He took my hand. His cool and dry grasp felt like crepe paper. “Don’t put yourself at risk on my account. I don’t seek vengeance for what happened. Gott will use this for gut.”
I squeezed his hand but couldn’t help wondering if that were true. I swallowed, gathering courage to ask my next question. “Will the family be shunned?”
He settled back into his seat. “I can’t say. I know things are changing in the district, and change puts folks on edge. Hooley has a tough job stepping into Glick’s shoes. There wasn’t a more beloved bishop in the district than Glick. Perhaps Hooley believes he needs to flaunt his authority by being strict to get folks to give him respect.” He took my hand again. “Don’t worry about that. Gott knows we’ve done nothing wrong. Everything will be as the Lord wants it in the end.”
His response did little to alleviate the guilt I felt by putting the Troyer family in this position with the district. On Thanksgiving, I would allow myself one final day to be with all of them, but after the holiday, I would stay away from the farm.
Timothy drove Becky and me back to the hospital to collect my car and then followed us home. The moment I parked in the driveway, Becky ran into the house, leaving me to struggle with the monster mums.
Timothy got out of the truck and held the car door open for me. “What is that?”
My heart sank a little at his question. If he didn’t know what the mums were, he didn’t send them. “Someone sent flowers to my office today.”
Even in the dim light, I saw his brow wrinkle. “Who would do that?”
My heart sank a little further. I gave the flowers one final yank, and they popped out of the Bug. I stumbled back, and Timothy placed a hand on my back to steady me.
He took the flowers from my arms, which hid his face. “Where’s the note?”
“The student who delivered them lost it, and before you ask, she didn’t read it.”
“Why would someone send you flowers?” The pitch of his voice rose, as if he were confused.
I slammed the Bug’s door. “Is it hard to believe someone would want to send me flowers?”
“N-no.” He dropped the arrangement a few inches so I could see his face. “Maybe they are from your dad?”
I snorted. My father could afford an expensive arrangement, but he certainly didn’t have the time or desire to send it.
“Tanisha?”
“I doubt it. She barely has enough money to pay her rent.” This conversation grated on my nerves. Maybe it was a secret admirer. What would Timothy think about that? Was that so impossible to believe? It was time to change the subject. “Listen, I’ve been thinking about Grandfather Zook.”
“We all have.” Timothy walked the flowers to the porch and set them by the door. He sat on the porch steps as if he knew this was going to be a long conversation.
I turned up the collar of my winter coat to keep as much of the cold wind off of my skin as possible. “Grandfather Zook believes his attacker was a man.”
Timothy stuck his hands deep into his coat pockets. “You think a woman could have done that? Thrown him against the buggy and cut off his beard?”
I gave him a crooked smile. “That was mildly sexist. Women commit crimes as well as men, and there are some that are strong enough to do that.” I paused. “We need to talk to the other victims.”
He sighed. “The other victims?”
“Of the haircutting.”
Timothy’s mouth formed a straight line.
“I spoke with Miller about it today.”
Timothy’s brow shot up. “Miller, why?”
“His cousin is Leah Miller.”
“I know who Leah is. She’s a couple of years younger than Becky.”
“She was one of the girls who had her hair cut.”
Timothy grew very still. “And that’s why you talked to Miller about it.”
I nodded.
“You want us to get involved again.” His voice was soft.
“We are already involved. Look what happened to your grandfather today, and I found Ezekiel . . .”
He pursed his lips. “I don’t like it. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I grinned at him. “If you help me, you can make sure I won’t.”
He watched me. “You’re going to do this whether I help you or not.”
“Yep.”
He shook his head. “Okay. But I think it’s a bad idea, and so will Greta.”
“That’s the right attitude.”
He rolled his eyes.
“I want to start tomorrow. Miller told me Leah works at The Apple Core downtown.”
“I know. It’s a gift shop that sells Amish trinkets to Englischers.”
“Right. I plan to stop by there tomorrow morning and talk to her. Can you come with me?”
He shook his head. “I promised Uri I’d meet him at Young’s first thing. He’d like me to check the pavilion job site to make sure that everything is okay now that the police are out of there. He can’t bring himself to go back inside it.”
“That’s understandable. How is he?”
“He didn’t sound good on the phone.”
“He not only lost his brother, he lost his twin. It must be like losing a piece of yourself.”
“Ezekiel and Uri were twins, but they were so different. You saw that Sunday at the dinner. I’m sure Uri is devastated, but the twins never struck me as particularly close. At least they weren’t as close as other twins I know.”
I shivered. “Something has been nagging at me.”
“What’s that?”
“If we take for granted that all the haircutting attacks are related, why was Ezekiel the only one killed?”
Timothy shifted into his seat. “That’s a good question. Grandfather Zook didn’t see his attacker, but maybe Ezekiel did and was killed so that he couldn’t talk.”
“If he saw him, Ezekiel would have fought back. He’s not a small guy.”
“Did you see any sign of a struggle?”
After two days of trying to forget what I saw, I forced myself to remember the scene. Images flashed across my mind: the orange electrical cords snaking across the floor, the air-compressed nail gun, the sawhorse that tripped me up, Ezekiel’s beard and glasses covered in sawdust, the shears sticking out of his back, and the toolbox lying on the floor.
“There is something,” I said.
“What?”
“A large tool box was on its side. Some of the drawers were opened and tools were on the floor.”
“That’s something,” Timothy said. “Ezekiel was far too precise to treat his tools that way.”
I buried my hands deeper into my pockets. “I wonder if Ezekiel had any other injuries, like defensive wounds.”
“That’s something we will have to ask the chief.”
He was right. “It’s probably best you can’t come with me to The Apple Core tomorrow,” I said, changing the subject. “Leah is more likely to talk to me alone. Woman to woman. I hope to meet the other two girls attacked too. Miller said their names are Abby and Debbie, and he said they work at The Apple Core too.”
“They must be Debbie Stutzman and Abby Zug. You might want to talk to Becky. She went to the Amish schoolhouse with them.”
“I will.”
He touched my chin and turned my face toward his. “Promise me you will be careful.”
I swallowed. “I promise.” I would be willing to promise him so much more.
He let go of my face and stood. “You’d better go inside. It is too cold to sit out here.”
I couldn’t disagree more. Reluctantly, I stood.
Timothy picked up the flower arrangement while I opened the front door.
Becky lay on her dog pillow in the middle
of the living room, watching yet another Thanksgiving cooking special. Honestly, how many ways were there to cook turkey?
Becky rolled over onto her back. “Do you think Daed would let us deep-fry a turkey this year?”
Timothy arched a brow at me. “You let her watch too much TV.”
“Hey, she’s an adult.”
Becky grinned. “That’s right.”
“Where should I put this?” Timothy asked.
“By the front window is fine.”
He set the pot down. “If you find out who sent these, let me know.”
I shrugged. “Sure.” I held back the question on the tip of my tongue. Why do you care?
Chapter Sixteen
The next morning, I woke up at six as I normally would on a work day. When I remembered the events of the last few days, I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I lay in bed and listened to Becky dress for work. She had a long day ahead of her in the Young’s pie shop. She said there were over six hundred pie orders for Thanksgiving Day.
Even though the Young family was devastated by Ezekiel’s murder, the restaurant and shop had to stay open this week for Thanksgiving, one of the busiest weeks of the year for them. I wondered if Ellie would be at the restaurant. If it were me, I would stay at home and let the staff handle the preparations. Becky poked her head into my room to say goodbye. Her bike was out of commission, but she was getting a ride from a friend that morning.
I propped myself up on my pillows. Her prayer cap, which was part of her uniform, sat lopsided on her head. “Hey, before you go. What do you know about Leah Miller?”
“Leah?” She straightened her cap. “Why do you want to know about her?”
“I’m going to talk to her today. She’s one of the girls who got her hair cut off.”
“Really?”
“Why is that so surprising?”
“Well, Leah is about the last Amish girl I’d expect that to happen to. She was a couple of years behind me in school, but I remember she was bossy. She always wanted to be the leader in everything. If she didn’t have her family’s store to manage, I always thought she’d make a great Amish teacher. She’d certainly keep the students in line. She wouldn’t spare the rod either.”
“Even with a tough exterior, if someone came up behind her, that person could have overpowered her.”
Becky twisted her mouth as if considering this. “I guess.”
“What about her friends Debbie and Abby?”
“You must mean Debbie Stutzman and Abby Zug. They were always Leah’s sidekicks, not the friendliest girls in the world, but more so than Leah. They were always together. So much in fact, our teacher called them the triplets.”
Beep! Beep!
“That’s my ride. Gotta go!”
I swung my legs over the bed. It was time to meet the triplets.
The leaves had long since fallen from the large oak trees in the middle of the square, and I could look out over the grounds right into the Amish Bread Bakery. Inside, Sadie placed pie in the display window. I hoped I would have a chance to talk to her.
The Apple Core was on the opposite side of the square and catered to English visitors touring Amish Country. In the summer, it wasn’t unusual to have three or four tour buses in town on a weekend day. At ten in the morning, a bus idled in front of the store, Buckeye Country Tours, etched on the side of it. Two men sat outside the store on a park bench. One wore a gray ivy cap. The other wore earmuffs, his bald head red from the cold.
“You think I should go in there and see what damage my wife is doing to my credit card?” Earmuffs asked his companions.
“Nah,” Ivy Cap said. “It’s too painful to watch.” He wiggled his bushy eyebrows at me. “Hi there, little lady. You from around here?”
Was I from around there? No, definitely not. “I live in town.”
“Can you tell us where two old dodgers can get a cup of joe?” He hooked a thumb at the gift shop. “The women are in there blowing our Social Security checks. We’d like a warm cup of coffee before we climb on the bus to hear about all the wonderful Amish-made doilies they bought.”
“I hate doilies,” Earmuffs piped up. “I used one as a coaster once, and the wife went ballistic.”
I suppressed a chuckle. “There is a bakery across the square. They have lots of good treats to eat and a small coffee counter.”
Earmuffs smacked his lips. “Do they have cinnamon rolls? I heart those.”
“Heart? What are you talking about, you nut?”
“That’s what my granddaughter says. She hearts everything. I’m trying out the lingo, so I can connect with the young folks. I figure she’s less likely to stick me in a home that way.”
“You’re cracked.” Ivy Cap smiled at me. “Thanks for the tip, toots.” The pair shuffled away.
Through The Apple Core’s front window I watched ladies ooh and ah over a display of hand-painted Amish figures. Quilted placemats, Christmas ornaments, and even doilies filled their plastic shopping baskets. The men were right—their Social Security checks were toast.
The apple-shaped bell rang when I stepped into the store. At least twenty ladies crowded the shop.
One held up a faceless Amish doll that reminded me of Naomi’s favorite toy. “Should I get this for my granddaughter?” she asked a friend.
Her friend scrunched up her face. “I thought she asked for a Barbie Princess.”
“She did, but this is close enough.”
“Your granddaughter might not agree.”
A counter with a cash register was on the right side of the room. An Amish girl I suspected was Leah Miller stood behind the counter. She was petite with brown hair and a prayer cap on the top of her head. Her features were sharp and looked much like her cousin’s. I stepped around a blue-haired woman in polyester pants and winter coat three sizes too large who examined a magnet display with such concentration that I doubted she would be able to make up her mind before Christmas.
I smiled at the young woman behind the counter. “Leah?”
The Amish girl nodded.
“I’m, Ch—”
The blue-haired woman knocked me in the shin with her cane.
I jumped back. “Ouch!”
“There’s a line, missy, and you better get to the end of it.”
Her cronies agreed in angry whispers.
Leah gave me a tiny smile and accepted the two dollars from the woman for a magnet shaped like an Amish buggy.
As Leah placed the money into the cash register, a strand of hair fell from beneath her prayer cap. The lock’s jagged edge dangled behind her ear. It was clear it had been cut.
The English woman squinted at her and pointed a bent finger. “Is your hair cut? Amish women don’t cut their hair. I saw a special about it on public television.” She turned back to a friend. “Her hair is cut. She’s not Amish. She’s an imposter.” She slapped the magnet back onto the counter. “I don’t want to buy an Amish magnet from a fake Amish girl.”
Leah clenched her jaw.
I stepped up to the counter. “She is Amish.”
The woman looked me up and down. “How would you know? You aren’t Amish.”
“I live in Appleseed Creek.”
She sniffed. “I don’t believe you. Amish women don’t cut their hair. I saw it on television.” She spun around, whacking me in the shin again with her cane and stomp-hobbled out of the door.
A middle-aged woman hurried to the counter. “I’m so-so sorry. Maureen takes her television programs very seriously.” She lowered her voice. “She thinks the TV talks to her.” Her face reddened as she grabbed two handfuls of Amish magnets. “Here, I’ll take these.”
The remainder of the women purchased their items and left the store. The bell jangled after the last one.
&n
bsp; Leah pulled a bobby pin from her apron pocket and tucked the offending lock of hair back into place.
“I feel like I have to apologize for that.” I adjusted my purse strap on my shoulder.
“Why?”
I smiled. “I guess because they are English from the city and I am too.”
She shook her head. “I’ve heard worse. Unfortunately, I have to bite my tongue. Senior tour buses keep the shop open.” A small smile formed on her lips. “No one from Appleseed Creek would buy that many magnets.”
“I’m—”
“I know who you are. Darren said you would stop by the store today.”
It sounded odd to hear Miller called by his first name.
“I’m sorry about your hair.”
The tears flooded her green eyes, giving them a swampy appearance.
“Did Mill—Darren say why I wanted to talk to you?”
“He said you found Ezekiel Young’s body.”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry to hear that. What a horrible thing.”
The memory came back to me—the cut beard and the shears sticking out of his back. “It was.”
She smiled as if she appreciated the honest answer.
“His beard was cut off.”
“Darren told me. I still don’t know what that has to do with me.”
I removed my scarf. “I can’t help but think it’s connected to what happened to you and your friends.”
“It could be.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
She squinted at me. “Why should I? Darren already made me talk to the police, which my parents didn’t like, and he told the Englisch newspaper about it.”
“I know, but I thought I could help too.”
She touched her prayer cap as if to make sure it was still in place, and arched an eyebrow at me. “Because you found a dead person?”
“Something else has happened.”
She moved down the counter and began putting the magnet display back together. “What has happened?”
“Grandfather Zook was attacked last night. Someone cut off his beard.”
She dropped the plow magnet she held, and it clattered on to the glass counter top. “How is that possible?”
Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3 Page 38