I shook my head. “I’m not staying in the house. I’m going to Timothy’s.”
“Good thinking.” She paused. “I’m leaving now. I’ll call your cell when I get close to knowing when I can get the coat. Don’t lose it.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
Remembering the promise I had made to Timothy in the hospital, I called his cell again, to tell him we were in danger. It rang three times then went to voice-mail.
He probably couldn’t hear it over the tools.
When I reached Timothy’s house, it was dark. I knocked on the front door. No answer. Neither Danny nor Timothy was home. I tried the doorknob, but it was locked. I swallowed and glanced around, goose bumps rose on my skin. I called Timothy a third time. Voice-mail.
An idea popped into my head. I’d swing by Young’s and collect Timothy’s house key. Gig yowled as I turned on the engine and backed out of Timothy’s driveway. He wasn’t fond of car rides.
The restaurant lot was half full with evening diners. The spaces near the flea market were empty except for, to my relief, Timothy’s blue pickup truck parked by the second pavilion.
I shoved Dylan’s coat under the passenger seat of my car. It was in the lower forties and I thought Gigabyte would be warm enough in the car while I ran into the pavilion to fetch Timothy’s house key. I glanced at my cat, his eyes wide. “I’ll be a minute.”
He yowled. It would be a long time before he forgave me for all this running around.
I jogged to the second pavilion. “Timothy?” I called out while ducking under the plastic sheeting.
No response. I heard the echo of a power tool running at the end of the pavilion near the meat and dairy counter Timothy had started building before the murder. I shivered. I hadn’t been inside the pavilion since finding Ezekiel’s body. I followed the noise.
My shoulders relaxed a little when I noticed that the sawhorse that had tripped me during my last visit was gone. Perhaps, Chief Rose had confiscated it for evidence. “Tim—” His name died on my lips. The air compression nail gun lay on the ground, humming in the corner of the pavilion. It was not being used.
My body shuddered. About fifteen feet from the gun, I saw the back of an Amish man, his hands in the air. Another man faced him—Dylan Tanner. He held a handgun, with an extra long barrel, and pointed it at the Amish man’s chest.
Chapter Forty-Nine
I spun around. Phut! Debris from the ceiling fell onto my head, the largest piece the size of a Matchbox car.
“Don’t move!” Dylan’s voice cut through the air like a razor.
I froze.
He narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I—I was looking for Timothy.” I shivered. Dylan’s gun didn’t have an extra large barrel on the end—that extra length was a silencer.
He curled his lip. “He’s not here.”
I took a huge step back carefully stepping over an orange electrical cord. “I’ll go check the other pavilions, then.” We’re not going to mention the gun in your hand? That’s fine by me.
The Amish man turned slightly so that he could see me. It was Uriah Young. His hands were still in the air, away from his body.
“Don’t look at her!” Dylan snapped at Uri. He caught me in his sights again. “Where are you going?”
“To find Timothy.” I turned to go, and as I did, he seemed to remember the gun in his hand—and the man he held at gunpoint. “Stop! Or I’ll shoot him. You’re not going anywhere.”
Slowly, I pivoted on my heels to face Dylan.
“Dylan, let the girl go,” Uri said. “She had nothing to do with this.”
“She has everything to do with this. Everywhere she goes, she’s in my way.” Dylan’s eyes were bloodshot. Had he been drinking?
“How could she possibly be in your way?” Uri’s tone was condescending. I wasn’t sure if that was the best tactic to use against Dylan. “She’s just a girl.”
“You shut up,” Dylan ordered through clenched teeth. “You’ve said enough already.”
Ignoring the gun was no longer an option. I spoke slowly. “What’s going on Dylan?”
A smile that did not reach his eyes curled on his mouth. “I’m finally doing this right. No mess-ups this time.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “Mess-ups? What do you mean?” I tried to keep my voice level. My knees knocking together sounded like a thump, thump, thump in my head. Or maybe that sound was the pounding of my heart.
“Last time,” he paused. “Last time, I made a mistake.”
“Everything you do has been a mistake.” Uri’s voice sounded patronizing.
I spoke up. “No it hasn’t.”
Uri shrugged. “I guess your wife would know that for sure.”
Dylan’s lips trembled.
Was I imagining things or was Uri trying to keep Dylan’s attention on himself? The phone felt heavy in the inner pocket of my coat. If I could get away, I could call Chief Rose on my cell phone.
As if Dylan read my mind, he pointed to the ground. “Cell phone. Throw your cell phone to me.”
My mouth went dry. “I—I don’t have it.”
He shot the ceiling above my head. More debris fell. A chunk of lumber the size of a brick crashed at my feet.
Where was Timothy? If he couldn’t hear the gun, couldn’t he hear the roof falling in? What about Ellie? Couldn’t anyone at the restaurant hear it?
“Phone. Now!” Dylan yelled.
I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket and pulled out the phone. I hit the speed dial button for Timothy’s phone then threw it to Dylan’s feet. The device clattered to the cement floor. The back of the smartphone broke off and the glowing screen went black. I lifted my eyes to Dylan. “Chief Rose already knows everything. I called her after you stormed out of my house.”
He stamped his foot on the floor like a toddler. “That’s my house. My house! Can’t you get that through your skull?” His forehead was damp with perspiration. “After I am finished with him, you will show me where you put Gerald’s coins.” Maybe the college professor was on something stronger than alcohol.
I stepped back. “I don’t have them. I never had them.”
“Liar!”
I tried to keep my voice steady. “Chief Rose already knows you killed Ezekiel. I found your coat. You left it at the house.”
His gun fell a fraction of an inch. “My coat?”
“Yes. The one Grandfather Zook’s horse took a bite out of when you cut off his beard. Why did you cut off his beard, Dylan?”
Uri cut in. “To throw off the police.”
I wished I could see Uri’s face, so that I could signal him to be quiet.
Dylan’s eyes darted from Uri to me and back again. “I didn’t mean to hurt the old man. He was an easy target—one those girls could have easily gotten to.” He licked his lips. “I need to decide what to do now. Everything was fine until you got in my way.”
Uri scoffed. “Fine? You have to be joking.”
“Shut up!” Dylan’s voice echoed through the pavilion.
“What are you going to do, Tanner,” Uri said. “Shoot both of us?”
Why don’t you give him more ideas, Uri?
Dylan trained the gun on Uri’s heart. “You shut your mouth.”
“If you kill us, it will be another mistake, but this is the one that will ruin your life.”
“What mistake did you make, Dylan?” I tried to keep my voice level.
“I killed the wrong twin. After weeks of planning, I killed the wrong one.” Sweat gathered on Dylan’s upper lip. “I thought it was you!” His voice quavered. “You ruined my life!”
“You killed my bruder.” Uri loomed over him as if daring Dylan to shoot.
Do
es Uri have a death wish?
“Uri,” I said. “Leave him alone.”
His head snapped around. Instead of fury, I saw sorrow. “He killed my bruder when he wanted to kill me. I don’t deserve to live when my bruder died in my place.”
My mouth went dry. “Why did you want to kill Uri, Dylan?”
“Don’t you use past tense,” he snapped. “Wanting to kill Uriah Young has not died away. No, it’s gotten much worse with every passing moment.”
That didn’t sound good.
“He cost me my savings—and my wife.”
“Don’t you mean your wife’s savings?” Uri said.
I wished I could mind meld with Uri, and say, You’re not helping! Instead all I could do was shoot him a disapproving look.
Dylan wiped sweat from his eyes with his free hand. “Don’t mention my wife.”
“It’s the truth. She left you because you lost the money she inherited from her father’s will.”
“I gave the money to you. You convinced me to invest in the pavilion, and when the contractor you hired ran away with my money, you took no responsibility for it. You found another investor and hired a new contractor as if nothing happened. You went on with your life when mine was ruined.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Uri said.
Phut! The gun went off. Uri fell against the plywood side of the half-finished cheese counter and slid to the floor. A streak of blood marked his path.
My heart pounded wildly.
Dylan stared at Uri lying on the floor, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.
I knelt by Uri’s head. “Uri! Uri!”
His face was ashen. Blood soaked the front of his shirt. I ripped off my coat and pressed if to Uri’s chest. Lord, don’t let him die. I looked up. There was a hole in the plywood. The bullet went clean through.
“Get—get away from him,” Dylan stuttered.
I picked up Uri’s hand and placed it over the coat. “Press down hard.” I barely breathed the words.
“Stand up!”
Slowly, I stood.
Without my coat the cold drafty air of the pavilion bit into my skin.
“I should have shot him in the first place, instead of that ridiculous plan.” His voice grew quiet, distant. “My wife told me that all of my plans are horrible. Nothing good comes of them.” He raised his eyes to me. “She was right.”
I felt Uri’s hand on my ankle, and he squeezed it with strength. I didn’t dare look down.
Dylan panted. “I said get away from him.”
I spoke calmly. “He needs medical attention.”
“Get away from him now, or I will shoot you too.”
I inched away from Uri. “Dylan, you don’t want to do this.”
“How do you know what I want? Why do you even pretend to care? I want to find the coins in my house. If I find them and sell them, I will have money, more money than before, and Kara will come back.” Sweat dripped off the tip of his nose. “But you won’t even let me do that. Everyone is trying to stop me from being successful.”
There was no point in arguing with him. We had moved long past arguments.
He ran a free hand through his hair and licked his lips. “Now, what am I going to do? You weren’t supposed to be in here.” He leveled the gun, so that it pointed directly at my chest. “I will have to shoot you too.”
A chill ran from the back of my head all the way to my heels.
He shook his head, slowly. “I didn’t want to do that, but you left me no choice.”
“That’s wrong, Dylan, you have a choice.” My lungs constricted. “You always have a choice.”
“No, I don’t,” he said through gritted teeth.
With a cry, Uri leapt from the cement floor and threw himself against Dylan’s knees. The gun went off as the pair crashed into the vegetable booth. Wood splintered as they hit the floor in a heap.
Uri groaned and rolled onto his side. Dylan lay there for a few seconds with the wind knocked out of him. Somehow he’d managed to keep hold of the gun. I scanned the room for some type of weapon. The hum of the air compressor grabbed my attention. I picked up the nail gun, but the air compression hose was tangled around Timothy’s work bench. I knelt on the floor to loosen it, my fingers numb and moving clumsily to remove the kinks in the hose.
Dylan sat up, gulping air. Uri was no longer any help, his breathing choppy as he held a bloody hand to his upper chest.
I almost had the last kink out of the air hose.
Still holding the gun, Dylan stood on shaky legs. “What are you doing?”
The hose pulled free. I turn the nail gun on him, closed my eyes, and squeezed as hard as I could—just like Timothy had shown me.
The nail hit him in the calf. Dylan cried out in pain. I scrambled to my feet and aimed the nail gun at his right hand, the one holding the automatic weapon, and took a shot. A nail hit him in the hand. He screamed and dropped the gun on the floor—and I kicked it as hard as I could. It skittered across the cement floor.
“Police!” Chief Rose and her officers barged into the pavilion through the plastic sheeting.
“She shot me!” Dylan squealed. Blood poured out of the wound in the back of his hand.
Chief Rose examined his wound and arched an eyebrow at me. “A nail gun?”
I blew out a harsh breath. “It was the only thing I could find.”
Chapter Fifty
Chloe?” Timothy shouted to me from about twenty feet away. One of Chief Rose’s officers held him back.
“You’ll be able to see her in a minute,” the officer said. “The chief is interviewing her right now.”
I called out to him, my voice flooded with relief. “Timothy!”
He wrestled free from the officer and reached me in three long strides, wrapping me in a hug so hard that my sore shoulder cracked. Pain shot down the length of my arm, but I didn’t care.
I looked up into his face, still holding onto him. “Where were you?”
He flinched at my accusatory tone, and I wished I could grab the words out of space and shove them back into my mouth.
He frowned and held me tighter. “I was with Ellie. She wanted to walk to the cemetery to visit Ezekiel’s grave. The Amish cemetery is on the back corner of the property, and I didn’t want her to walk alone. She had come into the pavilion to ask Uri to go with her, but he wasn’t here.” His blue eyes searched my face. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Dylan and Uri are hurt.”
He scanned the room and stopped, transfixed by the blood-stained wall. He swallowed hard. “Where are they?”
“They’re both alive and on the way to the hospital. Uri has a gunshot wound to the shoulder and . . .
“And Dylan?”
I bit my lip. “I shot him with your nail gun.”
Timothy’s mouth fell open.
“In the leg and hand. The construction lesson you gave me came in handy.”
He crushed me to him in another hug.
Epilogue
Becky looped back into the living room of our new home. “Did you see the kitchen? Stainless steel appliances like in a professional kitchen. A six-burner range. Think of all the great food we can cook!”
I grinned at her. “We? Don’t you mean you?”
“Right, me! It’s going to be amazing. I can’t wait to invite everyone over. I’m thinking I’ll make tacos, a real authentic Mexican meal. My family’s never had Mexican food. They’re missing out.”
“It sounds great.” I didn’t want to dampen her enthusiasm, but I doubted that the Troyer family would ever come to our new home. That would be certain shunning for them.
She twirled about the room. “We should host a Christmas party too. Wouldn’t that be fun? I’
ve always wanted to go to an Englischer party.”
“What do you think an English party is?”
“From what I’ve seen on television, there’s lots of food, laughter, and music.”
“We’ll see. I’ll need to check with the Quills. This is their house, and we will only be here for a short time.”
“It will be great. You’ll see.” She waltzed around the room. “Can we have a Christmas tree?”
I smiled. “Of course. We will definitely have a Christmas tree.”
She grinned. “My first one!”
Timothy grunted as he carried Becky’s trunk into the house. “What do you have in here? Horseshoes?”
“It’s my hope chest, bruder.”
“Oh.” He set it inside the door. “Where does it go?”
“My room,” she said. “On the second floor.”
Timothy groaned as he lifted the chest.
There was a tap on the frame of the front door. “G-Gude Mariye,” a deep voice ventured through the open door.
Timothy nearly dropped Becky’s hope chest.
“Timothy, be careful,” his sister cried.
With care, he set the trunk on the carpeted floor.
“Bishop Hooley?” I asked.
“M-may I come in?”
“Yes, of course.” I gestured to the Quills’ sofa.
The bishop stood tall and looked more like the leader he was chosen to be.
“I have already been to your family farm and told your parents that I was wrong to put those restraints on them. They do not have to worry about being shunned from the community. After what h-has happened with the haircutting and attack on my d-daughter, I see how holding too tightly to something can be worse than loosening one’s grip.”
A smile spread on Becky’s face. “So we can visit home again?”
He nodded. “Y-yes, with no fear of me.”
Timothy’s reaction was much more solemn. “Thank you, bishop.”
“How is Sadie?” I asked tentatively.
Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3 Page 56