“Plenty. What happened after she didn’t tell you whatever she had to say?”
“She left and I was about to walk back to my car when Curt and Brock showed up.”
“How did they know you were there?”
“They saw my car from the road. I ran away from them across the pond. Brock followed me, but he was too heavy. The ice broke and he fell in. Since I’m lighter than Curt, it made sense that I hold onto Brock until the EMTs and police arrive. Did you want me to leave him there to drown?”
Timothy’s chest heaved up and down. “No. I wouldn’t want that.”
I threw up my hands. “So then what’s the problem?”
He took one long stride and was right in front of the examining table. Our legs touched. He grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me up until I was right in front of him. Without ceremony, he lifted my chin and kissed me full on the mouth. My body went rigid, and against my own will, relaxed into his embrace. When he finally released me, his voice was an octave lower than before. “Please, don’t run off like that again without telling me.”
A smiled curved on my lips. I couldn’t help it. It was as if my muscles had turned against me. My mind told me to be upset by his behavior, but my body had no qualms with it at all.
The nurse peeked through the curtain and found us standing there toe to toe. “Everything okay in here?”
Heat rushed up from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head.
“Everything’s fine,” Timothy said.
She looked at me.
I nodded. “We’re fine. Thank you for checking.”
She nodded and disappeared behind the curtain again.
Timothy took my hand. “Let’s get you home.”
My fingers laced with his. I was calling Tanisha tonight. I didn’t care if I woke her up.
Chapter Forty-Three
Becky stood in the ER waiting room—a room I was a little too familiar with having only lived in Knox County for four months. She held up my coat, and her eyes fell to my hand interlaced with Timothy’s.
I took the coat with my free hand, reluctant to release myself from Timothy’s grasp. It was as if holding onto his hand made the kiss more real, and less a figment of my imagination. Timothy squeezed my hand reassuringly, as if he understood my hesitation.
I was about to let go when someone from behind me cleared his throat.
Becky took a step back. Timothy and I turned around and came face to face with Curt Fanning, the last person I wanted to see when so happy. He was the sewing needle to my happiness balloon.
His eyes fell on my hands intertwined with Timothy’s, and his lip curled. Timothy held my hand a little more tightly.
Curt fondled the dog tag hanging from his neck. “I want to talk to you.”
“Why?” the question popped out of my mouth.
“This isn’t easy for me to say,” he said, his voice barely above a growl. “But thank you.”
My mouth fell open. Curt might as well have tap danced in the middle of the waiting room.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “If it hadn’t been for you, Brock would have died. I can hardly stand him most of the time, but he’s my best friend. I don’t know what I would do if I’d lost him.”
My mouth felt dry. “You’re welcome,” I managed.
“There’s something else,” he said, sounding more like himself.
Of course there was. Who was I to think that Curt would say thank you and let that be the end of it?
He sucked on his teeth. “I think I know why that Amish girl, the one you were with in the woods, wanted to talk to you.”
I went very still. “Why?”
“To confess.”
“To what?”
“The haircutting.”
I took in a sharp of breath. “What are you talking about?”
“Two weeks ago, Brock and I got back into town from . . . being away.” He gave me a level stare when he said this. “It was late, like four in the morning.”
A light went off. Was Curt and Brock’s green truck the vehicle Sadie had heard that morning?
“Don’t you mean early then?” Becky asked.
His eyes cut in her direction. “It would if we’d gone to sleep that night.”
Becky inched toward her brother. “Oh.”
“What did you see?” I asked.
“I took a shortcut down the alley behind the bakery. That Amish girl that works in the bakery, not the cute one, but the one with glasses, she was being held on the ground by another Amish girl wearing men’s clothes. A potato bag was over her face. A third girl used some type of old fashioned scissors to cut off her hair.”
“There were only three girls there?” Timothy asked.
Curt cracked his knuckles. “No, there was a fourth. She was watching the alley.”
“Other than Sadie, who works at the bakery, what did the girls look like?”
He squinted at me. “I don’t know. They were Amish.”
“Why would an Amish girl cut off another Amish girl’s hair? I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Becky argued.
“I don’t know,” Curt growled. “I just know what Brock and I saw.”
“Why didn’t you stop them?” Becky pressed.
Curt’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not my job to interfere with the Amish.”
Timothy jaw twitched. “That must be a new policy for you.”
“So what if it is, buggy rider?” Curt’s lips curled back. “You don’t believe me?”
“It’s hard to believe,” Timothy said.
“Brock and I saw them. They cut off that girl’s hair.”
“You can’t be serious,” Becky blurted out. “Maybe you are the ones who did it, and you’re making up this story.”
He glared at her. “I’m telling the truth.”
“It would be the first time.” Timothy gripped my hand so tightly my knuckles hurt.
I pulled my hand from Timothy’s grasp. “Curt, I believe you.”
Timothy’s face was incredulous, but I did believe Curt. “The chief is going to want to talk to you,” I said.
His expression became hooded again. “I’m not talking to the cops.”
The receptionist leaned over the counter. “Mr. Fanning? The doctor said Mr. Buckley has been moved to his room on the third floor. You can visit him there now. Visiting hours end at seven.”
Mr. Fanning? Mr. Buckley? The receptionist’s formal address of Curt and Brock didn’t fit them.
He turned to go.
“Curt,” I called.
He pivoted on the linoleum floor, the rubber soles of his boots squeaking.
“Thank you for telling me this.”
“You’re welcome.” He said the words as if they caused a strange taste in his mouth, then continued down the hallway.
Timothy was gaping at me. “You believe him?”
“Yes, I think this is what Abby wanted to tell me today, and she lost her nerve.” I ignored the No Cell Phone sign and called the chief. The receptionist glared at me but didn’t tell me to put the phone away.
“What is it, Humphrey? I told you I would see you later,” Chief Rose said in my ear.
“Something new has come up.” I repeated Curt’s story.
“Huh.”
“Huh? You don’t sounds too surprised.”
“I’m not. There was something about those girls’ story that didn’t sit well with me. I need to talk to Curt.”
“I told him that. He’s not eager to talk to you.”
She chuckled. “I’m not surprised. Typically we start a conversation with me Mirandarizing him. Is he still there?”
“As far as I know. The hospital is keeping Brock overnight. Curt was just tol
d he could go up and see his friend.”
“All right.” She clicked her tongue. “I’ll head to the hospital.”
“Do you want us to wait for you?”
“Nah. I’ll swing by your house after I talk to Curt. Do not talk to the girls. I don’t want them to get spooked that we know something.”
I hung up.
“Where do we go now?” Becky asked.
“Home,” I said.
I just prayed Dylan wouldn’t be there.
Chapter Forty-Four
Timothy threw a pillow into the corner of the couch. “This will work for me.”
Becky removed her coat and hung it in the hall closet. “The pillow?”
Gigabyte yowled at her first, and then at me. He was tired of being alone so much.
“The couch,” Timothy said. “I’m staying the night. I’ll sleep right here.”
I slipped off my boots and eased myself into the armchair. The aches and pains of pulling Brock from the icy water were beginning to set in. My right bicep was sore. If rescuing people was going to become a regular thing with me, I should start lifting weights. I glanced at Timothy. “You don’t have to do that.”
He set his jaw. “Yes, I do.”
Becky flopped onto her dog pillow on the floor. “Why? Do you think Curt and Brock will come here?”
“Brock’s not going much of anywhere until the hospital releases him, and I think Curt will be at his side until that happens.” I rubbed my arm.
Becky shook her head. “Who would have thought Curt cared so much about Brock?” She stood up. “I’ll pull some leftovers together for dinner.”
Becky made up hodgepodge plates of leftover manicotti, turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, ham, homemade cranberry relish, and green beans. Despite the strange assortment, my mouth watered. Saving someone’s life had made me work up an appetite.
“Can we eat in front of the TV?” Becky asked. “Paula Deen is coming on.”
“Sure.” I went to the hall closet and pulled out folding TV trays.
Timothy set up the trays, and we ate in the living room watching one of Becky’s favorite cooking shows. I laughed as I watched Timothy and Becky chew with their eyes glued to the TV.
Timothy swallowed. “What?”
I grinned. “I was just thinking you two are eating dinner in front of the television. You really are English now.”
The doorbell rang, and Timothy hopped up to answer it. “Come on in, Greta. We were having dinner. Would you like to join us?”
Her peridot eyes sparkled. “I would.”
Timothy grabbed a kitchen chair and a fourth TV tray while Becky went to the kitchen to fix a plate for the chief.
She handed me her coat and I hung it in the closet. Then I moved myself and my tray to the front of the couch, next to Timothy’s spot. “You can sit in the armchair.”
“What service,” Chief Rose said as she sat down. Timothy set the tray in front her.
Becky appeared with a plate. “I brought you a little of everything.”
“Looks good to me.” The chief placed her paper napkin on her lap.
We sat back in our places, and Becky reluctantly turned off the TV. One of these days I was going to have to show her how to use the DVR.
The police chief bowed her head before she started eating. She picked up her fork, then caught me gawking at her. “Does it come as a surprise to you, Humphrey, that I pray?”
Embarrassment washed over me. “Uh, yes . . .” I flushed. “I mean no.”
“Are you a Christian, too?” Becky asked the chief.
The side of Chief Rose’s mouth tipped up. “I am. I don’t think I could be a police officer without my faith. I see the worst of what people can do to each other. If I didn’t know God, that’s all I would see.” She cleared her throat. “So I talked to Curt.”
Relief washed over me when she let me off the hook.
“What did he say?” Timothy picked up his water glass.
She cut a small bite of ham. “Same thing that he told all of you.”
“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Becky sounded unconvinced.
“I do. I spoke to Brock, too, separately. He was irritated that Curt told us about what they saw, but he corroborated the story.”
“But why did he tell us?” Becky asked. “I feel like he must have some type of motive.”
The chief was thoughtful, her fork poised over her plate. “It’s always possible Curt had an ulterior motive. That is his method of operation. However, right now, as far as we know, he didn’t really have any reason except to show Humphrey his gratitude.”
“Gratitude?” Becky murmured. “That must have been different for him.”
“Do you think the girls killed Ezekiel Young?” I asked.
Timothy tapped his fork on the side of his plate. “Ezekiel was Abby’s uncle. It’s so hard to believe.”
The police chief shook her head. “No. Whoever did that was much taller than any of the girls. I got the autopsy report back today. The coroner said the person was either Young’s height or taller. Since Young was six feet tall, I can only assume I’m looking for a man. Not many Amazons strutting around Appleseed Creek.”
“There are two groups cutting off Amish hair?” I asked.
“That’s my thought. I believe the murder was a copycat crime. The haircutting is well-known in the county. Whoever wanted to kill Young used that to his advantage and made it look like it was related to the other crimes against the Amish.” She diced her sweet potato. “I’m not sure where the attack on Grandfather Zook falls in all of this.”
“Grossdaddi did say he was certain that whoever cut off his beard was a man,” Timothy said.
“Are you going to arrest the girls?” I asked.
“I could, but like Becky, most people wouldn’t think much of a story like that from an ex-con. Who are they going to believe? Three innocent-looking Amish girls . . . or Curt? Don’t answer that. I know the answer.” She paused for a sip of water. “Also, if I arrest the girls outright or even question them about their whereabouts, it will cause hard feelings between the English and Amish in town. I would like to keep the peace. There is enough division between our two worlds as it is.”
Becky’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth. “So you’re going to do nothing?”
The chief’s eyes narrowed into heavily made up slits. “No. Here’s the deal. The Amish don’t want me to come knocking on their door, but they might talk to you, Humphrey. I don’t know what it is about you. You’re like the Amish whisperer or something.”
Becky rolled her eyes.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“I need you to talk to the three girls together.”
I moved my water glass onto the other side of my TV tray. “Abby told me she, Leah, and Debbie were going to finish stocking The Apple Core for Christmas tomorrow morning before the store opens.”
The chief clapped her hands. “Perfect. Tomorrow, I want you to stop by The Apple Core and talk to them. Tell them that you discovered something about the haircutting they need to know.”
“I have to work tomorrow. It’s the last full week of the semester, and the office is going to be busy with student computer meltdowns.”
She shrugged. “Your staff can handle it.”
I opened my mouth to dispute that.
“Besides,” she waved her hand, “I already called Dean Klink and got you off the hook. I told him you were in the hospital today because you saved someone’s life. I promised him the Mount Vernon newspaper would include that you worked at the college when they write it up. He was very enthused about the life-saving piece.”
“Gee thanks,” I muttered.
“You’re welcome.” She ignored the sarcas
m in my tone. “At the meeting, get them to confess. I will have you wear a mic. I’ve been dying to try out the hand-me-down wire I got from the sheriff’s department.”
Becky’s nose wrinkled. “What’s does ‘wear a mic’ mean?”
The chief sipped her water. “We are going to bug Humphrey.”
Becky scrunched her forehead, looking even more confused.
“It means Chief Rose will record my conversation on a microphone.”
“Oh.” Becky nodded, as if that made sense.
Chief Rose arched an eyebrow at Becky. “You need to watch more cop shows.”
“And how do I get them to confess?” I asked, hoping to get the conversation back on track.
“That’s up to you. Like I told you, you’re the Amish whisperer.” The police chief stood. “Thanks for dinner. Humphrey, I’ll be here at nine a.m. tomorrow to pick you up.”
“What about us?” Becky asked.
The chief arched an eyebrow again. “You can go about your day as normal.”
“I’m going with Chloe,” Timothy said.
“The girls are more likely to talk to Chloe alone, but if you want to sit in my cruiser and listen to her wire, you’re welcome to do so.”
“Can you get me out of work tomorrow?” Becky sounded hopeful. “I want to listen to the wire too.”
“Sorry.” The chief collected her leather coat. “You’re on your own there.”
After Chief Rose left, Timothy folded his arms across his chest. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“What choice do I have? If the girls attacked Sadie, we need to know why. They may lead us to whoever attacked Grandfather Zook and killed Ezekiel.”
Timothy nodded, his expression sobering.
Becky started clearing the TV trays. “How cool is it that you will wear a wire like a spy or something?”
I admitted, if only to myself, that yes, it was kind of cool.
Chapter Forty-Five
Unable to sleep, I called Tanisha. It was early morning in Milan, and I knew she would already be up. Tee was one of those irritating people who woke up cheerful in the morning. Her entire family was like that.
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