by Emma Miller
“Just a few more questions,” Rachel said. “I had my cousin with me. Mary Aaron. You’d like her. She’s Amish.”
Chuck nodded. “You still think I might have been the one to kill Daniel, don’t you?” The corners of his mouth twisted into a wry smile. “But that doesn’t make any sense. If I’d wanted him dead, it wouldn’t have taken two shots to do the job. I could have taken him out just as easily with a section of wire or my bare hands. I may be crazy, Rachel, but I’m not stupid. And I’ve got ears and cops talk. Two shots tells the police that it was murder. A quick blow to the back of the neck kills him just as fast and doesn’t leave evidence.” He thought for a moment. “And I’d have disposed of the body. Hard to convict for murder when there’s no body.”
Rachel shivered despite her coat. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
He exhaled, sounding frustrated. “I’m telling you that I didn’t do it. I wouldn’t kill a man over a deer or over a piece of land. I’ve got enough blood on my hands.”
Rachel inhaled softly. “Is it true that you caught Rosh Hertzler digging ginseng on your land and threatened to nail his ear to a tree and leave him for the bears?”
Chuck laughed, a deep, rumbling explosion of mirth. “I did. Do you know how rare ginseng is today? How much they sell it for? The state keeps making the season shorter and shorter to try and protect it, but Rosh doesn’t always follow the rules. And he doesn’t respect property lines. I’ve warned him to stay off my mountain. Do you know how long it takes a ginseng patch to get established? I didn’t set the dogs on him. I didn’t lay a finger on him, but I did try to scare the sh—scare the dickens out of him. And since he has two whole ears left, I don’t appear to have done him much damage.”
Rachel tried not to let her amusement show. “So, you didn’t hurt him?”
“Ask him yourself. Boy plays loose with deer and trout season, but I’ve never known him to lie.”
She met his gaze and held it. “Okay, Chuck, so tell me something. And this is what I really want to know because I think you might be one of those people who’s a good judge of character. Who do you think killed Daniel Fisher?”
Chuck shrugged. “Can’t say. I’d be less than truthful if I told you that I was sorry to be rid of him, but I’m not the murderer you’re hunting for.”
“You must have an opinion. You have strong opinions on most subjects.”
He tugged at his beard thoughtfully. “I haven’t given it much thought.”
“If you have any thoughts on it, I’d appreciate it.” She returned the pitchfork to the place where it belonged against the wall. “I’m trying to keep Daniel’s brother-in-law from spending the rest of his life in prison. I don’t believe he’s the guilty one and neither does his family. Don’t you have any ideas of who might have done the shooting? Any thoughts on who I should talk to?”
Chuck sighed. “All I can tell you is that, statistically, when something like this happens, it’s rarely a stranger. Usually, you’ll find that the killer is someone who knew the victim well. Maybe even the person who claimed to discover the body. I’d say you need to look closer to home.”
Who did discover the body? She didn’t know the answer to that. Rosh said it wasn’t him, but what if he had proved Chuck wrong? What if he was a liar? “How do you know that?”
Chuck grinned. “I read a lot. Mostly mysteries.” Then, he turned back to the door and raised the wooden bar. “I brought you something. A present. For your wedding.”
She was genuinely touched. “You brought me a wedding gift?”
“Sort of a cross between an apology and a wedding gift.” He opened the barn door. “I left it on your porch step.”
“Thank you, Chuck,” she said as she followed him out of the barn.
“I hope you like it.” He closed the door. “You might think it’s foolish. It was passed to me from my granny, but I’ve no use for it. If you don’t want it, do with it what you please.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Rachel admitted.. Charles Baker might be a long way from normal, but she believed him when he said he didn’t kill Daniel Fisher. Chuck’s might be a wounded heart and mind, but she was convinced that they were good ones. “I hope that you will let me come back and visit you someday. I like the idea that maybe we could become friends. And I’d like you to meet the man I’m going to marry.”
“Evan Parks? We’ve crossed paths already. He may not be aware of it, but I know him and I approve. You bring him up to the mountain. If it’s a good day, I’ll let you in.”
Rachel looked around. There were no unfamiliar vehicles in the yard. “Did you come on foot?”
Chuck laughed. “No. My truck is parked not far from here. You take care of yourself, Rachel. Don’t be too trusting. The world isn’t as friendly as you think.” He took a few steps into the darkness and then turned back. “And if the zombies come or the bad guys drop nukes on us, you and Evan come find me. I’ve got a shelter built into the heart of the mountain, protected by living rock. I’ve got an endless supply of fresh water and enough provisions to last us until Gabriel blows his horn. You and your husband . . . you’re welcome to join me in my shelter. I can’t promise how, but we’ll survive.”
Tears sprang into Rachel’s eyes, her heart touched by his offer. She didn’t believe in end-of-the-world scenarios, but she knew he did. Which made his offer all the sweeter. “Thank you.” She walked to him and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “I like you, too, Chuck Baker.”
She stood there, then, and watched until his big form melted into the darkness. Not a twig snapped or a leaf rustled. She might have been watching a ghost vanish in the mist.
On the porch step, she found a ten-inch-high pine-needle basket, fashioned in the old Indian style and decorated with dyed porcupine quills. Carefully, she carried the beautiful object inside and placed it on the kitchen table. She lifted the lid and took out a length of soft buckskin. The wrapping contained an exquisite pair of Shawnee beaded and fringed moccasins small enough to fit a toddler. Rachel lifted the tiny shoes and sniffed the soft leather. They’d obviously been sewn with love and had never been worn.
Cradling the little moccasins in her hands, Rachel closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer for the person who’d made them and for the man who’d given them to her. Tears clouded her vision. “No,” she whispered. “No, you didn’t kill Daniel.”
Which led her to what Chuck had said. “It’s rarely a stranger. Look closer to home.”
* * *
Shortly after eleven the following day, Rachel parked her Jeep in the cobblestone drive behind George O’Day’s early-nineteenth-century stone house. When it was built, the O’Day Mansion had been the home of a wealthy merchant. Furnished with period German and Pennsylvania Dutch antiques, the house had always slightly intimidated Rachel. The wide plank floors were cushioned with Turkish and Iranian carpets, and some of the doorknobs were silver. Shelves of first-edition books lined the walls, and a staff had always kept the rooms dusted and the chandeliers polished.
Now, unfortunately, the staff included around-the-clock nurses. Her friend George was fast approaching the final days of his life. Rachel went to the kitchen entrance, crossed the screened porch with its lovely wicker furniture, and knocked at the back door. When there was no answer, she turned the knob and stepped into the dark kitchen. Spacious and equipped with every modern convenience, a stone fireplace, and massive overhead beams, the space was everything that a cook could possibly want without losing the charm and patina of an historical house.
“Ell!” Rachel called. “George! It’s Rachel!”
There was an explosion of high-pitched barking, the squeak of tiny claws on hardwood, and a small white bichon launched herself at Rachel. She bent over and the dog leaped into her arms and began to lick her face. “Yes, hello, Sophie,” Rachel said. She deposited Sophie firmly on the floor and the little dog proceeded to spin in circles and hop on her hind legs.
“Ra
chel.” Ell appeared in the doorway that led to the dining room.
“I hope you don’t mind. I just let myself in,” she said.
Ell smiled and hugged her. “You know there’s an open-door policy for you here. George will be thrilled. It’s been one of his good days.”
“Is he in a lot of pain?” Rachel asked quietly.
Ell shrugged. “He’s very brave. His nurse gave him his meds about a half an hour ago. She just left to pick up a new prescription.”
Ell was all in black, as usual, but instead of a long black dress, she wore black jeans and a black sweater set. Her long crow-black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she’d limited herself to a single nose and eyebrow ring, both in silver. Each delicate ear boasted an array of tiny silver fishhooks and cobwebs, and her only nod to her customary Goth makeup was black eye shadow and liner.
Ell was George’s niece by blood and his daughter of the heart. She may have said that George was having a good day, but Rachel could read the truth in the anguished expression in the young woman’s gaze.
“I haven’t seen you in the bookstore lately,” Rachel said.
Ell nodded. “I decided to take a few weeks off and be with him. We don’t have much time, and . . .” She swallowed as her large, expressive eyes teared up. “I guess we were in denial. The doctors didn’t think his remission would last as long as it did. We had a lot of good time together we hadn’t expected. But it’s still hard.”
Rachel hugged her friend again. “At least he has you.” As Ell stepped back, Rachel noticed the heavy antique ruby ring on her left hand. “Did I miss something?”
Ell’s cheeks colored. “Yes. Will wouldn’t take no for an answer and I finally said yes. George has given us his full approval and a prearranged honeymoon in Venice and Florence. I know that he was hoping he’d be here a few more years. He wanted to see Will and me settled and . . .”
“With a family of your own?” Rachel said. She knew Will Simpson, the town’s new dentist, and liked him wholeheartedly. She couldn’t have thought of a better match for Ell if she’d planned it herself.
“George has been trying to have us set a date for the wedding, but I . . .”
“You aren’t ready yet.” Rachel nodded. “I understand. Marriage is not anything to rush into.”
“It’s not. I want to be certain before I take my vows.” She shrugged. “I mean, I know that Will is the right man. But is it wrong to just enjoy being engaged for a while?” She met Rachel’s gaze. “You don’t think I’m being selfish?”
“I think you’re being sensible. If Will really loves you, he isn’t going anywhere, and you’re young yet. Marriage should be forever.”
“That’s what I think. You know Will was raised Mennonite.” She smiled shyly. “We’ve been attending the reformed Mennonite church in Belleville. That might be a good fit for us.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “No one has even remarked on my black dresses.”
“The important thing is whether you feel it’s right for you.” Rachel glanced into the dining room with its old Kirman carpet and the massive German furniture. “You set up a hospital bed for George downstairs?”
“Yes, in the big parlor. We made room by moving out the baby grand. You know George can’t be far from his books. He’s been hoping you’d stop by and wondering why you hadn’t.”
“I’m sorry.” Rachel felt a wave of guilt that she hadn’t been to see him in the last three weeks. “All of a sudden the wedding is almost here.”
“A week from today.” Ell clasped her hands.
“I’ve also been asking questions about the Fisher shooting.”
“It’s all anyone is talking about at the bookstore. You go on in to George. You know the way.” Ell stepped back to let her pass. “I need to take Sophie out. She’s not as young as she used to be and if you don’t take her out . . .” She chuckled. “But I don’t have to tell you. You’ve had her as a house guest.”
Rachel moved through the dining room and wide center hall. She paused at the half-open parlor door. “George,” she called softly. “Are you awake?”
“Awake? Of course I’m awake. Get in here, girl. I can’t believe it took you this long.”
Rachel took a deep breath and stepped into the grand parlor. It was much as she remembered it with the rows of leather-bound books, the marble fireplace, and silver candlesticks. The hospital bed dominated one corner of the room, complete with IV poles and a heart monitor. George was propped up into a semi-sitting position, a stack of books spilling across his lap and a laptop on the desk beside the bed.
“Get over here and give me a hug,” George insisted.
“Love the hat,” Rachel said. A knit seaman’s cap covered the scars on his bald head, but nothing could hide the ravages of the disease.
George, being George, was wearing colorful striped silk pajamas and a man’s vintage silk smoking jacket in silvery gray. A small tube delivered oxygen to his nose, and an IV line ran directly into his left arm. He’d lost even more weight since she’d last been here, and the bones stood out on his face, wrists, and hands. Hugging him was like embracing a scarecrow.
“Not a pretty sight, am I?” he asked.
“Your color’s good.”
“Good for what? A ghost?” George laughed. “No need to pretend with me, my girl. I won’t let Ell do it, and I’m not about to let you get away with it. I’m dying, plain and simple.” He clasped her hand. “Now, that’s out of the way. What can I do for you? How can I help? I know you’re playing detective again.” He patted the bed. “Here, sit here beside me. The nurse is out and I’ve given the staff the day off. Just me and Ell and Sophie.”
“You know I’ve been praying for you,” she said as she sat on the edge of the bed.
“You don’t need to tell me that. And you know well enough that I need all the prayers I can get. But the Lord in His mercy gave me time with Ell, something I never thought to have. She’ll do wonders with the bookstore and the other businesses, and she’s found herself a capital young man. He’ll keep those shiny teeth as white as snow.” George chuckled at his own joke, coughed, and then brought a tissue to his mouth. “You know what I’ve done and you know I’ll have to answer for it, but I still give thanks for His blessings. I’ve had far more happiness in these last years than I deserve.”
“Ell is a wonderful young woman,” Rachel agreed. “And she has your brains.”
“And a bigger heart than mine.” George coughed again and when he spoke again, his voice was strained. “We don’t have much time before the cancer rears its head and bites.” He tapped his head. “Not up here. No pain here”—he touched his midsection—“but it’s spread to my bones and that can be a bit much. So, ask what you came to ask and see if I can do something to help.”
Rachel nodded and took his hand in hers. His skin was cool to the touch and his fingers so frail. Her heart sank. George had his faults, but he’d been a good friend to her and it wasn’t her place to judge him. “You’re not to worry about Sophie,” she said. “I’d like to take her when the time comes. If you’ll let me.”
A tear spilled down George’s sunken cheek. His complexion was the shade of cornstarch and his eyes were sunk back into his head. “I’d like that,” he said. “Ell will protest, but you know she prefers her cats. Sophie will be happier with you at Stone Mill House. After all, she is a part owner there.”
“Yes,” Rachel agreed. “She is.”
“Good.” George’s voice came back stronger. “I’ll tell Ell that Sophie is to come with you and no arguments.” He waved toward a pitcher of ice water. “Would you pour me a glass? I’ll need a straw.”
Rachel’s hand trembled as she poured the water and held it for George to sip.
“That’s enough,” he said, coughing again. “That’s my drink of choice now. Those nurses are always trying to get me to drink energy shakes and that nasty stuff in the cans, but I’m not hungry anymore and I’m putting my foot down. No feeding tubes. Now, what ca
n I tell you that you haven’t figured out for yourself about this murder?”
“Moses has confessed. Moses Studer is—”
“Yes, yes,” George said impatiently. “I know who the Studers are, and I know about Moses’s condition. Whatever gossip the housekeeper doesn’t bring me, Ell or one of the nurses hears in town. You’re thinking Moses is innocent?”
Rachel smiled. “Yes, that’s about it.”
“And you’ve tracked down that crazy Indian who lives on the mountain who Daniel was arguing with?”
“I have,” she agreed. “But I don’t think he shot Daniel Fisher, either.” She looked down at him. “I feel as if I’m going around and around in circles and getting nowhere. I was wondering if you had any thoughts on the matter.”
George gripped her hand with surprising strength. “To find the killer, you need to find the motive. Why do people kill? If they aren’t insane, they need a good reason. It’s not easy to kill another human, and I’d be in a position to tell you that. It goes against the grain. So what would be a good enough reason to do such a thing?”
“Some people kill for money,” she ventured.
“True, but this isn’t the case, is it? With Daniel Fisher dead, the farm stays with Alma Studer and her children, but it never really left their hands. And that’s a poor hill farm, not really worth a lot of bother.”
“So we can say Daniel wasn’t murdered for gain.”
George winked at her. “My thoughts exactly. Not for gain. So what’s left? Passion? I do hear that that neighbor boy is very attentive to the young widow. I suspect that he’d set his heart on her a long time before Daniel came along and married her. Rosh could have killed Daniel to get rid of him and give him a chance with the girl.”
“Possibly,” she agreed. “And people sometimes kill to protect someone else.”