the possibility of a litter bug.” She lifted the can into the air long enough to bring home her point, then handed the folder back to Megan. “I don’t know what to tell you, Megan. It’s beautiful out here, no doubt. And the pictures in that packet make it hard to resist. But Kyle has a point. Can you really justify spending that kind of money when there’s a very real possibility your kids won’t want to be outside long enough to chase frogs?”
A beat or two of silence was followed by Megan’s two hands—and the folder—being raised into the air in complete surrender. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. Kyle and I are getting ready to uproot our children from the only home they’ve ever known. They’re trusting us to give them a new home they can love and embrace every bit as much as we do. I don’t need a mailing address on a certain side of town to make my home peaceful. That part is up to Kyle and me and no one else.”
Claire reached out and gently squeezed Megan’s free hand with her own. “I think you’ve made the right choice, Megan. I really do. I mean, I’d like to tell you things will change soon, but who knows; it could get worse. Either way, there’s no guarantee. And for that kind of money, I can’t imagine taking a gamble.”
“Thanks, Claire. I think, deep down inside, I knew this all along, but I guess I just needed a little added reinforcement to quiet the pesky what-ifs.” Megan crossed to her rental car and tossed the folder into the backseat. “Are you okay out here alone? Because I can drive you around to your car if you want.”
“No, I’m fine. My car’s literally on the other side of those trees.” Claire pointed toward the break in the overgrown tree line that had allowed her to join Megan in the first place then reached into her pocket for her vibrating phone. The name she saw displayed on the screen sent an instant and undeniable crackle of excitement down her spine. “Besides, I’ve got a call coming in so I’ll be fine.”
She flipped open her phone and held it to her ear. “Hello.”
“Hi, Claire, it’s Jakob. Are you still out at Zook’s place?”
“I was and now I’m heading back there after a slight detour to meet one of Diane’s guests on the empty lot next door.” At the silence in her ear, she filled in the gaps. “The Reillys are in town house hunting. Megan Reilly, the wife, was interested in the development going in behind Harley’s property and wanted my thoughts. Now I’m heading back to my car.”
“Any idea what these signs Isaac was talking about might be?”
“No, I didn’t see anything. Just a herd of very sad cows.”
Jakob’s laugh traveled through the phone and warmed her ear. “Sad cows, eh? Hmmm . . . Spoken like a true city girl.”
“Hey!”
“Hey, yourself,” he joked. “Now, any interest in taking a drive out to Rita Duggan’s house with me? Maybe your presence will make her more comfortable.”
She stopped midway to her car. “You want to take me on an official call? Are you even allowed to do that?”
“Technically it’s not official because I promised Rita it wouldn’t be. I told her I just wanted to stop by and see how things are going after Patrick’s little meltdown last night. Maybe chat with him, too, and see if there’s anything I can do to help. It’s the only way she’d agree to talk, and until I have a reason to question her son in relation to Harley’s murder, I think the unofficial visit is the best way to go.”
