He grinned at my reaction. “Ready to go?”
I nodded and started to gather my things.
Miller and Clark sat at the conference table again, in the middle of inventorying the college’s media equipment. Miller told me earlier in the afternoon that one of the digital camcorders was bad, and I asked him to try to fix it. The camcorder lay in pieces on the table. I frowned at the mess. If Miller was unsuccessful, the camcorder was yet another item I would have to find the money for in my withering budget.
Clark shook a kink out of a USB cord. “Hey, man,” he said to Timothy. “How’s the college’s barn coming?”
“We should be done by the end of the day tomorrow.”
Joel poked his scowling face out of his cubicle. “You would probably have finished earlier had you not been distracted.”
Timothy frowned and tilted his head at Joel, but didn’t retaliate.
Clark shot a look up at the ceiling. “Don’t mind Joel. He got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”
“Every morning,” Miller muttered into the camcorder parts in front of him.
I grabbed Timothy’s arm and pulled him toward the door. “Let’s go.”
When we were in the hallway, Timothy paused. “What was that all about?”
“Bad day. I can’t talk about it here, though.”
Mabel jumped up from the cement walkway in front of Dennis when she saw us coming. Timothy slapped his thigh. “Come, Mabel.”
She trotted over, her black plume of a tail wagging happily. She woofed at me, and I scratched her on the top of her head.
When we were in Timothy’s truck, he turned to me. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
I groaned. “Budget cuts.” As he pulled out onto the street, I relayed the conversation I had with Dean Klink “And . . .”
“And what?” Timothy asked.
Mabel flopped her furry head over the bench seat, her mournful eyes staring up at me. She’d much rather have ridden shotgun.
I sighed and told him about Curt and Brock’s lunchtime visit.
Timothy jerked to a stop. “What?” He gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Why didn’t you tell me about that right away?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.” I didn’t add that Joel had witnessed the whole thing and had done nothing. I don’t know why I protected him. He didn’t deserve it.
Timothy gunned the engine. “We have to go to the police station and report this.”
“No.” I crossed my arms, hugging myself. “They said they’d leave Becky alone if I didn’t go to the police.”
Timothy shook his head. “Guys like Brock and Curt don’t keep their promises, Chloe. Becky’s my sister. This is the best thing for her.” He paused. “And for you. The police need to have this incident on file in case something happens.”
“Something like what?”
“I don’t want to think about it.” His voice sounded gruff.
“Okay.” I slowed my breathing and gazed out the window. “I hope Chief Rose keeps it quiet though.”
Timothy gave a rueful laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
He shook his head, and again, I wondered how he knew Appleseed Creek’s police chief.
Timothy drove around the square, quiet on this Monday afternoon except for a few tourists strolling around, visiting the Amish shops. He turned into the parking lot behind town hall. Unlike Saturday when I had visited there with Chief Rose, the parking lot was almost full. Village officials were on the job. Timothy backed his truck into a space between a low-hanging buckeye tree and an SUV.
Mabel nudged my shoulder with her head, and I felt a twinge of pain. I pressed a hand to my left shoulder and rubbed the beginnings of a bruise.
Timothy scrutinized my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Brock pinched my shoulder. I’m sure it’s just a bruise.”
He gasped. “Let me see that.”
Gently, Timothy tugged my shirt collar away from my neck. My breath caught as he touched me just above my clavicle bone. Unlike Curt’s, the sensation of Timothy’s breath on my neck soothed me. What time did this happen?” he asked.
“Noon.” My voice came out like a squeak. I shivered.
He pulled away and smoothed my collar back down.
I began to breathe again.
Timothy’s forehead creased. “It’s already turning purple. You will have to show that to Chief Rose.” He opened the cabin door. “They should have some ice inside too.”
Timothy and Mabel hopped out of the truck, and I followed. Inside the police station, a woman with snow white hair and a cameo pin that held together the collar of her blouse greeted us. “Timothy, I haven’t seen you around here in a while. That’s a good thing.”
Mabel trotted over to the woman. She opened a desk drawer and pulled out a dog biscuit. “There you go, sweets.”
Mabel ate the biscuit in one gulp and stared at the woman. “That’s all you get.” With a whine, Mabel lay down on the floor and put her head on her paws.
Why were Chief Rose’s receptionist and Mabel old friends? I glanced at Timothy, but he kept his gaze ahead.
“Hi, Fern. We’d like to talk to Chief Rose, please,” Timothy said.
“She’s out in the field.” She smiled at him. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes.” Timothy stepped up to her desk. “We’d like to file a complaint in conjunction with the Glick case.”
Fern sat up straighter. “Officer Nottingham is here and can talk to you. Have a seat.” She picked up her circa 1980 black phone and punched in a number.
Timothy and I sat on plastic chairs, and after about three minutes, I wished for a seat cushion. At least the uncomfortable seat kept my mind off my shoulder, which kept my mind off Timothy examining my shoulder. I’m sure he does the same thing for his siblings when they get hurt. That’s what big brothers do.
Minutes later, a boy about a year older than Becky stepped into the waiting room. “Mr. Troyer. Miss Humphrey. Can you follow me?”
He opened the door to the room where I’d examined the mug shots on Saturday. Had that really only been two days ago?
“I’m Officer Nottingham,” the boy, or rather, the police officer said when we were seated. “Fern said this had something to do with the Glick case.”
I nodded. “It’s related.”
Timothy squeezed my elbow. “Tell him what you told me.”
I took a deep breath and told him everything.
Officer Nottingham took furious notes. “I’ll tell Chief Rose all of this. She will most likely want to talk to you.”
I bet she will.
The boy-officer’s mouth was a grim line. “Can I see the bruise?”
I pulled the collar of my crewneck shirt away from my throat to reveal the bruise forming on top of my shoulder. Officer Nottingham examined it from across the table. “There are definite finger marks there.” He made another note. “I’m going to need to take a photograph of it. Be right back.” He stood and slipped through the inner office door.”
I curled my lip. “Is this really necessary, Timothy?”
“Yes.” Timothy’s eyes were soft. “I’m taking every step to protect you.”
Before I could respond, Officer Nottingham came back with an SLR digital camera. He circled me like a scientist inspecting a bug and took shots of my shoulder from every angle. After the fifteenth shot, I smoothed my shirt collar back into place. “I think you got it.”
He set the camera on the conference table. “Miss Humphrey, would you like to file an official complaint?”
Timothy started to nod, but I smacked one hand on the table. “No.”
“I think you should,” Timothy said.
B
ut maybe Curt and Brock will leave Becky alone if I leave them alone. “I appreciate you documenting this, Officer, but I’m not filing a complaint.”
Officer Nottingham ran a hand back and forth through his boyish hair. “I’ll let the chief know. She’s not going to agree with your decision.”
Timothy shook his head slowly, his voice a murmur. “And neither do I.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Back in the pickup, Timothy glanced at me. “I’d like to stop at a friend’s farm.”
I settled into the bench seat. You won’t hear me complaining about spending more time with you. “Whose farm is it?”
He pulled the truck onto the street, his gaze fixed on the road. “Deacon Sutter’s.”
I sat straight up. “What? Are you crazy?”
He glanced at me. “No.”
“They’re going to kick us off the farm. Why would they let us in there?”
He shot me another glance. “The deacon won’t be there.”
“How do you know that?” I leaned back again the seat.
“The Sutters own several businesses in town. The deacon won’t be home for at least another hour.”
“If he’s not home, what’s the point of going?” I peered into the side door mirror and watched Appleseed Creek recede.
His mouth quirked in the corner as if he were holding back a smile. “You’ll see.”
I pursed my lips. This wasn’t a good idea.
The Sutter home was fifteen minutes outside of town, and to get there we drove by the same gravel road the Troyers lived on. I hadn’t realized that the Sutters and Troyers were next-door neighbors—at least in rural terms.
We rode the rest of the trip in silence, neither one of us willing to change our minds. Mabel slept in the pickup’s backseat. Just how many dog biscuits had Fern given her? Timothy turned the truck onto a long gravel and dirt lane, and we both took in the scene. To our left a soybean field lay in ruins. Tire tracks crisscrossed the plants.
Timothy slowed the truck, and squinted through the windshield. “It’s worse than I thought it would be.”
A natural gas well bobbed up and down slowly, the shape and movement reminding me of a great blue heron dipping its beak into Lake Erie for a fish. I tilted my head, examining it from afar. “Is that pump on the Sutter’s property?”
Timothy sped up. “Yes. It’s a natural gas pump-jack. It belongs to the deacon’s family.”
My forehead wrinkled. “That’s allowed?”
He nodded. “You saw all the appliances in my parents’ house that run on natural gas. It’s a valuable commodity to the Amish.”
“But does it need electricity to run?”
He laughed. “You’d be surprised what the Amish can get to work without electricity. I believe that pump is powered by propane.”
“Oh.”
The lane ended in front of a two-story house that had a wide wooden ramp connecting the front door to the driveway. Before we were even out of the truck, the front door opened. I cringed, hoping it wouldn’t be the deacon who greeted us. It wasn’t. A man close to Timothy’s age rolled out of the house in a wheelchair. He turned the chair so he rolled down the wooden ramp and waited for us.
Mabel didn’t stir when we climbed out of the truck. Must have been some dog biscuits.
He wore plain clothes but his chair was titanium. Black hair stuck out from under his straw hat. “Where have you been, Tim?” His hazel eyes sparkled.
Timothy shook hands with the man. “Working.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “I saw the handiwork of visitors in the soybean field.”
The man in the wheelchair grimaced. “I wish I had seen who did it. I’d tell you so you could tell the police.” He grinned. “Since as an obedient Amish boy I can’t talk to the cops. I wish we could put a stop to it.” His hazel eyes turned to me.
Timothy placed a hand on my back. “Chloe, this is my friend Aaron.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
Aaron’s smile grew wider. “Pleased to finally meet you.”
My brow wrinkled. Had his father said anything to Aaron about me? Whatever it was couldn’t have been good.
Aaron turned his attention back to Timothy, his smile now a frown. “How’s Becky? She must be devastated.”
“Fine, considering,” Timothy said. “She started a new job today.”
“Really?” Aaron said. “Good for her. Tell her I asked about her.”
Was that a blush?
Timothy smiled. “I will.”
Aaron flicked his chin in the direction of the barn. “Timothy, there are a couple of milk stools by the barn. Can you go grab them? You two shouldn’t have to stand.”
As Timothy left for the stools, Aaron watched me, curiously. “I’m really glad to meet you, Chloe. You’ve made a big difference.”
Before I could ask him what he meant by that, Timothy had returned with the milking stools. He placed one on the ground for me, and I watched him fold his long frame onto the other one, which was only six inches off of the ground. I bit back a smile.
Timothy gave Aaron a mock scowl. “This was the best seating you could come up with for us?”
Aaron chuckled before his expression sobered. “It’s a shame about the bishop. He’s going to be missed.”
“He will,” Timothy agreed. “He was the best bishop we ever had.”
“Has your father said anything about the accident?” I asked.
Aaron squinted in the sun. “A little.” He swung his gaze to Timothy. “You know how closemouthed the deacon can be.”
Timothy screwed up his mouth. “Unless you are doing something wrong.”
Aaron’s head bobbed. “That’s a fact.”
I scanned the grounds as if the deacon would jump out from behind a bush at any second. “Is your father here?”
“No. I’m the only one home. I’m the youngest of twelve children, but all of my brothers and sisters live on their own farms with their families. My parents are in the next county visiting my sister since her husband’s having a barn raising today.” He tapped the side of his chair. “You can see why I wouldn’t be much help in that situation.” He gave Timothy an apologetic smile. “Even in Holmes County, I’m sure you and your family are the main topic of conversation, Tim. Most of the time barn raisings are huge gossip sessions, especially for the women.”
“I heard your father paid a visit to my folks yesterday,” Timothy said.
Aaron nodded. “He and Preacher Hooley did.” He laughed. “I suspect my daed did most of the talking, though. Only time Preacher Hooley opens his mouth is on Sundays, and that’s because he has to.”
“The deacon told my family to stay away from Becky and Chloe.” Timothy gave me an apologetic smile.
“He wouldn’t want me to talk to you either.” Aaron frowned.
Timothy looked sad, almost remorseful. “He hasn’t wanted you to speak to me in years.”
“That’s true, especially now that you’ve gone Englisch on us.” Aaron flashed a smile and rolled his chair back and forth in place. “So why are you here? I know it’s not just to say hello.”
Timothy groaned, then proceeded to tell Aaron about the cut brake line.
I shot him a look. He didn’t tell me he would share this with anyone. “Tim—”
Timothy reached out a hand to calm me. “Don’t worry, Chloe, we can trust Aaron.”
Aaron rubbed his hands up and down the armrests of his chair. “He’s right. I may be the deacon’s son, but I don’t agree with everything he does.”
I pressed my lips together before speaking. “Could the bishop have been the intended victim?”
Aaron thought for a minute. “That’s hard to believe. Everyone loved Bishop Glick.” He tipped his straw hat back. “H
ow would the person cutting the brake line know that Becky would meet him on the road?”
“We thought of that too. Right now, we are eliminating all the possibilities,” I said. “Did you know the bishop well?”
“As well as most folks, I guess. I may have seen him more often than others in the district because of my father’s position. He and the preachers stopped by our house many times to talk about goings-on in the district.”
I leaned toward him, listening. “Would anyone want to hurt the bishop?”
Aaron shook his head. “I can’t think of anyone.”
The ladies gossiping at Young’s sprang to mind. “What about your father?”
Timothy frowned.
If he thought we could trust Aaron, this was a question that needed to be asked.
“Daed and Bishop Glick didn’t always see eye-to-eye, that’s true. The deacon thought the bishop wasn’t as strict as he should be, especially with the young people in the district.” He clenched the arms of his wheelchair. “If it were left up to my father, all we would do is work, eat, and sleep. It was how he was raised. Before Bishop Glick, the deacon’s father was the bishop until he died.”
Timothy shuddered. “Bishop Sutter was a tough man.”
Aaron gave a mock shiver. “You don’t know the half of it. I think my daed always wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps, but the Lord had another plan for him.” He removed his hat, ran a hand through his thick black hair, and plopped it back on his head. “I do know someone who would know if the bishop had any enemies.”
I straightened. “Who?”
“Hettie Glick. She knows everything that’s going on in the district. She also happens to be the bishop’s aunt. If someone wanted to hurt the bishop, Hettie would know.” He gave a determined nod. “Daed complained to our family numerous times that the bishop had to run everything by Hettie before he came to a decision. Drove my father up the wall.”
“Why’s that?”
“For one thing Hettie’s unmarried, and for another, she’s a woman. In the Amish world, her opinion doesn’t amount to much outside of the home.” Aaron gave me an apologetic smile.
Plain Death Page 16