“I know who the driver was, and I know Timothy is her brother too. My questions will only take a few minutes. Let’s walk over here.” With a manicured nail, she pointed at a huge briar bush on the side of the road, far from where the Amish men stood.
“You are Chloe Humphrey, correct?”
“Yes.”
She pulled a printout from her pocket and scanned it. “The vehicle in the accident is registered to you.”
I nodded.
“And the car is insured.”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’m going to need to see proof of that.”
I bristled. “Is my insurance responsible for the accident?”
Her eyebrows peeked out over those huge glasses. “Someone will have to pay for the damage and injuries.”
My throat tightened.
“Amish don’t take out insurance policies on their buggies, and Miss Troyer was an uninsured motorist. Since it was your vehicle involved . . .”
My chest constricted. “I’m not responsible for the accident.”
“It’s your vehicle. I’d advise you to contact your insurance company.”
“I wasn’t driving the car,” I insisted. “Becky was.”
“Are you saying she stole your car?” She removed her sunglasses, revealing peridot-colored eyes highlighted by black eye liner and heavy mascara. She trained her gaze on me like a green laser beam.
I jerked back. “No . . . she borrowed it.”
Chief Rose ran her hand through her brown curls, her tone all business. “An unlicensed driver doesn’t borrow a car. Did you allow her to take it?”
“No! I had no idea. I wouldn’t let her drive my car without a license.”
She folded the printout and stuck it back in the pocket of her navy uniform. “If she drove it without your permission, that’s stealing. There may be an additional charge against Becky.”
“If I say she stole the car, which I don’t.”
Chief Rose shrugged as if it made no difference to her. “I need to see that insurance card now.”
“It’s in my purse inside Timothy’s truck.”
“I’ll wait for you to get it.”
I nodded.
“I’d like to see your registration too,” she called out.
My back stiffened as I wove through the crowd to Timothy’s truck. Many of the Amish men had left. Three stood around the bishop’s horse, trying to convince the frightened animal to step into the back of a trailer. At first I thought the horse unharmed, but now that I had a clear view of the animal, I saw a long gash on her left shoulder. I knew nothing about caring for farm animals, but I prayed the animal would make it. One tragic loss was more than enough.
“Miss Humphrey! The insurance card, please.”
I glanced back at Chief Rose, who stood in the middle of the road, tapping her foot.
The truck was unlocked, and my purse lay on the passenger side. I grabbed it.
Chief Rose took the registration and insurance card from my hand. “I’ll give them back to you in a minute, then you will be free to go. Do you plan to go to the hospital to see your friend?”
“Yes.”
She ambled to her cruiser parked on the side of the road. Leaving the cruiser door open, Chief Rose logged onto the computer between the driver and passenger seats. Fear trickled through me. How would I pay for the accident if I was held financially responsible? Would Bishop Glick’s family sue me? Do the Amish sue? My stomach roiled. Would I have to ask my father and Sabrina for help? They had the money, although Sabrina would deny it. My stepmother would let me go to jail first.
Becky, the nineteen-year-old would-be artist, was in much more trouble than I. Nearby, Timothy and the deacon continued to argue in their own language. What did the deacon mean about Timothy’s father being a preacher?
Chief Rose returned and handed me my insurance card and registration. “You know, Miss Humphrey, you might want to rethink the company you keep.”
“What does that mean?”
She cocked her head at Timothy before slipping her sunglasses back on. “Your insurance company will know what to do about the accident. Sadly, this is not the first time we’ve had a buggy and auto collision in Appleseed Creek—and it won’t be the last.”
Timothy jogged toward them. “Chloe, are you ready to go to the hospital now?” It was the first time I’d heard Timothy say my name, and despite the tragic circumstances, I liked the sound of it.
“Yes, I’m ready.” I adjusted my purse strap on my shoulder.
“Hello, Timothy,” Chief Rose said. “Staying out of trouble?”
Timothy’s jaw twitched. “Nice to see you, Greta.”
“You can call me Chief Rose.”
“Do you two know each other?” I don’t know why I was surprised. Knox County was so small.
Greta nodded. “We have mutual friends.”
Timothy winced.
My stomach tightened again. What did I walk into when I moved to Appleseed Creek?
Chapter Ten
A stoplight greeted us at each intersection along the way to the hospital in Mount Vernon, and each time we stopped, Timothy’s grip on the steering wheel became a little bit tighter.
“How do you know the police chief?” The question popped out of my mouth, and I wished I could take it back.
Timothy kept his eyes on the road as we were held up by yet another stoplight. “Appleseed Creek is a small town.”
I suspected there was more to it than that. “You called the man you were talking with Deacon. Is that his name?”
“No. Deacon is his position in the church. We call him Deacon Sutter.”
Timothy made a left turn and we drove up a small hill that led to the hospital parking lot. The ambulance idled by the entrance to the emergency room. Timothy found a parking place quickly.
The waiting room was white with dark blue linoleum floor. Padded wooden chairs sat back-to-back in three rows. A flat-screen television in the corner played ESPN to an empty room. A sheriff’s deputy stood by the nurses’ station, drinking coffee from a paper cup and flirting with the pretty receptionist.
Although a different hospital, I remembered the horrible night my mother died and how my father dragged me to the emergency room.
Timothy spoke to the receptionist. “My sister, Becky Troyer, just arrived in an ambulance. How is she?”
The receptionist smiled at him. Her even, white teeth stood out against thick magenta-colored lipstick. The young deputy scowled. Obviously, he would have preferred she keep her smile aimed at him.
“She’s getting a cast for her arm,” the receptionist said. “It’s broken.”
I stepped up next to Timothy. “Can we see her?”
She scrutinized me. “Who are you?”
“Chloe Humphrey. I’m Becky’s roommate.”
The woman shook her head. “Only immediate family in the back. Her brother can see her.”
“How long will she be here?” I asked.
“They are with her now. It should only be a few minutes.”
The deputy shifted at the desk. “But then I have to take her to the sheriff’s office for questioning.”
Timothy winced. “Can we go with her?”
The deputy shrugged. “You can wait for her at the station if you like.”
The phone on the receptionist’s desk rang and the woman picked up the receiver, listening for a moment. “All right.” She hung up. “Mr. Troyer, you can go back and see your sister now.”
“I’ll show you where she is,” the deputy said.
Timothy’s brow wrinkled.
“Go on.” I shooed him. “I’ll be here.”
He nodded and followed the deputy down the hallway.
Outside the emergency room’s automatic doors, the humid air hit me like a wall. I checked my cell phone for the temperature. Ninety degrees. With nowhere to sit outside, I decided to make my phone call in Timothy’s truck, which he’d left unlocked.
I dialed Dean Klink’s office number.
“Hello.” His jovial voice contrasted with my emotions.
“Hello, Dean Klink? It’s Chloe Humphrey.” I rested my hand on the steering wheel, only to yank it away from the hot surface.
“Chloe, hello? How are you doing? We’re keeping you busy I suspect. By the way, I love your proposal for a learning management system. An absolute must! I’m making it a top priority the next time I meet with the president’s cabinet. I knew you were the right one to hire.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He barked a laugh. “Sir? I thought we told you we weren’t much for formality here.”
“You did. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize for that! What can I do for you?” A rap-rap-rap echoed through the line. I imagined the dean tapping the end of his pen on his desk.
“I’m off campus and will be for the rest of the day. My roommate was in a car accident.” I didn’t mention my roommate was a runaway Amish or that the bishop was dead. Details of the accident would travel through Appleseed Creek soon enough.
He took a sharp breath. “Oh dear, that’s awful. Is she all right?”
Was she all right? An excellent question. “She has a broken arm.”
“She’s lucky to be alive. Take all the time you need.”
“Thank you, Dean.”
“Now, I told you to call me Charlie.” His upbeat tone had returned.
“I’ll try.”
A vehicle backfired behind me, and a truck roared into the parking place next to mine. A green pickup. My stomach turned. The two men who had harassed Becky on the highway were inside.
“Well, well, well, looky who’s here,” the scrawny one said.
“It’s Red.” Babyface climbed out of the pickup. “We haven’t seen her since her little friend made me skin my knee.”
“Go away,” I said as he sauntered up to my door. The power windows were down, and I didn’t have the truck’s keys to raise them. I hit the locks, but knew that Babyface could reach inside the cabin and open the door if he wanted.
“Do you want to see the scar I have from falling down?” The faint hint of alcohol sullied the air between us.
The driver snorted a laugh.
“Leave me alone.”
The driver spat. “We’re just visiting with you. That’s not very neighborly of you to turn us away like this—and we are neighbors of yours. Grover is a real nice street, real nice.”
A shiver traveled down my spine. The green pickup had been driving up and down my street, watching the house. “There are police inside the hospital. If I scream, they will hear me.”
He snickered. “We wouldn’t want that.”
“What are you doing here anyway?” Babyface leered. “Are you visiting your little friend?”
“’Course she is, Brock. Red loves to save little Amish girls in trouble. This one is in a heap of trouble too.” He tsked. “Mowing down an Amish big shot is never a good idea. I wonder what made her do it.”
Brock let loose a laugh. “Maybe the big shot had it coming.”
The other one nodded, like this was all making sense. “Could be. I always suspected there was something off about those buggy riders.” His grin widened. “Hate to see a pretty girl end up in prison.”
Brock smirked and fingered the door lock. “She’ll be very popular on the cellblock, I’m sure.”
Nausea washed over me.
I scanned the cabin for something I could use as a weapon. Timothy’s tool belt lay on the floor, a screwdriver sticking out of one of the pockets. I would have preferred a hammer, but the screwdriver would work.
“Why don’t you get out of the truck and we can talk about this?” Brock taunted. “We have some experience with the police. Maybe we can help you and your friend.” He doubled over in laughter, his hand still on the door.
I grabbed the screwdriver by the blade and whacked the handle on Brock’s fingers. He yelped and let go.
The thinner man convulsed with laughter until the hospital door opened and the deputy stepped outside. He spoke into a cell phone with his back to us.
The driver cocked his head at Brock. “Let’s go.”
Brock climbed back into the truck, cradling his hand. “See you around, Red.” Somehow I knew he meant that.
Chapter Eleven
Becky stepped out of the hospital, hugging her right arm to her chest. The doctors had set the arm in a hot pink cast. My breath caught as the deputy led her away from Timothy’s side to his cruiser, her eyes wide.
I slipped the screwdriver back into Timothy’s tool belt and slid to the passenger’s side as he opened the driver’s door. “How is she?”
He shook his head.
The cruiser pulled out of the parking lot.
“Shouldn’t we follow him?”
Timothy started the truck. “I know where the sheriff’s department is.”
My brow knit together. First a confrontation with Becky’s harassers, and now Timothy’s surly demeanor. I was relieved that the sheriff’s department was a short drive away.
At the station, the deputy and Becky waited in a hallway before they entered the department. Tears rolled down Becky’s cheeks. I wanted to reach over and give her a hug, but I wasn’t sure that was allowed.
“What’s going to happen now?” Timothy asked.
“We’re waiting for the desk sergeant to be ready for us. Another case came in just before we got here. When he’s ready, Becky will be fingerprinted.”
Becky started to shiver.
“It won’t hurt, Becky,” I said. “They are just going to put ink on your fingertips and make a copy on a card.”
Becky looked at the fingertips on her left hand like she’d never seen them before.
The deputy smiled. “That’s basically it, but now it’s all electronic. Takes half the time and no mess.”
A crash followed by scuffling sounds and a string of swear words bellowed from a nearby room. I suspected Becky had never heard words like that before.
The deputy peeked into the room but appeared unconcerned. “This may be a while.”
Becky stared at her shoes and continued to shiver. Timothy reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his truck keys. “Chloe, why don’t you go home?”
I cocked my head. “How will you get home? Will you call me to pick you up?”
He shook his head. “I’ll have my housemate Danny pick us up. He knows where the sheriff’s office is. I don’t want you to get lost trying to find your way back here.”
“But Becky—”
“I’ll take care of Becky,” he said. “She’s my sister.”
I glanced at Becky, her head leaning against Timothy’s shoulder. Although his dismissal stung, I took the keys from Timothy’s hand. “Okay.”
While exiting the parking lot, I took a wrong turn and found myself on a road behind the hospital. How would I find Appleseed Creek? Timothy’s truck wasn’t equipped with GPS—not that Pepper would be much help to me on the tiny roads in Mount Vernon. I winced. The last time I saw Pepper had been in my car, which was now totaled.
I checked the rearview mirror, keeping an eye out for the green pickup, then shook my head. Rapping Brock on the knuckles with a screwdriver might not have been the best idea I’d ever had. I hoped I wouldn’t come to regret it.
I continued down a narrow county road, hoping my sense of direction would
kick in soon. The oak trees lining the edge reached across the road like an overhead bridge to the opposing trees. Hot air blew through the truck’s open window, and the back of my bare legs stuck to the leather seats.
I approached a street sign that read Butler Road, and slowed down. How did I end up back here? I continued forward. Men in white jumpsuits picked up debris from the road. A tow truck driver hitched chains onto my car and rolled it back onto its tires. This must have been the same corner that Bishop Glick had rounded.
The Amish men were gone, as was the horse. The mangled buggy lay on its side in the back of a flatbed truck. One of its taillights hung over the side of the flatbed. Sunlight broke through the trees and reflected a red circle onto the spot where the buggy had once been. It was easy to see why the bishop had not survived. That the horse could still stand upright was a miracle.
One of the white-suited men approached me. “Sorry, Miss, this road is closed. You’re going to have to turn around.”
I swallowed. “Can you direct me to Appleseed Creek?”
“Sure thing.” He rattled off the directions.
As I turned the truck around, I spotted Chief Rose leaning against the hood of her cruiser, arms crossed in front of her chest. She waved, her expression somewhere between a grin and a grimace.
GIGABYTE YOWLED A GREETING when I entered the house. His dark brown tail swished back and forth on the hardwood floor. I bent to pick him up, but he slipped out of my hands and jumped onto the back of the only chair in the house. I’d give him a few minutes. Eventually, he’d forgive me for the audacity of leaving him.
The tap of my heels on the hardwood echoed through the unfurnished home. The large house didn’t feel safe to me. Becky had left the front window open, and the curtains rolled in and out with the breeze. I kicked off my shoes and hurried over, shutting and locking the window in one movement.
Gig paced the arm of the lone chair. I picked him up and carried him around as I checked the rest of the house. When I was satisfied that I was truly alone, I pulled out my cell phone and called my insurance company.
Plain Death Page 6