“But I want to talk to you now.”
“I know you do, but I’m at a friend’s house and can’t talk.”
She paused. “A friend’s house. What friend?”
“Becky.”
“The Amish girl?” Her voice had lost some of its sadness. “You are at an Amish house?”
“Yes.”
“What’s it like?”
“Just like a normal house, I guess, without the TV or hairdryer.”
“Who cares about that? Is her brother, the hot buggy boy, there too?”
I turned my back to Timothy. “Don’t call him that,” I half whispered. “Yes, he’s here.”
She whooped a little. “You must tell me everything when you get home. Thinking about your love life will cheer me up.”
“I don’t have one.”
“You will.” Some of her typical Tanisha spunk had returned.
I ended the call and returned to the house. “I’m so sorry to interrupt the meal like that, Timothy.”
“Don’t worry. We were almost finished anyway. My mother is cleaning up now.” Timothy stood by the steps. “Is something wrong?”
“My best friend’s fiancé broke up with her. She needed someone to talk to.”
He frowned. “Your friend is in Italy.”
I nodded. “And her fiancé—ex-fiancé—is in Florida. That’s the problem, or at least the problem Cole—that’s his name—sees.”
“It must be hard for him with her being so far away.”
My face tightened again. He wasn’t supposed to defend Cole. No one should. In my mind, my best friend’s fiancé was public enemy number one . . . well, maybe number two. Those two rednecks in the green pickup were number one.
Timothy’s brow creased. “Did I say something wrong?”
I almost told Timothy what I really thought of Cole and men in general at that moment, but I thought better of it. Maybe Timothy was different. I hoped so. “No, you didn’t say anything wrong.”
“I’ll pray for them,” Timothy said.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
The screen door opened and the rest of the Troyer family filed out. Mrs. Troyer approached us. “Is everything all right, Chloe?”
“My friend received some bad news.”
“I’m sorry. We will pray for her. What is her name again?”
I smiled. “Tanisha. She’ll appreciate the prayers.”
Timothy turned to his parents. “I’ll take Chloe home.”
Mrs. Troyer’s expression fell. “Stay for dessert. I made peach pie. The peaches are from our tree. You love when I make peach pie, Timothy.”
“I’m going too,” said Becky, who had been quiet up to this point.
“No, you’re not,” her father said.
“I can’t stay here. The district will talk. It’s better for the family if I am away”—she paused—“until this is all over.”
“I am your daed.” Mr. Troyer’s voice was thunderous. “You must listen to what I say.”
“Rebecca is right.” Grandfather Zook spoke out from the doorway. He leaned heavily on his braces. “You should let her go.”
Becky’s father rounded on his father-in-law and snapped at him in their own language.
Grandfather Zook carefully made his way down the porch steps, using his braces for support. He replied in his native language.
Mr. Troyer shook his head.
“You know what the deacon will say,” Grandfather Zook replied.
Mr. Troyer glowered at him, but finally, he lowered his head. When he looked up, tears had gathered in the corners of his eyes. “You may go.”
“Danki, Daed,” Becky whispered.
Chapter Fourteen
On the way back to Appleseed Creek, the truck bounced along the gravel road, and Becky, who sat between Timothy and me, wrapped her good arm around her cast to protect it.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
“Not much.” She considered her cast. “Do you like it? The doctor said I could pick any color I wanted. I want you to be the first one to sign it.”
“What happened after I left the sheriff’s department?”
“They fingerprinted me using a computer and asked lots of questions. Timothy got me out.” She beamed when mentioning her brother.
“The police didn’t charge you?”
Timothy cleared his throat. “She was charged with driving without a license. They haven’t made any decision about the accident yet.”
My heart sank. Was it too much to hope Becky would get off scot-free? “What happens now?”
“The police will examine the car and determine what caused the accident.” He switched on the air-conditioning inside the cabin.
I didn’t say it, but since Becky was driving, the accident appeared to be her fault. “Becky needs a lawyer.”
“A lawyer won’t help,” Timothy said. “Even if he could, we can’t afford one.”
“Maybe I can help.” I said this even though I trembled to think of what my car insurance premiums would be after the accident.
“No.” Timothy spoke firmly, as if this wasn’t up for discussion.
I exhaled a sigh. “If she doesn’t hire someone, then a public defender will be assigned to her case. Whoever that is might not do what’s best for Becky.”
“Chief Rose told us that.”
“She was the person who interviewed you even though it was at the sheriff’s station?”
Timothy nodded. “She showed up not long after you left.”
Again I wondered how the small town police chief and Timothy knew each other. I wasn’t buying the “everybody knows everybody in a small town” speech. Chief Rose clearly wanted me to believe there was something more to it, but was there?
I shifted on the hot leather seat, then pointed the A/C vent at my face. “She needs a better defense.” My hair grazed my cheeks as the cool air blew. What a welcome relief.
“Defense?” Timothy asked. “She doesn’t have a defense. She admitted she was driving the car.”
Tears rolled down Becky’s cheeks. “Timothy is right. It’s my fault. I must accept the blame.”
I thought about Brock’s threat, his leering face, and my stomach churned. She’ll be very popular in prison. I hoped never to see him or his friend again, but knew that wasn’t likely. Should I tell Timothy about them?
I aimed the cool air at Becky. “Maybe they will be lenient.”
We rode in silence for the rest of the drive. Timothy turned into my driveway on Grover Lane, and Becky slipped out of the truck. “I’m not feeling well.”
“What’s wrong?” Timothy asked.
“I’m a little dizzy.” She rubbed her temple with her uninjured hand. “I think it is the pain medicine. I’m going to lie down in my room.”
The front door banged shut as she stumbled inside.
Timothy walked me to the door, and as I climbed the uneven porch steps, I turned to him. “What are we going to do?”
“What do you mean?” He grabbed hold of the porch post, and it moved with little force. “This isn’t stable. I will come by tomorrow and fix it.”
“We need to help Becky.”
“Actually, the whole porch should be replaced.”
“Timothy, I’m talking about Becky.”
He removed his hand from the post. “I know, but I won’t let you be hurt one day by this.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate anything you can do to help the house.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “This was why I wanted my sister to return home.”
“Because of the condition of my house?”
He sighed. “No. I was afraid something like this would happen.”
“The accident?”
He nodded.
“There was no way you could know this would happen.” I watched Gigabyte stalking back and forth in front of the living room’s large picture window. He meowed and batted at the glass.
Timothy pursed his lips. “Becky shouldn’t have left home. She should have joined the church and married Isaac.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Why is it okay for you to leave the Amish, and not for her?”
His blue eyes fixed on mine. “I can’t answer that.”
“Why not?”
His expression softened. “I’m glad that you met the rest of my family. They liked you.”
“I liked them,” I replied. “At dinner your grandfather mentioned someone let the chickens out on the farm. You seemed surprised.”
“I was.” Timothy flexed his jaw. “I knew there have been problems in the district.”
“What kind of problems?”
“Animals let out of pens, rowdy Englischers driving through the district at night firing shotguns into the air.”
“What have the police done?”
“Not much. The district won’t talk to them. That’s not the Amish way.”
“But—”
“Chloe, I know it’s hard for you to understand why the district hasn’t complained to the police. It’s even hard for me sometimes, and I grew up Amish.”
“You would go to the police.”
“Yes.” His tone left no doubt.
I had another question. “If you didn’t know about your own family, how did you know about these other incidents?”
He wiggled the post. “A friend told me.”
“Could the attacks on the Amish be related to the accident?”
Timothy looked taken aback. “How?”
“I . . . I don’t know, but doesn’t it seem odd that some unknown person is pestering the Amish, and then the bishop dies in an accident? How can that be a coincidence?”
“It’s odd, but what I think is even odder is that you haven’t even considered it could have been you in that accident. You could have been seriously hurt or even killed.”
I shivered.
“If your car had been in working order, this could have all been avoided.”
“I told you the car was fine.” I sounded defensive, but I couldn’t help it. The car had been fine.
Timothy blew out a sigh. “I’ll fix the porch tomorrow,” he said, and left.
Later that night, I sat beside my bedroom window unable to sleep. I tortured myself by waiting for the green pickup and wondering what Timothy meant by I can’t answer that. Did that mean he really couldn’t, or he wouldn’t answer my question?
The white gauzy curtains blew in with the breeze. The weatherman had promised a cold front was coming in and tomorrow would be a beautiful eighty-degree day. I stared at the curtains. Part of me wanted to close the window so I wouldn’t hear the green truck when it roared up my street, but it was too hot. The cold front hadn’t reached us yet, and my house wasn’t air-conditioned. A white floor fan circulated the humid air around the room.
Tap, tap sounded on my bedroom door. Becky slipped into the room. “Chloe? Are you awake?”
I sat up against the headboard. “What’s wrong?” As if I needed to ask.
Gig ran into the room and jumped on my bed. He seemed to know that Becky needed him that night and had chosen to sleep with her. He climbed on my pillows and bumped his head on my shoulder. I knew Becky needed what comfort he could offer, but I was glad to have the cat in my room again. I missed his weight on my pillow.
“I can’t sleep,” Becky whispered. She looked like a ghost as she moved across the room in her white nightgown. The gown reflected the yellow streetlamp light coming in through my window.
I pulled my knees up to my chest, shivering against the unknown. “That’s understandable.”
She sat on the end of my bed. “What about Cookie?”
“You want a cookie? Do we have any? I can get you one.”
“Not cookies. I mean Cookie, the person.”
I racked my sleep-deprived brain. Was there a Cookie I was supposed to remember? It didn’t sound like an Amish name. “Becky, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who is Cookie?”
“That’s right, I didn’t tell you why I was driving the car.”
“You said you had an interview.”
“The interview was with Cookie and her husband, Scotch. They own a greenhouse outside of town.”
I held up my hand. “Are you making these names up?”
She giggled, but then her voice faded. “She must think I’m horrible for missing the interview. She will never give me a job now.” The draft from my standup fan caught her white-blonde hair, moving it back and forth.
“Becky, that’s the least of your worries. You can call Cookie tomorrow and explain. I’m sure she will understand. Anyone would.”
She started to cry. “I’m so sorry, Chloe. No one will ever know how sorry I am.” Her cries turned to sobs, her body shuddering with each breath. She collapsed face down on the bed, and I reached for her good arm, holding it. Gigabyte curled up beside her and purred with the ferocity of a motorboat. I prayed as hard for Becky as I did the day of my mother’s accident.
Soon, Becky fell into slumber. Just before I drifted off, a truck backfired outside my window.
Chapter Fifteen
Boom! Boom! Boom!
My eyes popped open. Gig jumped off my pillow and hid. Becky, curled up like a cat, slept soundly at the foot of my bed.
In the early morning, I slipped out of bed quietly, zipped a hoodie over my pajamas, and went downstairs. Through the peephole Chief Rose smiled at me. I opened the door. Already dressed in her uniform, she carried a small tote bag in her hand that I recognized as Becky’s.
“Good morning, Miss Humphrey. Is Miss Troyer here? I’d like to talk to both of you.”
“Come in. Becky’s upstairs. I’ll go get her. Please make yourself comfortable.” I pointed at the one armchair in the living room. “I’m sorry I don’t have more furniture.”
“I can stand.”
I hurried upstairs and into my bedroom. Becky wasn’t there. I found her in her own room on the bed. “The police are here.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Are they taking me away?”
“I don’t know.” I picked up a long canvas skirt from the milk crate, which served as her dresser, and handed it to her. “Get dressed.”
I dashed into my bedroom and threw on a pair of jeans, a clean T-shirt, and zipped up the hoodie again. Becky met me in the hall wearing the skirt and a bright blue T-shirt. Her long blonde hair was secured at the nape of her neck in a tight bun.
When Becky and I entered the living room, Chief Rose was examining the photographs on the mantel over the fireplace. She set down the photograph of my mother, and I gritted my teeth. “Let me grab some more chairs.” I escaped to the kitchen where I took a few deep breaths, and returned with two wooden chairs, placing them across from the chief who now sat in the armchair. I sat in one, and Becky perched on the edge of the other.
Chief Rose reached into Becky’s tote bag and pulled out my GPS, Pepper. Still in her protective black case, she didn’t appear any worse for wear. The chief leaned over and handed it to me. “I thought you might need this seeing as how you got lost on the way home from the hospital yesterday.”
I tensed and opened the case. The GPS was fine. “Thank you for returning it.”
“I took the liberty to change the mode to ‘on foot’ since you don’t have a car to use anymore.”
My brow wrinkled, and I cocked my head in her direction.
She handed the tote bag to Becky. “We found this in the RAV4 too.”
Becky grabbed
the tote and opened it. “My sketchbook,” she cried. “Thank you so much.”
The chief nodded. “You’re welcome.”
“You don’t need these things for”—I paused—“evidence?”
Chief Rose shook her head. “I’m sure you are wondering why I’m here this early.” She placed a hand on each knee and leaned forward. “It’s not to return your things.”
Gigabyte peeked his head out from around the kitchen wall, then disappeared.
The police chief cleared her throat. “We examined the car and discovered something.”
I straightened. “What?”
“Prior to the accident, your car’s brake line had been cut three quarters of the way through.”
My stomach dropped. Good thing Becky hadn’t made breakfast yet. I doubted it would have stayed in my stomach after the police chief made that announcement.
Becky’s brow puckered. “What does that mean?”
Chief Rose stood and picked up a vase from the mantel, spinning it in her hand. “It means sabotage. It means a premeditated crime.”
I inhaled a deep breath. “It also means the accident wasn’t Becky’s fault.”
She set the vase back on the mantel. “Yes.”
“Praise God,” I said.
Becky’s mouth hung open.
Chief Rose glowered at Becky. “You are still in trouble, Becky. Driving without a license is a serious offense. I don’t take that lightly.”
Becky bowed her head. “I’m so sorry.”
The chief returned to the armchair and sat on the edge of it. “Do you know anyone who might want to hurt you?” She directed her question at me.
I blinked at her. “Me?”
“The severed brake line was inside your car. It’s safe to assume whoever cut it thought you would be behind the wheel. In fact, if Becky hadn’t borrowed it,” she made quote signs with her fingers, “you’d have been the one in the accident.”
A chill ran down my spine. The green pickup. It had to be them. My stomach rumbled. Yes, it was definitely good that I hadn’t eaten anything yet.
Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3 Page 8