“Watch your tongue, Ruth. I’m still your eldest bruder.”
She lifted her hand from the iron’s handle, leaving it on the white shirt in front of her. “I know that.”
Timothy hung his coat over a kitchen chair. “Where is Grossdaddi?”
Ruth didn’t look up. “In his room. He hasn’t been feeling well.”
Timothy left the room.
Ruth yelped and removed the iron from the shirt. A brownish burn mark marred the front of her father’s white dress shirt. “Now, look what you made me do. Maam is going to be furious. This is Daed’s new shirt too. He’s never even worn it.”
“Maybe she can fix it,” I said.
She gaped at me. “You don’t know anything about laundry.” She added under her breath, “Or our ways.”
I bit the inside of my lip. “Ruth, I’m sorry you haven’t seen Anna and you missed the wedding because of me. Can you forgive me?”
She looked up from her father’s ruined shirt. Tears were in her eyes. “If you were sorry, you’d stop coming here, but here you are.” She stormed out of the room.
Ruth’s words stung.
I should have followed my instincts and avoided the Troyer home. Lord, please give me the strength to stay away from this family I’ve grown to love.
Grandfather Zook stepped into the kitchen, leaning heavily on his crutches. Timothy followed him with his hands out poised and ready to catch his grandfather if he stumbled. Grandfather Zook took his place at the kitchen table with a groan. It was the first time I’d seen the older man show a visible sign of physical pain. He’d seemed better at the hospital right after his beard was cut.
“These old bones don’t work as well as they used to,” he lamented. “It’s like the cold weather freezes my joints. The winter can’t pass fast enough in my opinion.”
“Mine too,” I sat on the bench. “I much prefer summer. It’s been snowing here, but I don’t think you get as much snow as I’m used to in Cleveland.” I shivered. “And the cold wind coming off Lake Erie is enough to blow you flat on your back.”
Grandfather Zook grinned as if he liked the image of someone being blown over by a cold wind gust. “I shouldn’t complain. Gott created winter, so that we have a better appreciation for summers.”
“You might be right.” I squeezed his papery wrist.
Timothy sat across from me.
“Ruth stormed past us and up the stairs as we entered the kitchen.” Grandfather Zook rubbed his short beard. “She reminds me of Martha when she was that age. My, she was a hot potato. Just about anything would set her off.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Hot potato. Isn’t that an English phrase?”
Grandfather Zook grinned. “I heard an Englischer say it at the grocery store when talking about his wife a few weeks ago, and I liked it very much.”
Between “hot potato” and “perp,” Grandfather Zook was becoming fluent in American slang. I tried to imagine Mrs. Troyer as the moody “hot potato” that Grandfather Zook described. It didn’t fit.
“Where are Maam and Daed?” Timothy asked.
“They went to the funeral.” He frowned. “I wanted to go myself, but my legs are acting up, and I don’t have the strength to climb into the buggy.”
“The bishop won’t complain that they are there?’ Timothy asked.
Grandfather Zook pulled at his short beard. “He will, but no one will make a scene at the funeral.”
Timothy and I shared a look. I prayed that was true. And I hoped the bishop wasn’t too upset by our confrontation with him in the pasture that he would take it out on the Troyers. Grandfather Zook folded his hands on the table. “I hope Ellie’s not too upset with me for missing it.”
I patted his hand. “She will understand.”
He twisted his mouth in uncertainty. “What brings you two here? Not that I’m not happy to see you.”
I cleared my throat. “We want to talk to you again about the night you were attacked.”
Grandfather Zook nodded. “I thought you would come back to that. Ask away. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I knew you were investigating.”
I grinned. “You were hitching Sparky, and the person came up from behind you.”
“That’s right.”
“You said it was a man.”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
His white bushy eyebrows shot up. “Yes. I heard him cry out when Sparky bit him. You think whoever cut my beard killed Ezekiel.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Ezekiel Young was a strong man. How could a woman stab him in the back like that?”
Rage, I thought. Complete and full-blown rage. The only problem was I couldn’t find anyone with rage against the flea market owner. Annoyance, disdain, jealousy, yes, but no rage.
Grandfather Zook propped his chin on his fist. “I guess the only one who really knows the killer’s identity, is Old Spark. He bit a chunk out of the perp after all.”
I smiled when he used the word “perp” again. I suspected it would be a permanent fixture in his working vocabulary.
“If you find that coat, you find the killer,” Grandfather Zook said after a long moment.
How could we find a black wool coat in a sea of black wool coats? It was like being in the church cloakroom all over again.
He stood on shaky feet. “You know, I don’t feel much better, but if you wouldn’t mind, I would love a ride out to Young’s. Pain or no pain, I have to pay my respects.”
Minutes later, I slid into the tiny backseat of the truck cabin with Mabel. Timothy helped his grandfather into the front passenger seat with care.
“Fire up your horses,” Grandfather Zook said after he was buckled in.
Timothy revved the engine, and the old man laughed.
Chapter Thirty-Six
At Ellie Young’s house, Timothy helped his grandfather out of the truck and walked him over to the group of mourners.
Ellie broke away from the others. “You shouldn’t be here,” she chided him. “Martha and Simon told me you were too ill to come.”
“I’m not tip-top, but I will get by.” He adjusted his crutches on his elbows.
Ellie squeezed my arm. “Chloe and Timothy, I’m happy to see you. Thank you for bringing Joseph.”
The bishop and deacon were watching. I caught Timothy’s eye and nodded in their direction. “We’re just here to drop off Grandfather Zook.”
Ellie shook her head. “You’re staying. I insist.”
The deacon and bishop weren’t the only ones who were watching us. Uri glared at us too.
Ellie took Timothy and me by the hand and led us into her house. In the living room all of Ellie’s furniture was removed. Bishop Hooley, Deacon Sutter, and two other Amish I didn’t know stood at the front of the room beside Ezekiel’s open casket. I looked away as Ellie pointed to two seats for Timothy and me. His seat was on one side of the room, and mine was on the other. I gave a sigh of relief when I saw it was next to Becky. She wore her plain dress, which was her uniform at the restaurant. I slipped into the seat, feeling conspicuous in my jeans and pea coat and aware I was being watched by nearly everyone in the room. Was the bishop right? Was everyone in the district talking about my friendship with the Troyers and my relationship with Timothy? If the hairs standing up on the back of my neck were any indication, he was.
The room was dark and tightly packed, hot even. I would have removed my coat if I didn’t think I would elbow someone in the head during the process.
Bishop Hooley opened a large black tome, the German Bible, and read from it. Each of the four men spoke in turn, some read and some spoke from memory. Ellie sat at the front of the room with her head bowed. There were no wails or outward demonstrations of grief. No flowers, eulogies, or
songs.
My mother’s funeral took place in a large church in downtown Cleveland I had never been in, nor been back to since. Family and friends came from all over the country. My father’s wealthy clients and business associates were there, everyone dressed like they were ready to walk the streets of New York. Paid singers from Severance Hall and members of the Cleveland Orchestra, who never met my mother, provided the music. Famous preachers spoke about dying young, but not about the woman my mother had been, because they didn’t know. There had been so many flowers my father paid the funeral home to dispose of them. He didn’t want them in the house.
How was that better than this?
The bishop closed the Bible. He and the four men closed the casket. Several young men from the community stood and lifted the simple pine box onto their sturdy shoulders.
Men and women filed out of the house. “Where are they going?” I whispered to Becky.
“To the cemetery. It’s about a mile away at the back of the Young’s land,” she whispered back. “Don’t worry. We don’t have to go. I need to get back to the restaurant. Come with me.”
I followed Becky out through Ellie’s kitchen. On the way to the restaurant, I scanned the crowd climbing into their buggies to ride to the Amish cemetery.
Becky quickened her pace. “Don’t worry. I texted Timothy and told him you were with me. He’ll meet us inside.”
I blinked at her. Now, why did she think of doing that before I did?
Becky and I entered Young’s through the side door. I sighed when I saw the other Englischers in their blue jeans and bright-colored parkas. Here, I blended in with the crowd. My cell rang as Becky waved to me as she ran to the kitchen.
“Chloe, it’s Tyler.”
I walked through the restaurant and sat on a bench near the entrance to the bustling pie shop.
A binging sound came over the phone like Tyler knocked his pen on a coffee mug. “I’ve looked over your lease.”
“And?”
“It’s with the company in Cincinnati. There is no mention of Dylan at all, and no mention the lease can be transferred upon the sale. I can get you out of it. No problem.”
Relief washed over me. “Now, I have to find a new place to live.”
“I might have a solution for you there too. I have a client who spends the winter in Florida. He’s looking for someone to watch his house during the winter months. That will give you until spring to find the place you really want.”
“That might work. I’ll have to talk to Becky.”
“It’s a big house. Has a huge kitchen.”
I smiled. Even Tyler knew Becky loved to cook. “Becky will love the kitchen.”
“I did some digging on Dylan Tanner too.”
“What did you learn?”
“He doesn’t have a criminal record or anything like that.”
“How do you know that?”
“Greta checked him out the day you thought he broke into your house.”
I wasn’t surprised.
Tyler continued. “He’s worked at the college for the last four years in the biology department. His wife recently left him.”
“Was her name Kara?”
“That’s it.”
The name Dylan called me.
“I happened to talk to a friend of Kara’s. Her father died about a year ago and left her a substantial inheritance. Not like millions or anything, but somewhere between twenty and thirty grand.”
“That would be a lot of money to Dylan.” I knew how much Harshberger’s faculty made.
“Right. Anyway, Dylan invested the money into a new business and lost it all.”
“I assume that didn’t go over well with Kara.”
“You got it. She left him over it.”
“Where’s Kara now?”
“She moved to Oregon.”
“Trying to get as far away from Dylan as possible?”
“I think that’s the idea.” Tyler made a humming sound. “Here’s where it gets really strange. I told you I would talk to the ladies at the historical society about your house.”
“Yes.”
“They found the original blueprints right away. Dylan was there just three weeks ago looking for them.”
“That makes sense if he wants to restore the house.”
“The strange part is the name of the original owner of the house. Gerald Tanner.”
“Tanner? That’s Dylan’s last name.”
“Exactly.” He paused. “I figured you’d want to talk to the ladies at the historical society. I told them you would stop by. They close at three today, so you’d better get over there right now.”
I thanked him.
“Don’t mention it.” A phone rang on the other side of the line. “I gotta go. Unfortunately, I can’t do anything about the lease until Monday since it’s the weekend.”
“I understand. Thanks for your help.” I hung up as Timothy walked through Young’s front door.
I jumped up, and a smile spread across his face. “Let’s go.” I linked my arm through his.
“Where to?” He tightened our arm link.
“To learn some local history.”
His brow shot up as I pulled him through the front door.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The Appleseed Creek Historical Society was in a centennial home close to the square, much like the house in which Becky and I lived. The home was a narrow mint green Queen Anne with a tower and wide front porch. Bungee cords held forest green tarps over the wicker furniture.
Timothy rapped the horse-shaped knocker. The door flew open a half second later and a five-foot-nothing elderly women peered up at us. She wore a blue and white Scandinavian print sweater that hung to her denim-clad knees, and her hair was set in white pin curls. A smile broke across her face. “She’s here!” The woman called over her shoulder. “I told you if Tyler said she’d come, she’d come. Tyler is a good boy and hasn’t let me down yet.” Her head swung back toward us. “Don’t stand there and let all of the heat out.”
The front door of the Victorian led into an arched foyer, which opened into a large sitting room. Antique chairs and waist-high display cases dotted the space, and floor-to-ceiling bookcases circled the room. An elderly man with a white handlebar mustache peered at a yellowed document with a magnifying glass. He had white gloves on his hands that reminded me of the ones the bell choir at my small home church in Cleveland wore when playing the bells. “Tyler’s a lawyer,” he said without looking up. “How can he be a good boy?”
“You used to be a banker,” she shot back. “You have no room to talk.” She walked into the room with the man. “Max, this is Chloe Humphrey. She’s the girl Tyler was telling us about, who lives in the old Tanner place on Grover Lane.”
“I know who she is.” Max straightened his back with a groan. “Tyler left no more than a half hour ago. You think I forgot what he said?”
“Your memory isn’t as reliable as it used to be. You forgot what year Appleseed Creek was established.” She whispered to Timothy and me. “It’s 1808. Max said 1807.”
Max glared at her. “You always throw that back in my face.” He eyed Timothy. “Who’s the Ken doll?”
Timothy’s brow wrinkled, which made me smile. I suspected he had no idea who Ken, not to mention Barbie, was.
The older man pointed his magnifying glass at me. “If he’s Ken, I guess that makes you Skipper.”
I frowned, no longer finding the comparison amusing.
Still looking confused, he said, “I’m Timothy.”
“Silly me! I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Minerva Hammer, the president of the Appleseed Creek Historical Society.” She stood a little straighter as she recited her title, then she pointed a thumb in Max’s direction. �
�Max Dudley’s the secretary-treasurer.”
Max’s mustache shook. “The secretary-treasurer is an important job.”
“Did I say it wasn’t?”
“You implied it.” He chewed on his mustache.
She waved a dismissive hand at her cohort. “Sit, sit, you two.”
Timothy and I each sat in a flower-patterned wingback chair.
“We haven’t had this many visitors in years. The Tanner boy, Tyler, and now you two. We are going to be spoiled by all the attention.” She perched on a blue velvet settee.
I folded my scarf in my lap. “When was Dylan here?”
Max tucked the magnifying glass in the breast pocket of his button-down shirt. “About three weeks ago.”
“He was here about the house on Grover?” I unzipped my coat. The home was unbearably warm. Both Minerva and Max wore short sleeves.
Minerva nodded. “He said he bought the Old Tanner place on Grover and planned to restore it. He wanted blueprints of the house’s original plans.”
He bought it over three weeks ago and never thought to mention it to me. We work at the same college. Our offices are in the same building.
Timothy removed his winter coat and a sheen of sweat gathered on his forehead.
“Are you hot?” Minerva asked. “Max, go turn on the floor fan.”
A stand-up fan was in the corner of the room. Max grumbled under his breath but followed her directions. The oscillated air came as a relief.
“Our thermostat is stuck at eighty. It’s been broken all weekend. We haven’t been able to get the furnace man out because of Thanksgiving. He was supposed to be here this morning but hasn’t shown up. We’ve called four times.”
Max’s mustache wiggled like a caterpillar. “It wouldn’t be that way if you hadn’t cranked it up in the first place.”
She glared at him. “It was so cold in here, it felt like a tomb. I had to take the chill off.”
Max moved the fan as close to us as the cord would allow.
“I can take a look at it if you want,” Timothy said.
Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3 Page 49