by Karen Harper
He drained his coffee cup. Josh was amazed the man could drink coffee that hot straight down.
Staring at Josh again, the sheriff continued, “Her head hitting the lowest rung clears up any worries about your flashlight being involved. That brings up another problem for me, though.”
“Sheriff, if you can take fingerprints off the wood of that rung, of course my fingerprints would be on it, but yours would be, too.”
“I’m not talking about that. That rung had traces of her blood on it.”
“Blood? I didn’t see any blood on it. Did you? We both handled it.”
“Nope, but that’s why I have the BCI forensic guys involved. Under a powerful microscope, the blood—a match to her blood—showed up on that rung. Now, here’s the kicker, Josh,” he said, leaning closer, elbows on his knees, his empty cup dangling in his big hands. “You and I didn’t see any blood on it—and I got scolded for how carelessly we’d handled that piece of evidence—because the traces were in the grain and cracks of the wood. Someone had tried to wipe wet blood from that rung and drove it into the crevices, and since I don’t think it was the victim—yeah, the victim—I think we still got us a case of possible murder. And if Sandra Myerson was murdered by a blow to the head, or being shoved out of the loft headfirst, maybe more than an icy cold gate caused Victoria Keller’s death, too.”
“But nothing links those women!” Josh protested, realizing he was getting loud again, angry, feeling trapped.
“Other than they were both on your property, got to agree with that. For now, at least.”
Trying to keep calm, Josh told him, “But there were no other footsteps in the snow, like someone had been following Victoria.”
“True, but the falling snow and strong wind could have obscured some of that. However, we do have Lydia’s footprints coming up behind her and then a lot of yours when you went out to help. So anyway, the coroner’s ruling is accidental death—again, just like Victoria’s. But I gotta admit, I’m not willing to let it go, and if you cared for Sandra, which your mutual friends in Columbus say you did, you won’t let it go, either. You’ll help me find the truth.”
You’ll help me find the truth. The sheriff’s parting words rang in his ears. But he was terrified the sheriff’s version of the truth could still be focused on him.
* * *
Lydia knew she’d have to tread carefully to find the truth about Gid. She already knew he’d been walking around the outside of her house. He had been in her barn. He coveted this business and perhaps wanted her as his ticket to owning it in the future. But could all that have anything to do with Sandra’s death? Since she seemed to have talked to so many people, could she have talked to Gid, maybe let on she was investigating whether Lydia’s parents really were her parents, so he’d wanted to shut her up? After all, if Lydia was not the true heir, how would Gid solidify his future claim to the store? She knew he wanted to own, not just manage it for Lydia if she married someone else.
One of their young shop apprentices, Amos Getz, was in the horse shed at the store and took care of unhitching Flower for her, so she hurried inside. It took her a while to get through the shop, where she announced Daad’s good progress and accepted the well wishes and promises of more prayers from everyone.
To give herself some time to get her courage up before facing Gid, she went directly to her father’s office. She was both annoyed and panicked to see Gid sitting behind Daad’s desk.
“Oh, Gid. Why aren’t you in your own office? Can’t you run things from there?”
“Lydia! I didn’t know you would make it in today,” he cried, popping up and coming around the desk. “I’ve been back and forth—needed some things he had here.”
She stood her ground, one hand on the door, barely outside it, hoping that barrier and her sticking to the public hall would keep him from hugging her.
“He’s doing as well as can be expected,” she told him, not budging, so he stopped a few feet from her. “He’s talking. I’m still not sure when they’ll release him.”
“And your mother’s staying with him?”
No way was she going to let this man know she might be alone again tonight. “That’s not decided,” she lied. “Ray-Lynn’s coming over tonight.” That, at least, was true, Lydia thought as she walked past him and sat in her father’s big chair herself. The sheriff was coming to look at the things disturbed in her house, and Ray-Lynn said she’d come, too.
“Oh, good,” he said, but he didn’t sound sincere. Yet that might just be because most Amish did not have close Englische friends, and certainly not the sheriff’s wife. “But, aren’t you going to the front desk where you can keep an eye on the store? I have everything under control here.”
“I’ll help Naomi on the desk when I can, but, of course, while my father’s away, I’ll be keeping an eye on things in his office also.”
“When he talked to you at the hospital, he suggested that?”
“He expects me to report in to him—about everything.”
She leveled the calmest, coldest look she could at him. He almost flinched. He did seem especially nervous, didn’t he?
“We’ll have to work together more closely than ever,” was all he said. “Now, I’ve got things to do.”
She breathed a huge sigh when he walked out. She looked down at the file drawer open in the desk. If he’d come in here for something, why did he just walk away without it now?
She leaned closer to look at the file he’d partly pulled out. Accounts payable—nothing unusual there. But she noticed another desk drawer was also ajar and pulled it open. She gasped. A kind of junk drawer, though one neatly arranged. But something stood out. Amidst the tidy compartments of paper clips, stamps, pens and business cards, Daad’s chain with his keys—for the store and the house—had been hastily dropped or thrown here, and hardly in its proper place, an empty section of this big, clear plastic organizer. Had Gid been looking for these, or was he putting them back?
Lydia carried the keys when she went out into the store, jingling them to make sure that Gid saw she had them as she passed him chatting with a salesman. She had no intention of letting this chain out of her sight any more than the key from the barn that she had hidden in the top of her stocking.
* * *
Lydia had just finished talking to Naomi about any problems she’d had at the front desk. And, even without Gid’s consent, she’d promised her a small raise for running the front desk without Lydia until Daad returned.
She also had subtly learned that Isaac Gerber, one of the men who had helped Gid drive the Brand buggies back to their barn, and who had eyes for Naomi, had said that before Gid drove the three men back here in his buggy, he had returned to the barn alone and then walked around the house, looking in windows to check that everything was all right.
Lydia was planning to personally thank—and carefully quiz—all three men who had accompanied Gid by driving a Brand buggy that day. But as she worked her way toward the back of the store, she heard the front door open and a familiar voice.
Bess Stark was here.
“I see the sign on the front door about customers only.” She was evidently talking to Naomi. “But for a place of business that’s discriminatory at best, illegal at worst.”
Naomi’s voice. “It was just to keep the media people out, then we forgot to take it down.”
“Much as we’d all love to keep them away, freedom of speech and all that, my girl. Freedom of religion, too, that’s the best part for your people. But I think you’d better take that sign off the door. Oh, Lydia, there you are! I’m so sorry to hear the latest. And if that sign is company policy and you intend to toss me out, I came in to buy a gun-rack cabinet for Connor for Christmas.”
The entire place seemed to be brighter with Bess here. Although Lydia saw Gid heading toward them, she indicated Bess should come with her and took her around the other way.
“I came in the back and forgot Gid had put that sign up,” Lydia t
old Bess as Naomi scurried toward the front door. “Thanks for sending Connor over to check on me. Let me show you the cabinets you’re interested in.”
“But let’s talk first things first. How is your father? Connor said a heart attack but improving?”
“Ya,” she told her friend as they walked toward the back of the store, winding their way through the larger dining room pieces and kitchen cabinets. “The doctor put in a stent and is changing his medications, I think. Mamm’s staying with him. I got the idea he’ll be released fairly soon but will need a lot of downtime.”
“Ah, downtime. What’s that, right? I’ll bet you’ll be especially busy here now. Any time left to work with Josh’s animals—and the male animal?”
Bess’s eyes seemed to twinkle. For the first time in days, Lydia smiled. “I’m helping him as best I can, especially when he goes out with a menagerie for a Christmas pageant. We’re helping Ray-Lynn Freeman put on her church’s living crèche scene next week. It will kind of, as Ray-Lynn says, kick off the Home Valley holiday season, though your trees have set the mood, too.”
“Well, maybe not the entire mood, as your people’s dedication to your faith means much more than festive decorations. I admire that—need that,” Bess added under her breath as they stopped in the back corner where the three styles of gun cabinets were displayed.
Before Lydia could talk about the cabinets, Bess said, “We always have to worry about our loved ones, don’t we?” Evidently not expecting an answer, she rushed on, “Poor Connor’s been so strung out with juggling the tree farm, mayoral duties and problems with his boys acting up because they’re used to his being home more. He’s not sleeping, worried about some of the trees dropping needles early.”
Oh, ya, Lydia thought, rolling her eyes. Bess obviously hadn’t walked out to look at those trees herself. Lydia figured he’d been spraying bad trees and was scared he’d get caught, by his mother or customers. Lydia could just see the headline in the papers, Son of Senator Stark Caught Covering up Sick Trees, or something shameful like that. Lydia was almost tempted to tell Bess about seeing Connor doing exactly that, but she didn’t want to be a telltale or to get Connor upset with her. He’d been touchy over the years, and she didn’t need that again with everything else going on.
“Well, maybe a nice gift like this will cheer him up,” Lydia said. “As you can see, two of these walnut pieces have glassed-in fronts which can be locked. We always like to stress safety, especially if there are little ones in the house like your twin grandsons.”
“Believe me I appreciate that. Gun safety and gun control are big issues these days.”
“So, about how many hunting rifles will Connor want to store? These racks, as you see, have places for eight locked up.”
“That will surely do it. I’d shoot Connor myself if I didn’t know he kept his considerable arsenal unloaded and under lock and key.”
Under lock and key... The words revolved in Lydia’s brain as she showed Bess the lower part of the cabinet, the fine workmanship, even the price, at which she didn’t blink an eye. Connor could be her family’s enemy—say he wanted to drive them off their adjoining property so he could expand his holding for trees more easily. He was now in partnership with Gid, at least on a small financial scale.
It was news to her that Connor had a gun collection. She’d known he’d loved to hunt, was good with a rifle, of course. Years ago she could recall him banging away at tin cans somewhere on the Stark acreage. Lately, he’d complained that deer were eating some of his seedlings, so he’d no doubt shoot them. But was he also good with locks and keys? Maybe she was wrong that Gid had to be the intruder.
“I said I’ll take the large one. Lydia, are you listening? Are you certain you’re all right?”
“Oh, sorry. Just exhausted. Thinking too much.”
“Thinking too much can be bad, and I know it. Would you believe I have pressure not only to run for governor, which I may do, but to consider a later run for a much higher office? Isn’t that all I need on top of all my other stress? Now, I’m trusting you not to tell anyone, especially your friend Ray-Lynn, I said that.”
“I won’t. But I think you’d be great at whatever you do, and I also think the cat’s out of the bag on that, too.”
“What do you mean?” she asked as they walked back toward the front desk and cash register.
“Just that two of your worldly funeral guests were whispering the same thing, two of the men.”
“Aha. Good ears and a retentive mind. I ought to hire you to keep me informed, my girl,” she said with a tight smile, and gave Lydia one of those one-armed hugs again. Lydia liked the nickname “my girl,” but then she’d heard Bess had called Naomi that, too. She silently scolded herself for selfishly wanting Bess to be her special friend. Bess might sometimes live next door, but surely they were really worlds apart.
20
“All right now, Lydia,” Sheriff Freeman said, “you just take me and Ray-Lynn through the house the way you saw things. I’ve got a flashlight here in case something needs a good look, but you go ahead and lead the way with your single lantern.”
He had checked the basement and attic. On the first floor, he’d found no indication someone had broken in. Lydia first showed them the inside of the generator-operated refrigerator, though Mamm would have a tizzy if she knew she was letting strangers, especially worldly ones, peer inside. The Freemans both bent down to take a look.
“Things are just not the way my mother would leave them—kind of disturbed,” Lydia explained, pointing. “The honey jar, which she never would have put here, was out of its place in the cupboard and right there where the honey smears are. At first, I just figured she was in a rush.”
“You asked her about any of this yet?” the sheriff said.
“No. I thought she had enough to cope with since Daad was so ill. This will really worry him, too. And it will out-and-out panic her.”
“But, I’ll bet,” Ray-Lynn put in, “not as much as when you tell her about your search for information on your birth parents.”
“Every time I get close to telling both of them about that, something worse happens,” Lydia said. “And now with Daad’s heart attack my mother would have a heart attack of a different kind.”
“Ray-Lynn and Lydia, let’s just stick to the here and now,” the sheriff said.
Lydia saw Ray-Lynn roll her eyes, but she didn’t say another word as Lydia showed them where she’d put the honey jar.
“No!” he said when she reached for it. “If worse comes to worst, I can get that fingerprinted, but I’d have to print you and your mother to eliminate yours. Just leave it there for now. It’s pretty sticky.”
“That’s because the intruder poured honey in my bed. The intruder went into the bathroom first, so I’ll show you that.”
She held the lantern high as they followed her upstairs. She just bet they were thinking the Amish were off their beans to live by lantern light. She showed them the shower—Mamm would have a tizzy over that, too—although the water splashes were now dried, so she had to describe the wet tub and tiles as well as the closed shower curtain. Then she took them into her bedroom. Ray-Lynn gasped when she saw the bed.
“Well, truth is,” Lydia told them, “I ripped the covers down to see if there was a note or something like that, but it was a mess before I touched it. Like someone rolled around in it. Water from someone’s body—or sweat—plus honey. Weird, isn’t it?”
“It’s got to be a man,” Ray-Lynn whispered.
Lydia thought the sheriff would scold her for talking, but he only nodded.
“All I know,” Lydia said, her voice shaky again, “is it’s someone who must have used a key to get in—and I think I have the extras now, the one hanging in the barn and the one from Daad’s office at the store.”
“Which means it could be someone who had access to his office,” the sheriff said. “Gid Reich, your come-calling friend?”
“He really isn’t any
more.”
“And not too happy about that, I’ll bet.” The sheriff was silent a moment. “But that extra key hanging in a typically unlocked Amish barn... Who else might be sweet on you?”
“Sweet on me? You mean the honey connection? Isn’t this someone who hates me?”
“Maybe. The fact the person rolled around in your bed, took a shower—all that’s kind of sexual innuendo or threat.”
Lydia didn’t know what innuendo meant but she already saw this as a personal threat. She couldn’t wait for her parents to get back home so she wouldn’t be alone here. And the idea of sexual anything—that eliminated Connor, didn’t it? Leo Lowe—she wouldn’t put anything past him. But she sure hoped the honey, the shower, the bed didn’t make the sheriff think Josh could be a suspect, too!
* * *
Lydia made the three of them coffee and served thick slices of Mamm’s bread with apple butter. She, too, felt she’d been hit on the head when the sheriff told her how Sandra’s skull was crushed in back—just as Victoria Keller’s had been.
“If the rung fits her head wound,” Lydia said, “her skull hitting the ladder must be what killed her. Then it was an accidental death for Sandra as well as Victoria. Sandra may have stirred up a beehive around here—well, I shouldn’t put it that way because of the honey—but I never believed someone would kill her for that.”
The sheriff asked, “You got any ideas on who the intruder over at Josh’s could have been?”
“Maybe the same one as here, you mean? Leo Lowe would be my first guess. And you said he wasn’t home when you went to question him, and that’s when someone was in this house.”
“Are you going to be all right staying here alone tonight?” Ray-Lynn asked. “You can come home with us and sleep in our guest bedroom, and then I can go to the hospital from there. You need a good night’s sleep.”
“I really feel I should stay here, Ray-Lynn. But I thank you both so much. I’m hoping my parents will get home soon, and we can all rest easy again. I’ll probably sleep downstairs on the sofa again and wedge chairs under all the outside doorknobs, too.”