Drizzle of Death

by CeeCee James

  I tried again. “I was hoping to find Mary here, as well.”

  Rebekah ducked her head tighter against the side of the cow. We waited that way for a few minutes, the steady hiss, hiss, hitting the metal bucket. I wondered if she would ever answer. Finally, she stared meekly at me and gave me a slight shake of her head.

  With the drawn lines on her face and dark circles under her eyes, I assumed she was answering my unasked question on if she knew where her daughter was. She stood then and drew her skirt to the side to see the stool. Picking it up, she said in a matter-of-fact tone, “I have some news. We’ve had someone come forward.”

  I frowned but said nothing. Rebekah set the stool against a wall and grabbed the bucket of milk.

  “This way,” she nodded.

  Together, we walked out the side door. Frank saw us and straightened from where he’d been leaning against the wall, but he didn’t follow. We walked to another barn, a white one with large windows.

  “This morning Elder Yoder let us know that Brother Matthew had confessed to harming Jacob. He had wished Jacob unwell and got into a confrontation in the wheelhouse. Apparently, Brother Matthew was angry with Jacob since Jacob had met an English girl at Rumspringa.”

  I bit my cheek as I tried to process this new information. “Are you saying Matthew killed Jacob by pushing him down the stairs?” This was the first time Jacob’s death was being presented as something other than a drunken accident.

  “We are not privy to that information.”

  What was this? “So Matthew may not have actually killed Jacob?”

  Her voice was monotone. “That’s between him and the bishop. What we do know is that he’s been shunned for a few months and the bishop will be discussing the issue with some of the nearby communities on what should be done beyond that.” Rebekah slowed her steps and made her words even more deliberate. “The community is satisfied because it means the issue is over.” She gave me a side-eye, and suddenly I was under the impression she was wondering if I was buying what she was selling.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

  She jolted forward and the pail jogged against her leg, sloshing milk up the sides of the pail. “Elder Yoder expressed to me that, should I see you again, I needed to inform you.” Her chest shook with a breath. “And then I’m not to speak with you again.”

  I froze in my steps. “But what about Mary? Where is she?”

  Her eyes welled with tears and her lips pressed together. “I must go,” she whispered and disappeared into the white barn.

  I stood outside the doors, unsure of what to do. I spun to look for Frank, breathing in relief when I saw him by an apple tree.

  “Well,” he asked, toothpick clenched between his teeth. “What did you learn?”

  Bitterness flowed through me. “I learned that people can get away with murder by being protected with antiquated laws.”

  Chapter 10

  Frank walked with me to my van and opened the door. I raised an eyebrow, not sure if he was being chivalrous or if he was assuring himself that I’d leave the premises without getting into any more trouble.

  “I’m sorry, Georgie,” he said. And he did look sorry, with his mouth turned down and that cute wrinkle he got in his forehead when he was sad. He leaned in to kiss me, but afterwards, his eyes were serious as he pulled away. “Listen, you need to leave this alone now. All we have, at best, is a boy who fell down the stairs and died of his injuries. At this point, the Gainesville police department isn’t going to get involved. And that confession is useless. Holding ill-feelings against someone doesn’t exactly hold a lot of water with the sheriff’s department.” He sighed. “I know you’re convinced something else happened, but it’s time to get back to your own life. Maybe help Oscar some more. You know that old man always has something around his house that needs to be fixed.”

  I rolled my eyes but managed to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “Thanks for your help, Frank.”

  He grunted. “Well, that’s just great. You’re using your extra polite voice with me. Means you’re super angry.”

  “I’m irritated,” I confessed.

  “Listen, I get that this feels personal—”

  “It is personal!” I interrupted. “I found the boy before he was dead. And a girl who was desperate for my help has gone missing.”

  “Hold up. Let’s get back to the facts. Do you know for sure the girl is still missing?”

  “Well, I—yes.”

  “How? Did you talk to her mother?”

  I thought of Rebekah and felt uncomfortable. “Yes.”

  “And she said the girl is missing?”

  The creeping feeling grew. “Not in those exact words.”

  “Not in those exact words? What exact words did she use?”

  I clenched the steering wheel as the irritating feeling grew. “Her…eyes,” I reluctantly answered.

  He sighed. “Georgie, did you even ask her?”

  “I did, and she didn’t answer. She was too scared. She told me about Matthew.”

  “And that’s the one she said was confessing to unkind thoughts?” Frank groaned and covered his face with one enormous hand like he used to do as a kid when exasperated. His palm muffled his words, but I still heard, “Like I said. There’s nothing here. I can’t go to my chief with your intuition.”

  “Frank Wagner,” I shouted. “How dare you make it seem like my gut feeling is something to be made fun of!”

  He held his hands up in defense. “Now, hold your horses. I never said I didn’t believe it. I’m saying what it would sound like to the chief if I pushed to continue the investigation.”

  My irritation had grown to the point I was now shaking. I was so mad. Trying to keep my words reigned tight, I gritted out, “I’ll talk with you, later.”

  He stepped back from the van. “Remember you need to—” I shut the door, cutting him off. I needed to get out of there.

  Frank gave me a look, and I mouthed “Sorry,” knowing how Frank liked to get in the last word. But if I talked to him now I wasn’t so sure how that conversation was going to end. I needed a minute to calm down.

  He backed away and waved, and I nodded in response before glancing over my shoulder and throwing the van in reverse. Okay. Breathe.

  Despite how Frank made it sound, I had seen Rebekah’s eyes. They were filled with fear. Those weren’t the eyes of a mother who knew where her young daughter was. They were the eyes of someone being threatened.

  Was Mary being held captive? Why threaten Rebekah? I remember Rebekah saying she was instructed to tell me that someone had confessed. How did Elder Yoder know I’d be back, and why would he want me to drop it?

  After today’s reception, I wasn’t so sure I would be welcome at the Amish village. I needed to think of another way to keep investigating.

  I thought back to the kid on the bus. He’d said that his brother had Jacob as a roommate. What was his name again? I’d gotten the kid’s last name from Kari and texted it to myself so I wouldn’t forget. At the stop sign, I checked my messages. Immediately, a notification showed up from Frank, probably lecturing me some more. I ignored it and went to the one I’d sent myself.

  Dylan Weston. I typed the name into the search engine and came up with a physical address. I smiled grimly at the, “And, for just 2.99 more, you can access his phone number!” and plugged the address into my GPS.

  Twenty minutes later, I was driving in the outskirts of the next town over, searching through the apartment’s complicated parking lot for a building V. The complex place was huge and every parking spot filled, even the ones reserved for guests. Finally, I found it and, after checking the address again, confirmed he lived in apartment 211. I skirted around the building, hunting for 211.

  There it is. I shifted the van into park behind some cars already filling the stalls. My van was blocking part of the parking lot but there was nothing I could do. Other cars would just have to go around me.

  There we
re two doors on each landing, with 211 being on the second floor. I ran up the flights of stair and knocked on the door.

  Children’s laughter rang through the parking lot from across the complex. A dog barked and a car revved up. But there was no noise behind the closed apartment door.

  I knocked again, harder this time.

  This time I got a response, but not what I was expecting. The second door on the landing opened up, with a sleepy-looking woman stumbling out to lean against the frame.

  “You looking for Dylan?” she asked. Mascara smeared under her eyes.

  “Yeah. You know where he is?”

  “Probably at work. Down at the Cash and Carry.” With that, she ducked back inside, and the door slammed shut.

  Chapter 11

  I drove through the Vanilla Bean espresso stand, needing a pick-me-up as I tried to decide how weird it would be for me to corner Dylan at the grocery store. I rolled down my window to make my order but it only took two rotations to realize it was stuck. Old Bella was at it again. I was half-laughing as I was forced to open the door, making the barista blink. Without giving an explanation, I ordered, paid, and accepted the steaming cup with much gratitude.

  I sipped my espresso, feeling a headache in the back of my eyes. I rolled my neck as ideas tumbled in my head. Honestly, I didn’t have the slightest clue as to what I would say to Dylan.

  Still, the insecurity didn’t stop me, and a few minutes later, I was turning into Cash and Carry parking lot. I studied the building, watching shoppers go in and out. Finally, after one more swig of the coffee, I got out. Words worked through my brain as I practiced my introduction to Dylan while I walked through the parking lot and into the store.

  My attention was caught when I entered by a series of pictures inside the doorway. In a row above pinned homemade advertisements for babysitting and yard work were the employee pictures. February’s employee of the month was a teenage girl with a thin-lipped grin that made me suspect she was hiding braces behind that smile. In the center of the row, with two chins and a very tight collar, was the smiling face of the owner. My blood nearly ran cold when I realized I’d seen him before. He was the one outside Kari’s car the day I met Rebekah.

  Mr. Murray.

  I silently groaned and nearly left, my courage draining away like water through a hose. I definitely wasn’t looking forward to seeing him again. But, with a deep breath and a straightened spine, I finally forced myself toward the check stands and looked for the manager. Not seeing one, I went up to one of the checkers.

  “Excuse me,” I said when I’d caught her attention. “You think you could call the manager for me?”

  She nodded, dragging a package of refrigerated cookie dough over the scanner with a beep. “Just one second, ma’am.”

  I moved a few feet from the stand in an attempt to give the customer she was helping some privacy. The checker reached for the phone while waiting for the customer to slide her card.

  Her voice carried over the store, calling the manager to the front. I pointed to the flower arrangements to show her where I’d be waiting.

  Several minutes later, a man wearing a red vest strode toward the checker where she jerked her thumb in my direction. His gaze followed and I lifted my hand. He flashed me a smile, the kind that I myself was an expert at giving when it came to helping the bed and breakfast customers, and headed over.

  “How can I help you?” he asked when he reached me. His hand smoothed over the top of his head, highlighting how the hair was receding but still long in the back.

  “I’m looking for a young man named Dylan. I heard he works here?”

  “Dylan Weston? Yeah, I know him. He left about three weeks ago with that Amish kid he convinced me to give a job to.” He shook his head. “It’s always bad news to hire an employee’s friend. Lesson learned.”

  “Oh, Was his friend’s name Jacob Dienner?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes squinted in suspicion. “I thought you wanted to know about Dylan?”

  “Well, both, actually. Just trying to track down some job references.” I hedged with the job reference part.

  “That Jacob kid was polite, a quick worker. I remember him buying a set of kid paints, you know those watercolor sets we have on aisle three? I thought it was a funny thing for someone his age to get, but he said it was for a kid he knew back in his village. Then he put his finger over his mouth like it was hush-hush.” The manager laughed. “I guess those things are frowned on there. Anyway, there was one incident though.” His brow creased. “Something with the owner.”

  “Can I ask what happened?”

  He shrugged. “You’d have to ask him.”

  I thanked him for his time and started for the front doors. On my way out, I studied Mr. Murray’s picture again.

  This was getting more and more curious. Both boys quit their jobs at the same time. And then there was the incident with the owner. I didn’t know if it was the accident with the tractor or if the manager was referring to something else, but I was on my way to find out.

  A few minutes later, I was back on the road and headed toward the Murray’s farm. I was beyond nervous and, being so close to my destination, I barely had time to get my thoughts organized before I was pulling down the long driveway. I swallowed hard, my nerves getting to me. My imagination brought up his angry face and tried to convince me there could be nearly anything at the other end of the driveway, including a haunted barn filled with hanging scythes. I shook it off and gripped the steering wheel tighter.

  It turned out to be a beautiful house. The home sported a fresh coat of white paint and the quintessential red silo could be seen in the back. Several well-pruned trees and shrubs decorated the yard with the fence cutting off to the right and making a loop around the back to connect at the front of the yard again. The rest of the vast property disappeared in rolling hills that were dotted green with new spring season life.

  I parked the van and got out, trying to keep calm as I walked up the steps to the front door. I wiped my hands on my pants and knocked. As I waited, I tried not to appear like I was peeking through one of the door’s many glass panes. There was no answer. I was about to knock a second time when I finally heard the approaching steps. Coming toward me was the older, heavy-set gentleman, the same one I’d met earlier under a less than satisfactory situation. Today, he was wearing blue jeans and a light blue shirt, with a shock of white hair sticking out from under a straw hat.

  If I hadn’t seen him before, I’d have pegged him as unassuming and even a bit adorable in an old farmer guy way, and not at all the business mogul of a big grocery store.

  He opened the door. “Can I help you?”

  I smiled. “Hello. My name’s Georgie. I was wondering if you had a few minutes this morning?”

  “What about?” He was suspicious but not rude.

  “I’m trying to do some research on the Amish, for a tour that I do for the Baker Street Bed and Breakfast. I have a couple questions.”

  His brow rumpled and he stared at me harder. “Wait a minute. I know you. You’re that lady looking for a dead animal on my property. What are you doing back here?”

  Chapter 12

  His statement was exactly what I’d feared. I swallowed hard. “Well, you see—”

  Mr. Murray scowled. But popping up behind him was a woman. Her eyes were anxious but her face was kind.

  “Let her in, Jerry” she scolded her husband. “That’s not how we treat visitors around here.”

  He moved back from the door, grumbling.

  “Come in, please.” The woman opened the door fully. A light breeze swept past and ruffled a few wisps of gray hair that had escaped her long braid. “Now what was it you were saying? You do a tour for that bed and breakfast? Cecelia Wagner owns that, doesn’t she?”

  I nodded as gratefulness flushed warmth through my chest. “Yes. Exactly.”

  “Oh, I go to church with her. Would you like some lemonade? I make it myself.”

 
“Absolutely, I would,” I accepted and walked in.

  The entryway was cozy, with exposed beams contrasting against the white paint of the ceiling. A warm cinnamon scent filled my nose.

  “We don’t have many visitors now-a-days. Not since the kids moved,” Mrs. Murray continued.

  “Oh really? Where did your kids move to?” I asked.

  “One’s down in Texas doing ranching. The other moved clear out to Washington state to work at Boeing.”

  “Aww, that must be hard having them so far away.”

  Mrs. Murray led me through the house, with Mr. Murray shambling behind us. I was a little concerned of what he thought of me but he grabbed the glasses from the cupboard while his wife fetched the pitcher of lemonade from the fridge. The décor was all hardwood, hunting trophies, and plaid, very clean and well kept.

  She led us through a pair of French doors that opened out onto the back porch. Mr. Murray set the glasses on a wooden picnic table, took the pitcher from his wife, and poured the lemonade.

  I waited as both Murrays took seats across from my own and then took a sip. “Very good. And what a beautiful table!”

  Mr. Murray seemed more relaxed. He rubbed his hand along the wood. “I got this picnic table from the Amish. In fact, they help me a lot around here.”

  Mrs. Murray nodded in agreement.

  Her husband continued. “The old barn was in awful shape when my sons went away to college, so they helped me repair that. And, every year, a few of the young men come over and help with the fields in exchange for some of the crops. Honestly, I couldn’t ask for better neighbors.”

  I smiled. I had painted a very wrong picture of the old man and was beginning to feel like a horrible person for even thinking such a thing.

  “So how can we help you?” Mrs. Murray asked, folding her hands neatly before her.

  “Well, I’m trying to get more educated about their Rumspringa. Where they leave for the real world for a season? I heard you recently had an Amish employee during his Rumspringa. Could you tell me what that was like?”