I held up my hand to block a sun ray that broke through the clouds. “Why did the bishop put so much weight on her opinions then?”
Aaron shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Hettie that.”
Timothy winced. “I don’t know if she’d want to talk to me.”
Aaron laughed. “You broke the picture window in the front of her house ten years ago. I’m sure she has forgotten by now.”
“I don’t think so,” Timothy said, grinning. “She mentions it every time I see her.”
My gaze swiveled from Timothy to Aaron. “Would she be willing to talk to us right now? She must be brokenhearted over her nephew’s death.”
“She might.” Aaron spoke thoughtfully. “I’ll find out, and I’ll call you to tell you what she says.”
My eyes widened. “You have a phone?”
Aaron laughed again. “There’s a phone shed at the end of the road. We share it with three other farms, including the Glicks and Troyers. It’s supposed to be reserved for emergencies and business. I think this would qualify as a little bit of both.” Aaron peered up at the sky as if judging the time by the location of the sun. “My parents will be home soon. I doubt you would want to run into the deacon.”
Timothy stood up from the milking stool and shook his friend’s hand. “I’ll stop by more often.”
Aaron frowned up at him, but then he smiled. “You always say that. Don’t forget to tell Becky I’m praying for her.” He angled his chair in my direction. “It was nice to meet you, Chloe. Your hair is as pretty as I’ve been told.”
Timothy’s mouth fell open, and Aaron chuckled, shooting me a wink.
Chapter Thirty
My parents’ farm isn’t far from here. Do you mind if we stop?”
I peered at Timothy at the wheel of his pickup. My mind whirred from our conversation with Aaron, so I was glad for the distraction. “No. It will be nice to see the kids again and your grandfather. I like him a lot.”
“He likes you too. I can tell.”
Unlike the first time we arrived at the Troyer farm, there were no children to greet us. The front door was closed, and everything was eerily quiet.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” Timothy spoke barely above a whisper. “Mabel, stay in the truck.”
The canine rolled over, kicking her legs in her sleep.
We stepped through the open screen door and onto the front porch. Timothy knocked twice on the wooden door that led into the house, but no answer. He tried the knob, and shrank back. “It’s locked.”
The third time he knocked with force, and we could hear Naomi crying on the other side of the door. Angry voices spoke back and forth in Pennsylvania Dutch.
Finally, the door flung open and Grandfather Zook stood there on his metal crutches, his face drawn. “Timothy, your father said this isn’t a gut time.”
“What’s going on?” The color in Timothy’s face had deepened.
His grandfather just shook his head.
“I’m going inside.” Timothy glanced at me. “Chloe, can you stay out here?”
As Timothy disappeared inside the house, Grandfather Zook hobbled out onto the porch. “It’s a nice evening. I’d rather be outside. Can you walk with me a bit, Chloe?”
Our walk went as far as the pine bench overlooking Mrs. Troyer’s vegetable garden. Grandfather Zook lowered himself onto the bench and removed his braces, placing them on the ground beside him. “Why don’t you come over here and take a seat?”
I sat next to him.
Grandfather Zook sighed, and for the first time he seemed like the old man that he was. “My family is from Lancaster, but my wife is from Knox County originally. I met her once when I visited Knox as a young man. I fell in love the minute I met my Louise.” He shook his head and gave a small laugh. “It took lots of letter writing to convince her to love me back and to move all the way to Lancaster. She finally did it even though her family would have preferred she marry a local boy.”
He smoothed his beard over his shirt. “Martha, Timothy’s mother, is my oldest daughter. We had trouble with her from the get-go. She was rebellious from the day she was born. Louise and I were at our wits’ end. We were afraid for Martha, afraid she’d leave the Amish way. When she was seventeen, we shipped her to Knox County to live with my wife’s family.” He laughed again. “We wanted to scare her straight. Although I am Old Order Amish, my district back in Lancaster is much more relaxed than the one here. Much to our surprise, Martha met Simon and fell in love. She told us she was going to marry him and stay here. We were happy she was staying within our faith. Yes, the congregation here was stricter, but it seemed to be what she needed.”
I tried to imagine Timothy’s quiet mother as a rebellious Amish teenager. The image of the demur woman acting out didn’t fit. “The rest of your family is in Lancaster, then?”
He nodded. “They are. I have eight other children. They all have families with children.”
“Why did you move here?”
He picked a twig off the bench and rolled it back and forth between his fingers. “Many Amish families have more than five children. Martha and her husband could have had more, but my daughter was plagued with miscarriages. I’ve told her a hundred times it wasn’t true, but she feels those miscarriages were punishment for her rebellious years.”
“That’s awful.”
“After my beloved wife died, all of my children asked me to live with them, including Martha. I decided to move here because she was pregnant with Naomi at the time. This was three years ago. I wanted to be with her in case the worst would happen again. The best person to be with her would have been her mother, but the Lord had already called her home.” He smiled. “Naomi was born, and she was perfect. I never went back to Lancaster. I liked the slower, quieter pace here. It was a nice place to retire and spend my final years on this earth.”
He sighed then winked. “You can take the Amish man out of Lancaster, but you can’t take the Lancaster out of the Amish man. My son-in-law has been a good husband and provider for Martha and their children, but he’s a stern man. He listens to his bishop, his preachers, and his deacon.” He stressed deacon at the end of the sentence.
A row of pumpkin vines in the garden were flowering. It wouldn’t be long before those flowers turned into fruit. Before we knew it, fall would be upon us. It would be my first fall in the country. I breathed it all in and turned to Grandfather Zook. “And what did those men tell him?”
His eyes drooped, as if filled with sadness. “He should stay away from Becky and you until the business with the accident is over. He should keep the younger children from you and Becky.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “What about Timothy?”
“The deacon didn’t mention Timothy in particular. However if Timothy continues his contact with you and his sister, I wouldn’t be surprised if the deacon returned and added that warning onto his list.”
“Why are you telling me this? I assume the deacon gave you the same warning.”
“He did.” Grandfather Zook stared at the whitewashed farmhouse as if trying to see through it. “I’ve learned that what is right for me is not right for my daughter. Now my son-in-law and daughter must learn that what is right for them may not be right for their own children. Louise and I had been so afraid Martha would leave the Amish, and I still believe that leaving would have been a mistake for my daughter. However, I’ve since learned there is not one right way to be obedient to the Lord.”
The screen door slammed shut, and Timothy stormed down the steps. “Chloe,” he called. “I’m ready to go.”
Grandfather Zook bumped my shoulder. “You should go.”
I leaned over and gave him a hug.
Timothy was silent the entire ride back to Appleseed Creek, even though I
wanted to ask him what happened inside his parents’ house. What did they say? What did they not say? How did it all affect Becky? Him? And even me?
It was nearly six when he turned into the driveway. I hoped Becky hadn’t waited for me to eat supper. For the first time that day, I wondered how her first day at the greenhouse had gone.
Timothy didn’t turn off the truck.
I opened the passenger side door. “Good night.”
He laid his hand on my forearm. “Thanks for coming with me today, Chloe.”
I blinked. A tingle radiated from where his hand touched my bare arm. “You’re thanking me? I was the one who asked you to get involved in this investigation.”
“I was already involved whether you asked for my help or not.”
The door stuck. He leaned across my body and pushed it open. “Good night. Take care of your shoulder. I’ll let you know when I hear from Aaron about Hettie Glick.”
Chapter Thirty-One
As soon as I entered the house, Becky was ready to tell me all about her first day at Little Owl Greenhouse. “Chloe, I had the best day. Scotch and Cookie are so much fun.” Her face glowed. Despite working all day, Becky had managed to make a shepherd’s pie for dinner. She warmed a piece for me in the oven as she told about her day, then she kept me up until past eleven with stories about the greenhouse owners. I was glad to see her so happy and saw no reason to ruin it with news of my day.
At midnight my cell phone rang, and I almost fell off my bed. I’d been asleep less than an hour.
“Chloe?” Tanisha’s voice sounded as if she was across the room from me—not across the world.
Guilt washed over me. I’d promised Tanisha I would call her back the night I had dinner at the Troyer’s farm, and that was three days ago.
“Did you lose my phone number or something?” She sounded hurt. Apparently, she hadn’t forgotten.
I rubbed my eyes. “I’m sorry, Tee. How are you?”
“Awful.”
I smiled at her bluntness. If I had been asked the same question under those circumstances, I would most likely have said “fine” or “okay,” even if neither were true.
“Have you heard from Cole?”
“No, and I don’t want to. What does he have to say to me other than that he doesn’t love me anymore?”
“He does love you, Tanisha. I know he does. Maybe he’s afraid you will find some hot Italian guy to fall in love with.”
“I just might,” she grumbled. “Anyway, that’s a crock about him loving me. If he loved me he would understand why I have to stay here. I committed to teach here for two years. If he had a problem with it, why didn’t he say something before I signed the contract?”
I couldn’t argue with her there. “What can I do? Other than flying to Florida and telling Cole what a huge mistake he’s making, that is.”
Her laughter sounded rough, harsh. “Be there. I need my best friend right now.”
I gripped the phone and nodded. “I’m here for you, Tee.”
“You are? Then why am I the one calling you? I’m the one in the middle of a crisis here.”
I didn’t correct her, nor did I tell her that I was in the middle of a crisis of my own. What could she do thousands of miles away but worry?
To her credit, Tanisha was much more intuitive than given credit for. “What’s going on? I know something is up.”
My mind searched for the words to tell her. “Umm . . .”
“Is this about that hot buggy boy? Weren’t you at his parents’ home when I called?”
I sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“Good, because I need someone else’s complications to think about right now. Don’t let me wallow in self-pity and snotty tissues.”
I shook my head, smiling at my friend’s invitation, then heaved a heavy sigh. “Okay. I hope you’re sitting down.” I proceeded to tell her everything that had happened since Becky called me about the accident on Friday. Even as I spoke the words, they sounded unbelievable to me. And I’d lived them.
Tanisha groaned more than once during my story. “Where does the hot buggy boy fit into all of this?”
“You mean Timothy.”
“Duh.”
“Becky is his sister . . .”
“And?”
“He agreed to help me find out what really happened. If we can find out who cut the brake line, we will know who the intended victim was.”
“Do you think it was you?” She sounded incredulous.
I hedged. “Why would it be me? I just moved here.”
“You’re right.” She was quiet for a minute. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he liked you. Why else would he agree to help you investigate?”
“Umm, because his sister’s in trouble, his family is not talking to Becky, and the younger children are being affected.”
“Naw, it’s because of you.”
I had to laugh. Tanisha laughed too.
We talked until I was too tired to string together a full sentence. As I drifted off to sleep, I found myself wondering if Tanisha might be right.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Hettie didn’t want to meet us at her home. Instead she agreed to meet us at a coffee shop in the neighboring town of Mount Vernon during lunchtime the next day. Timothy picked me up from my office again.
Joel sneered at him as we left the department. “Is this going to turn into a regular thing, boss, with your boyfriend?”
Timothy gave him a glare that could have turned sand to glass, and Joel didn’t say another word.
Even though I had been to the outskirts of the town, this would be my first visit to downtown Mount Vernon. Just like in Appleseed Creek, the heart of the town was a square. However, this town was clearly English, as no Amish businesses were in sight, and a memorial statue of a Civil War soldier dominated the center of the square.
Timothy parked on one of the side streets, and we entered Rita’s Coffee Haus. Tanisha would call the décor shabby chic.
An elderly Amish woman sat in the front of the shop near the large picture window. She wore silver wire-rimmed glasses, a dark navy dress, black apron, and a black bonnet tied securely under her wrinkled chin. Even if she’d been sitting in the back of the shop, she would have been easy to pick out. Clearly, the rest of Rita’s diners were business people in khakis and suits on their lunch hours. As well as a coffee bar, the café had a full lunch menu of specialty sandwiches.
Timothy approached the elderly woman. The pair spoke in quiet tones. I stood off to the side, waiting. She peeked around Timothy. I wiggled my fingers at her and felt like I was being inspected by a mother superior. She ducked her head back behind Timothy and said something else in Pennsylvania Dutch.
“Thank you,” Timothy said. He waved me over to the table.
“Sister Hettie. This is Chloe.”
She examined me. “You’re a redhead.”
I blushed. I don’t know why. Having red hair was nothing to be ashamed of, yet I wondered for the nine millionth time why people thought it was unusual enough to comment on. There were millions of redheads in the world. Did my redheaded brethren in Ireland have the same problems? “I am.”
“My oldest daughter had red hair when she was younger. She’s old now and it’s all white. Your hair is almost as lovely as hers was.” She bobbed her chin. “I have a soft spot for redheads.”
I smiled. For once in my life my hair color worked to my advantage. “Thank you.”
She pulled out a seat. “Sit here next to me.”
I sat next to her while Timothy took a seat opposite us. He leaned forward. “I told Hettie why we are here. I—”
“Can I take your order?” A college-aged girl with a side ponytail and hoop earrings large enough for my cat’s head to fit through
had stepped up to our table. Timothy sat back while I ordered an iced mocha. He and Hettie both asked for black coffee.
I listened while they chatted about people in the Amish district until the girl returned with our drinks. When she did, I took a big gulp of the iced mocha. Heaven.
Hettie watched the waitress go. “Aaron tells me you want to know if anyone wanted to kill my nephew.”
I nearly choked on my mocha. Timothy appeared unfazed by Hettie’s directness.
I wiped my chin with a napkin and peered at Hettie. “We are so sorry for your loss.”
Hettie nodded. “The Lord giveth; the Lord taketh away.”
“Thank you for coming out to meet us,” I said. “Aaron said you and the bishop were close, and that the bishop had consulted you often.”
“Members of the district may believe I could sway my nephew’s opinions, but that isn’t true. I was someone he knew he could talk to without being questioned. That was all.” Hettie didn’t add cream or sugar to her coffee. “My nephew was a fine man and one of the best bishops we’ve ever had. He was strict but fair. No one had a bad thing to say against him.”
If that were true, this was a dead end.
“What about Deacon Sutter?” Timothy asked.
Hettie stopped just short of taking a sip of her coffee. “Why do you ask about him?’
“Everyone in the district knows he thought he’d make a better bishop than Bishop Glick did.”
“Which is exactly the reason he has never been one. The Lord wouldn’t allow a pushy man to be bishop.” She peered over her mug at me. “Rarely do the ambitious rise to places of importance among the Amish. You have to remember our culture is much different than your politics. My nephew told him this many times. I even heard them discussing it once when the deacon visited my nephew’s farm.”
“How did the deacon take it?”
“Not well.”
“What does that mean?” I asked. “Did he yell, stomp his feet, or argue with the bishop?” My palm made a handprint on my glass.
Plain Death Page 17