Grandfather Zook wrinkled his nose. “How did he know about it so soon?”
“I don’t know that he did, but I’m sure he saw the police car drive by his place on the way to the Lambright farm.”
“Did he see you?” Mrs. Troyer’s voice was tight.
Timothy grimaced. “Ya. That much I know. He definitely saw me.”
I wanted to ask Timothy so many questions about the visit. Why did he make that face when his mother asked about Sally? What did the deacon say to him and Chief Rose? Ever since Bishop Hooley sided with the Troyers about whether or not they could see their English children, the deacon had made his distaste for the family perfectly clear. For Deacon Sutter, the district’s battle lines were drawn.
Grandfather Zook frowned. “We can only pray now.” He bowed his head. “Dear Lord, we pray for comfort and protection over the Lambright family during their time of loss, a loss made even more painful because of the time of year. Please show them Your love and care.”
When the prayer was over, Mr. Troyer picked up his coffee mug. “Let’s not speak of it. It is time to eat and go about our day.”
I stared at the heavy-looking meatloaf sandwich on my plate. In that moment, it was as appealing as a brick. However, I didn’t want to offend Timothy’s mother, so I forced myself to take a bite. At that moment, I thought of how blue Katie’s hand had been sticking out of the snow, and the bite lodged in my throat.
Chapter Five
As we were about to leave, Becky hugged Thomas good-bye so tightly the boy yelped. “Becky, you will see me tomorrow. It will be Christmas Eve.” He lowered his voice. “Did you bring me a gift?”
She tousled his towhead. “Maybe.”
His mouth fell open.
I frowned. How would the Lambrights’ Christmas be this year? The first Christmas after my mother died was the worst of my life. It was also the time when my father introduced me to his new girlfriend Sabrina. The memory tumbled inside my mind, so I said my good-byes to the Troyer family and went outside, needing to be alone.
After a few minutes, the door of the farmhouse’s screened-in front porch slapped back against its wooden frame. Timothy removed his black stocking cap from his coat pocket and pulled it onto his head. “Are you okay?”
I nodded even though I wasn’t sure that was true. “Why did you make a face when your mother asked about Sally Lambright’s reaction?”
Timothy frowned. “Because it wasn’t good.”
I dug my gloves out of my pockets. “She cried?”
Mabel barked and galloped down the driveway from the barn. She must have been snoozing inside of Grandfather Zook’s sleigh until she heard Timothy’s voice. Mrs. Troyer didn’t allow animals into her house. Even though Mabel was a big, shaggy dog, the size of a golden retriever or collie, she leaped into Timothy’s arms. He caught her and hugged her before landing on all four paws on the ground.
“Timothy?” I asked. “What did Sally do?”
“It’s not what she did. It’s what she said.”
“What was that?”
He sighed. “She said that Katie had this coming. That she brought this on herself.”
My stomach tightened. “What did she mean?”
“Not sure, exactly. Greta asked her to explain, but that was all she would say. The chief believes that Anna will be the easiest to talk to, to find out what Katie was up to in her final days. She couldn’t ask her then because Jeb kicked us off his property. Besides, Anna was hysterical at the moment. We could hear her wailing all the way from her bedroom on the second floor.” Timothy stood there in the silence. Then he glanced back at the house. “It always takes Becky so long to say good-bye to the family.”
“You know it’s hard for her to leave.”
“She could go back to the Amish and stay forever,” Timothy said.
I frowned, but decided not to argue with Timothy. I knew he secretly wished his sister would return to the Amish and marry his best friend, Aaron, who was Timothy’s age, but obviously in love with Becky, eight years his junior. “You can’t even guess why Sally would say something so awful about Katie.”
He shook his head. “That was the one and only thing she said the entire time. I did get an earful from Jeb. I think it was a mistake for me to be there when Greta told them. It only made it worse.”
“Why?”
“Jeb said that it was runaway Amish like me that lead to these kinds of tragedies. If I hadn’t left the Amish way, others wouldn’t follow. He said that I was the example and the reason Becky left.”
I touched his sleeve. “That’s not true.”
He shook his head. “It is to some extent. My sister would never have been brave enough to leave home if I hadn’t already done it myself and turned out all right. Most of the Amish in our district stay Amish. Before she left home, she didn’t know of any other fallen away Amish except for me.”
“Becky left for herself.”
“But I gave her the idea.” His voice was thick with emotion.
I turned the conversation back to Katie. “Jeb thinks Katie left the Amish?”
“That was the impression I got. He didn’t elaborate and completely ignored Greta’s questions. I thought she was going to spit nails, she was so mad.”
The police chief didn’t like to be ignored. I knew that. “But Katie was in Amish dress. There was nothing about her that indicated she left the Amish way of life.”
“Maybe she had just left before she died.”
“Had she been missing? Did the family notice that she was gone?”
“Jeb wouldn’t say.”
I sighed. “Someone has to know.”
“Do you plan to find out whom that someone is?” Timothy asked as Becky stepped into the yard.
She held a tin of caramel corn. I wasn’t surprised. Rarely, did we leave the Troyer farm without a care package.
I looked him straight in the eye. “Yes. And you will help me.”
THE DRIVE TO THE house Becky and I lived in was quiet as each of us, Mabel included, was preoccupied with our own thoughts. Most likely, Mabel contemplated when she would have an opportunity for her next nap. Timothy, Becky, and my own thoughts were much darker.
Temporarily, Becky and I rented the home of the Quills, an elderly couple who wintered in Florida. Unlike the Troyer house, which had been in the family for several generations and sat a quarter-mile back from the road, the Quills’ two-story, brick home was only two car-lengths from the county road. Beneath the snow, perfectly manicured bushes sat shaped into spirals and balls. The Christmas tree that Timothy, Becky, and I chose from the farm in town was framed by the front window, its lights blinking on and off.
The home was similar to the house I grew up in Shaker Heights before my mother died, except that house had another floor and more square footage. It also had the same artificial perfection of the Quills’ place. I liked the Troyer farmhouse better. Becky, however, did not. She loved everything about our rental—from the remote control that operated the gas fireplace to the professional kitchen appliances. If I heard her pontificate one more time about how wonderful the six-burner gas stove was, I might choke.
Becky’s lawyer, Tyler Hart, had helped us find this new place to live when circumstances forced Becky and me into an unexpected move. With little time to find another place, and with few rentals available in the town of Appleseed Creek, the Quills’ offer was the best option we had. When the Quills returned in April, Becky and I would have to find yet another new home, and I hoped for something more permanent that would suit us both. I was tired of moving. Still, even though the Quills’ house was three miles from my job at the college, it was closer to Becky’s. In good weather she could walk or ride her bike to Young’s Family Kitchen where she waitressed.
Timothy parked his pickup behind my VW Bug in the Quills’ driveway. Several extra inches of snow had accumulated on the Bug since we had left early that morning for the Troyer farm. Would we ever see green grass again? After Christm
as, I would be ready for spring and summer to return; however, I’d lived in Ohio my entire life and knew we hadn’t even entered the deepest part of winter.
Becky hopped out of the truck. “I didn’t know it was so late. Carol will be here to pick me up for work in five minutes.”
Carol, a middle-aged woman, worked in Young’s pie shop. She was one of the few English people who worked at Young’s on a permanent basis. Owner Ellie Young claimed she couldn’t turn Carol away because she had some of the best pie recipes in the county—if not in the entire state of Ohio—trapped in her head.
Becky flew through the front door of the house just as Carol pulled into our driveway. I stepped out of the truck at a much slower pace as Carol powered down her window.
I waved. “Becky’s run—”
Before I finished my sentence, Becky ran back outside with her Amish uniform—a dress and apron—slung over her arm, and jumped into Carol’s car.
Timothy laughed. “I think that lecture Ellie gave Becky about being late for work scared her straight.”
As we entered the house, my yowling Siamese cat, Gigabyte, greeted us. I removed my coat and scratched Gig under the chin, but he was not appeased and batted my hand away.
Because he was headed to work at Young’s as well, Timothy didn’t remove his coat. In addition to the restaurant, with its small Amish gift shop and bakery, the Young’s owned a flea market consisting of three open-air pavilions behind the main building. Timothy was the head contractor on a project to enclose those pavilions so the flea market could be open all year round.
“Do you have to go straight to Young’s?” I asked. It seemed odd that I didn’t have to go to work myself. The college was closed for winter break, with only a skeleton crew on campus. I stopped by the campus occasionally during break to check on the systems and servers, but beyond that, had no commitments.
A small smiled played on the corners of Timothy’s lips. “No.”
I steadied my gaze on him. “I’d like to go to Uncle Billy’s. Will you go with me?”
Timothy grinned at me. “I was just waiting for you ask.”
I laughed. “How did you know that I would?”
“I think I know you pretty well by now, Chloe Humphrey. I know you won’t rest until you talk to Billy.” He helped me back into my winter coat. “And neither will I.”
Chapter Six
Snow buried the graveyard of auto parts in front of Billy’s property, and ice clung to the sign that read, Uncle Billy’s Bud. The rest of the sign—get Autos—had been destroyed in a storm over a decade before.
Mabel barked as Timothy’s pickup came to a stop. For once, the dog was wide awake and willingly exited the truck after I climbed out. My boots sank into the freshly fallen snow until they reached the hard-packed layer underneath. Two sets of tire tracks carved up the lawn that served as a parking lot, and half-a-dozen pairs of footprints dotted the ground. One set of footprints wove through the graveyard, and there was evidence of digging in the snow. A quarter of a red sedan hood was visible, the only lump in the auto graveyard unearthed.
Timothy pulled on his gloves, so that they covered his wrists. “Greta and her officers have already searched the place.”
“It would have surprised me if she hadn’t been through here.” I took another step toward the shop itself and my foot caught as I tripped over something buried under the snow. Timothy caught me by the elbow, keeping me from tumbling to the ground.
The day had reached late afternoon. We had maybe an hour before sunset. Timothy lifted a hand to block the sun’s glare off the snow. “I’m surprised that Billy hasn’t come outside yet.”
“Do you think Chief Rose arrested him?”
His brow furrowed. “I don’t know. Greta wouldn’t make an arrest without being positive the person was guilty. She’s too careful to rush anything, and it’s only been seven hours since we found Katie. Could the case be wrapped up that quickly?”
“He was using the barn as a storehouse without permission.”
Timothy’s eyes flashed. “That doesn’t mean he killed anyone.”
I pulled on his sleeve. “I know he’s your friend.”
Timothy marched toward the office and knocked on the door like a cop. Thwack, thwack, thwack. Had Chief Rose taught him to knock on a door like that?
No answer. He tried the doorknob, but it was locked. “I know another way inside.” He walked around the side of the building, as Mabel barked and followed. I fell into line after her. “Watch your step.” He said over one shoulder. “Who knows what’s buried under the snow.”
Did Billy have so much junk on his property to scare people off? If so, a very effective away to discourage visitors from coming too close.
The back of the shop had one entry and two garage doors. One of the garage doors hung crookedly from its bearings. Timothy kicked the snow out of the way, revealing a gap between the bottom of the door and the frozen ground. “There. Billy showed it to me one time when he locked himself out of the shop. He couldn’t fit through it, but he knew that I could.”
The space looked like it couldn’t fit much more than a small dog. It certainly would not have been enough space for Billy, who tipped the scale at three hundred pounds, to crawl under.
Timothy squatted next to the small opening. “It looks like the garage dropped since I crawled under there last summer.”
“It could be the snow pack making the ground higher.”
He moved more snow away with his gloved hand. “Either way, I don’t think I can fit.”
I squatted next to him. “You might not fit, but I can.”
He swiveled a look at me. “You’ll be covered with snow.”
“So what? You were about to do the same thing.” I sat back on my haunches. “Chief Rose won’t like it if we go inside there, though.”
Timothy hand shoveled away more snow. “Greta has already been here.”
“But—”
“Chloe, I have to see inside of the shop. Billy might not be answering the door because he’s upset or maybe there’s a clue to where he’s gone. I need to talk to him. He’s my friend.”
“Okay. Then help me squeeze through.” I lay on my stomach and looked into the dark of the shop, unable to see an inch in front of my face. “Do you have a flashlight?”
Timothy handed me a tiny flashlight connected to his key ring. It wasn’t much, but at least I could see there was plenty of room for me to wiggle through two stacks of worn tires. “I can fit.”
Timothy placed a hand on my shoulder. “Be careful. There are lots of sharp objects in Billy’s shop.”
“I’ll be careful.” I stuck my head and shoulders through the opening. It was a tight squeeze, but I made it and slid on my stomach across the oil-stained concrete floor. The smell of gasoline burned the inside of my nose. I rolled over and bumped the edge of a metal shelf, and an oil can fell to the dusty floor with a bang.
I yelped.
Thankfully the can didn’t explode.
“Are you okay?” Timothy asked.
I steadied my pounding heart. “I’m fine. Meet me at the front door.” I struggled to my feet and dusted off the front of my ski coat. My hand came away smelling like motor oil and caked with dirt. I glanced at my coat. It would need permanent retirement after this little excursion.
The only light in the garage came through the opening under the broken garage door. I shone the key chain flashlight in front me, its light making monstrous shadows on the walls. I took a few tentative steps toward a lightbulb and chain hanging from the ceiling. When I pulled down on the chain, dim yellow light washed over the room.
A circa-1990 sedan was on the lift, its undercarriage exposed. I moved the flashlight’s beam over the underside of the car. No duct tape anywhere. Apparently Billy only used the stuff for cosmetic fixes. Good to know. I didn’t know much about cars, but something told me duct tape on a car engine was not a good idea.
Timothy banged on the front door.
&
nbsp; “Coming!”
His knock sounded distant and I doubted he could hear me. He was outside, in front of the living quarters, which was an aluminum-sided mobile home that Billy had welded to the garage itself.
I wove through the crowded shop and knocked over a coffee can of bolts sitting on a stool. Not surprisingly, Billy was not the most organized shop owner in the world. I found the wooden door that led into the mobile home and switched on the main light switch, bathing the shop in garish yellow light. The door leading into the home was unlocked and it opened into the kitchen.
Billy kept his home as neat as his shop. The sink was full of dirty dishes with unidentifiable remnants of food clinging to them, and as I stepped on the floor, my boots stuck to something. A small, two-person Formica table was tucked into the corner of the room with a couple of folding chairs sitting on either side of it and a bowl of decaying cereal on top of it. A mug of coffee dregs sat next to the dried-out cereal bowl. My shoulders drooped. Is this how Timothy’s friend lived?
Timothy banged on the front door again and called my name.
“I’m coming. Hold your horses,” I added under my breath.
I picked my way through the living room, an unmade sleeper sofa. It sagged close to the floor. To my surprise the front door had not one, but three dead bolts. I unlocked each one and threw open the door.
Timothy scowled at me. “What took so long?”
“I had a little trouble reaching you. This place is an obstacle course. Do you think it looked this bad when the police were here?”
“I’m sure it did. I’ve been in here a few times to talk to Billy about cars. He’s not a neatnick. That’s for sure.”
“Timothy, Billy’s not here.” I knew that to be true the moment I stepped into the trailer. The mobile home was tiny and had only three rooms: the eat-in kitchen, living/bedroom, and a tiny bathroom. I hadn’t checked the bathroom closely, but the door stood open. Considering, Billy’s mammoth size, had he been in there, I would have seen him.
A Plain Disappearance Page 4