“I live here, and you should respect my wishes,” I snapped. “Timothy offered to help you.”
“I don’t want any Amish help,” he said through gritted teeth. “And I most certainly don’t want Timothy’s help.”
“Timothy’s a professional.”
“Are you saying I’m not?” he asked. “Kara, you don’t trust me at all.”
I froze. “Who’s Kara?”
He blinked at me as if waking up from a dream.
“Kara is your wife, isn’t she?” I whispered.
He turned and stalked to his car in the driveway. “Next time I show up with a work crew, we are going to work. I don’t care if you approve or not.” He slammed his car door.
I stood on the frozen lawn in stunned silence. Timothy’s truck came up the street from the opposite direction. He turned into my driveway and hopped out, holding a small brown sack in his hand. “It’s freezing. What are you doing outside?” He stepped closer to me. “Chloe, what’s wrong?”
I told him.
Timothy clenched the fist holding the paper sack. The brown paper crunched under the pressure. “I think you and Becky may need to find another place to live.”
I silently agreed. It no longer felt like home. It no longer felt safe.
“You’re going to catch a chill. Let’s go inside.” He steered me in the direction of the house.
Gigabyte crawled out from under the sofa when we stepped through the front door. He yowled.
I scooped up the cat. “Oh, Gig. Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
He yowled again.
Timothy placed the sack on the coffee table and removed his coat. “I’m going to take a look around.”
I perched on the edge of the armchair with Gig in my lap and listened as Timothy moved from room to room.
He was back within minutes. “I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary . . .” He stared at the wall that separated the living room from the mudroom and kitchen.
“What is it?”
Timothy traced his finger along the wall.
I stood up, still carrying my cat, and stood by him. There was a faint penciled X on the wall.
Timothy knocked on the wall there. “This is hollow.” He peered up. “See at the ceiling line the plaster is a lighter color? This wall was added after the original construction of the house.”
I pointed at the X. “Becky and I didn’t do that.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t think you did. Dylan drew this line. He’s going to knock down this wall.”
“What?” I squeezed Gigabyte to my chest. He kicked at me with his back claws, and I dropped him to the floor. “He can’t do that.”
“We need to talk to Chief Rose about this and maybe Becky’s lawyer too.” Timothy dropped his hand from the wall.
“I don’t think they were here very long.” I crossed my arms. “Dylan said they came after Becky left for work, so they were here all of twenty minutes before I arrived.”
“Good thing. You might have returned to find a hole in your wall.” He sighed. “I wish I’d been here sooner.”
“Why are you here?” I paused. “Not that I don’t appreciate it.”
Timothy walked over to the brown bag on the coffee table. “To bring you this.” He handed it to me.
I opened the bag and saw a delicate African violet inside. The leaves were velvety and deep jungle green, the petals soft and almost black purple. “It’s beautiful.”
“I know it’s not very big, but I saw it at Young’s gift shop today and thought of you.”
Unwittingly, my eyes glanced at Dylan’s mum arrangement by the front window. It was lavish, bright, and over the top. In comparison, the violet was small, understated, and alive. I bit my lip, hoping that my black thumb would keep it that way.
Timothy misread my expression. “I know it’s not as big as Dylan’s flowers.”
I placed a hand on his arm. “It’s perfect. I love it. Thank you.”
A smile broke on his face. “Ellie thought you’d like it too. She wrapped it up for me.” He reached into his jeans pocket and handed me a folded piece of loose-leaf paper. “She wrote down the directions on how to care for it too.”
“These will help.” I took the paper. “Is Ellie back at work?”
“No, she just happened to be in the shop when I made the purchase.”
“When is the funeral?” I placed the violet on an end table by the front window. It was a miniature next to Dylan’s mums.
“Tomorrow.”
“I’d like to talk to Uri about his brother.”
Timothy sat on the couch. Gig jumped into his lap, turned twice, and lay down. Timothy stroked Gig’s back. “That makes sense. Uri knew his brother best.”
“Do you think I can talk to him today?”
Timothy’s brows knit together. “I don’t know. I suppose we can go over to Young’s and see if he’s in the office. He planned to be there most of the day. Really, he should be sitting at home with his mother.”
I told him about my visit with Sadie Hooley and Debbie Stutzman. “I can’t help but think Leah, Debbie, and Abby know more than they are telling. Sadie too, but I think she knows something different from the other three girls.”
“I could see Abby knowing something because Ezekiel is her uncle. And yes, now that I’ve thought about it, I do think it’s strange that two members of the same family were attacked.”
“Thank you.”
“But what would Sadie Hooley know about any of it? She was an innocent victim as far as I could tell.”
I sat back in my chair. “She knows more than you think. She and Ezekiel were secretly engaged.”
“What? Sadie Hooley and Ezekiel Young? I don’t believe it! She’s so quiet and sweet, and he was . . . well . . . not.”
“It’s true. She’s brokenhearted by his death. She says I’m the only one who knows about it. Now, you know too. You can’t tell anyone. From what she says, her father would not approve of the match.”
“I’m not surprised. The Youngs are one of the more liberal families in the district. How did she keep it a secret?”
“The question isn’t how they did it—it’s whether they were able to do it. I think there might be a connection between the engagement and the murder and haircutting.”
“That may be true, but it still doesn’t account for what happened to Grossdaddi or those three girls.”
I frowned. “You’re right.” I paused. “What about James Zug?”
“No luck. I talked to my friend who works at the auction stables. James was there until after ten bedding down his sheep for the night. My friend saw him when he did his rounds at three, five, seven, and nine. James was with his sheep each time. When did you find Ezekiel?”
“Six thirty.”
“That ends it, then. The auction barn is twenty miles from Young’s. There’s no way he could have been gone for a long period of time without someone noticing, and it would have taken almost an hour to get to Young’s from the barn by buggy. That’s one way.”
“That leaves us with Uri,” I said.
He removed his cell from his pocket. “Let me call Uri’s office. If he’s there, we can head over now.” Timothy punched a number into his cell phone. When the person on the other end of the line answered, he hung up. “He’s there.”
“You hung up on him. He’s going to know it was you who called and try to phone you back.”
He laughed. “Chloe, the Amish don’t have caller ID, even for their businesses.”
He held out his hand and helped me out of the chair. Spontaneously, he pulled me into a hug and whispered into my hair. “Please be careful.” After a beat, he added, “For me.”
I swallowed hard and promised
him I would.
Chapter Thirty-One
The back quarter of Young’s parking lot closest to the family homes was filled with Amish buggies. Timothy nodded at them as he parked his car near the back entrance to the restaurant. “They’re here for the viewing.”
“Ezekiel’s body is in the house?”
Timothy nodded. “Been there since yesterday afternoon.”
I grimaced.
As Timothy and I walked to the front door, I asked, “Where’s his office?”
“It’s in the back of the restaurant. He shared it with his brother.”
Despite the wake happening a building away, the energy in the restaurant was festive. The buffet was set up for a second go at Thanksgiving dinner, and English guests loaded their plates. I didn’t know how they could eat a meal like that two days in a row. However, I doubted their Thanksgiving menu had been as extensive as mine.
Aaron waved at us as we passed the host stand, but we didn’t stop to chat. Instead we continued down a long hallway to the left. Uri approached us from the opposite direction. “Timothy, how is everything in the pavilion?”
“Fine,” Timothy said. “Can we talk to you?”
His head turned back and forth between us. “This is about my brother, right? I don’t know what more I can add to what my mother told you.” His brow furrowed. “I’ve spoken with the police already. Twice. Chief Rose is relentless.”
“I can vouch for that,” I said. “I was surprised to learn Abby Zug was your niece.”
Uri’s head jerked back. “Why’s that?”
“Her hair was cut too.”
“I know that, but it can’t be related to my bruder.”
“Why not?” Timothy asked.
“It doesn’t make any sense. It’s too random. You and the police have this all wrong. What if the person who cut off the girl’s hair wasn’t the same person who killed my brother?”
“But the haircutting . . .”
Uri shrugged. A waitress walked by and slipped into the restroom.
Timothy nodded in her direction. “I don’t think we should talk about it out here.”
“This is not a good time,” Uri said. “I need to get home for the viewing. If I’m away much longer, James will have my mother convinced to sign the flea market over to him.”
“Do you think James could have done this?” I asked even though I knew the sheep farmer had an alibi.
“Nee,” Uri said.
My cell phone rang. I reached a hand into my pocket to silence it.
“You should answer that.” Uri moved to step around me. “I have to go.”
I held up my hand. “What did you fight with Ezekiel about a week before he died?”
Uri sucked in air. “How would you know about that?”
Timothy watched Uri. “So, you did fight with him.”
Uri glared at him. “We had an argument about the business. Timothy, I suggest you stop this Englisch girl’s questions or you will be out of a job, and I will make sure your fledgling contracting career never starts.” He stomped away.
My cell rang again. This time, I removed it from my pocket and checked the read out. “It’s Miller.” I placed the device next to my ear.
“Chloe?”
“Hi, Miller. Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?”
Miller breathed heavily. “Leah tells me you are pestering her and her friends.”
I spotted a white bench outside of the restroom and sat. “I talked to them, yes. I told you I wanted to do that.”
“I know that. When I said you could talk to them, I didn’t think you would bother them.”
“I thought you wanted to find out who hurt them too.”
“Leah’s very upset by all your questions. I should have known better than tell you where to find her. The best thing for you to do is leave this to the police.”
“Miller, I didn’t mean any harm. I want to help.”
“The police don’t need any help. I’ll see you Monday.” He hung up.
Timothy arched an eyebrow. “That didn’t sound like it went well.”
“It didn’t. Leah told Miller I pestered her and her friends. He told me to stop investigating.”
“Will you?” he asked with a knowing smile.
“No. However, it does make me even more suspicious of Leah and her friends. When I spoke to Debbie this morning, she was scared, but she still wouldn’t tell me anything. Leah trained her well. If anyone in that trio will talk, it will be Abby.”
“You can play up her uncle’s death.”
I frowned. “That’s what I was thinking. Do you think she’s at the wake?”
“If James and Bridget are here, she is too.”
I bit my lip. “Do you think Uri will fire you?”
“I don’t know,” Timothy said.
“I don’t want that to happen.”
“Neither do I, but if he killed his brother, I don’t want to work for him.”
He had a point.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Halfway through the night I lay awake going over in my mind everything that I had learned. How could all the people from the victims of the haircutting be related? Grandfather Zook, Leah and her two friends, Sadie, and Ezekiel. The only things that they all had in common was they were Amish and had their hair or beard cut by some unknown assailant. Other than that there wasn’t any known connection. However, I was able to group them.
Sadie and Ezekiel were together because of their secret, possibly not so secret, engagement.
Abby and Ezekiel were family.
The three Amish best friends were together.
Then there was Grandfather Zook. He didn’t fit into any group. Perhaps because he was the one who stuck out, then he was the key to the case. If I fit Grandfather Zook’s puzzle piece into place, maybe the rest would fall in line too.
I sighed. To see Grandfather Zook I would have to visit the Troyer’s farm. I didn’t want to get the Troyers in any more trouble with the bishop than they already were. Thinking of the bishop turned my thoughts to the deacon. What was he doing talking to Collette today? He didn’t seem to be enjoying the conversation, but they were an odd pair. Curt and Brock standing a few feet away making catcalls to the cheerleaders made the scene even more peculiar.
Of all the people Dylan could hire to work on the house, why Curt and Brock? Was he really going to knock down that wall in the living room? I pulled the covers up over my head as when I was frightened at night as a child. Timothy and I agreed not to tell Becky that Curt and Brock were inside the house. She was making great progress getting over the trauma of the summer, and we didn’t want anything or anyone to upset that.
Dylan’s charm came off phony to me. I didn’t trust him. I thought a distant landlord was bad, but I have since discovered that one living down the street was much worse. I needed to get out of this rental, which was a shame because I loved the house. It had so much character.
My thoughts were muddled. Silently, I prayed for clarity and for sleep.
A scream from the next bedroom shook me from my thoughts. Fully awake, the sound was even more eerie than when it woke me from a deep sleep. Becky’s nightmares were back. Gigabyte slipped under the blanket as I found my slippers. He wasn’t going to risk me stomping on his tail again.
I stepped into Becky’s room. Outside the window, the streetlight reflected off the falling snowflakes. We’d wake up to several inches of snow the next morning.
“Ah!” Becky sat up straight in bed, her eye clenched shut and fists shaped into tiny, pale balls.
Remembering my chin knock the last time, I touched her shoulder from an arm’s length away. “Becky? Becky! Wake up!”
Her eyes snapped open, and she panted, holding her chest.
&nb
sp; I took a step closer. “Lay back down.” I pressed down on her shoulder until she reclined. “You had another nightmare.” I patted her hand.
“I-I’m . . . sorry.” Her breathing was heavy.
“It’s fine. Take a deep breath.”
She lay there just breathing for a full minute. Then, she said, “I’m better.”
“Maybe we should talk to someone about your nightmares.”
She blinked at me. “Who?” Her eyes reflected the ambient night-light, like Gigabyte’s.
“A counselor. A pastor. This is a deeper problem and these episodes are happening more often.” I almost added “psychiatrist,” but thought that would be pushing it.
“I don’t want anyone to know. They will tell.”
“A counselor or pastor can’t tell anyone anything you say in confidence. It’s part of their job.”
She licked her chapped lips. “I don’t know.”
“Think about it.” I tucked the sheet and blankets over her again and started to leave.
She grabbed my arm. “Chloe, wait.”
I sat back down on the bed.
“I’ve been thinking about something.”
“What is it?”
“I do want to go to college. Will you help me study for the GED?”
I smiled. “Of course. I’ll help you any way I can.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “I’m glad.”
I started to stand, and she grabbed my arm again. “And I want to cut my hair.”
“Your hair?”
“I’m not Amish anymore. It’s a heavy weight pulling on the back of my head. It gives me headaches. I think if I cut it, the nightmares will stop.”
“Becky, your nightmares aren’t related to the length of your hair.”
“I know that, but then, they kind of are.”
Her parents wouldn’t like this. I knew it. Her jeans and makeup were one thing: the jeans could be replaced by plain clothes, and the makeup could be washed away by soap. Her uncut hair would never be uncut again. Even if it grew back to its impressive length, it had still been cut.
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