“Daddy?”
He didn’t look at me. “This is all your fault.”
I started to cry. “Daddy. I didn’t—I’m sorry.”
“We won’t speak of this again.” He started the car.
I shook the memory from my head and concentrated on the scene in front me. Could Grayson Mathews have had something to do with the accident? It seemed far-fetched. Surely there was enough countryside in central Ohio to satisfy his craving to develop if the Amish in Knox County wouldn’t sell.
There was also another small fact I kept coming back to. If the bishop was the intended victim, how could the perpetrator know Becky and the bishop would be on the road at the same time? Who knew about her interview at the greenhouse? The police said the brake line had been recently cut. What if someone knew Becky would be the next person to drive the car?
At four thirty on the dot, I turned into the empty parking lot next to Little Owl Greenhouse, my mind still whirring. Scotch was out front watering the hanging baskets. He put down his hose as I exited the car. “From Uncle Billy’s?”
I nodded.
“Been there.” He removed a red bandana from his overall pocket. “Phew, it’s a hot one today. Big storm is comin’. You can bank on that.”
The sky was periwinkle blue without a cloud in sight. “Did you hear that on the news?”
“Naw, I don’t put much stock in weathermen. Bunch of suits sitting in the air-conditioning. What do they know? The plants tell me, and they say a big storm isn’t that far off.”
O-kay.
Becky walked out of the greenhouse store wearing dark blue eye shadow from her eyelashes to her brows, hot pink lipstick, and red blush. She could double as a circus clown. Cookie followed her out.
I gasped. “What happened to you?”
Her face fell. “You don’t like it.”
I glanced over at Cookie. She folded her arms over her ample chest. The Cookie makeup treatment. I plastered a smile on my face. “It’s colorful.”
Cookie nodded. Her oversprayed, overdone hairdo attracted a bee, and she swatted it away. “That’s right. I thought I should teach Becky the way around a makeup counter, seeing how she’s never worn any before. I think she came out real good. I did the right side of her face, and she did the left. You can’t even see any difference, and she did it with her left hand too.”
“I don’t notice any difference at all,” I said.
Becky stared at the Prizm sitting in the parking lot. “Chloe, is that your car?”
I nodded.
“Wow.”
That pretty much sums it up.
Scotch hooked a thumb at the car. “One of Uncle Billy’s.”
“Thought so,” Cookie replied.
“Since I have a car now, such as it is, I can pick up Becky from the store each day. Can you still give her a lift here? I leave for work much earlier than she does.”
“No problem at all,” Scotch said. “Becky is a real delight to have around the shop. We are real proud of her.”
Becky still beamed under his praise as we left the parking lot. “We deserve a girl’s night out,” I said.
She bounced in her seat. “Really?”
I nodded. “We need to celebrate your new job and my new car.”
She scrunched her nose. “This thing is worth celebrating?”
“Sure. It is has wheels. It moves. What more do you want?” I grinned at her, then turned in the opposite direction from Butler Road, hoping Becky didn’t notice. “But,” I added, “before we go anywhere, you need to wash your face. I’m not going out on the town with you looking like that.”
She examined her reflection in the visor mirror. “You don’t like it.”
I bit my lip. “Let’s just say it suits Cookie, not you.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Becky glowed as we stepped out of the only department store in Mount Vernon. It wasn’t Neiman Marcus or even Macy’s, but it worked in a pinch. Becky’s cosmetics had been professionally applied by a woman at the makeup counter, and she wore jeans and a blue knit top, which matched her eyes. “Chloe, I can’t thank you enough. I will pay you back as soon as I get my first paycheck.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It was a gift.”
“I mean, Chl . . .” She pulled up short.
“What is it?”
She pointed at my car. Chief Rose sat on the hood.
“Nice car.” Chief Rose swiped a hand across the hood. “I like the duct tape. It’s one of Uncle Billy’s, I presume.”
“I’d be careful if I were you.” I ignored the smug look on her face. “You might be stuck there.”
She hopped off the hood.
“Are you following me, Chief Rose?” I walked around the car and unlocked the trunk. It sprung up, nearly hitting me in the face.
Becky placed our purchases inside.
“You can call me Greta. How do you know I’m not following Becky?” She nodded at Becky. “Nice makeover,” she said. “Jeans too. I like it.”
Becky blushed.
I rested a hand on my hip. “Are you here to talk to me or Becky?”
“You. Nottingham told me about your little run-in with Curt and Brock on Monday. I would have tracked you down sooner, but I was assisting the sheriff’s department on another case over the last couple of days.”
Becky slammed the trunk shut. “Curt and Brock? What’s she talking about, Chloe?”
“She didn’t tell you?” The police chief crossed her arms at her chest and asked. “Okay, Humphrey, I want to see your shoulder.”
I backed away from her. “You have the pictures.”
“I know, but it’s been a couple of days now, so I expect it to be nice and purple.”
Becky’s eyes were wide. “What’s wrong with your shoulder?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Let me see it,” Chief Rose said.
The sun had begun to fall behind the department store. “It’s getting too dark to see it.”
The police chief took a step toward me. “There’s still enough light left.”
“Fine.” I pulled at the collar of my yellow T-shirt to show where Brock had pinched the upper part of my shoulder.
Becky gasped.
Chief Rose whistled. “That’s quite a bruise.”
I gave my head a tight shake. “It’s because I’m so fair.”
Becky wrapped her arms around herself. “What happened?”
Chief Rose answered for me. “Your roomie here had a little run-in with Curt and Brock.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I thought I told you to call me if you saw them again.”
I bristled. “I reported the incident to the police.” I didn’t want to share my real reason in Becky’s presence.
“The way Nottingham tells it, you only did that after Timothy Troyer made you.”
“Timothy knew about this?” Becky started to shake. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Becky, you have enough to worry about.”
She glared at me. “There you go protecting me again. I’m an adult. I don’t need it.”
You do, too. But I didn’t bother to argue with her. She didn’t need to know that I didn’t tell Chief Rose right away because Curt had threatened her.
“Nottingham tells me that you haven’t filed an official complaint.” With the fading sun, the lightbulbs in the parking lot’s lampposts flickered on one by one. Chief Rose’s peculiar green eyes reflected the yellow light like a cat’s.
I held my ground. “No, I didn’t. I see no point in aggravating Curt and Brock. They promised to leave us alone.”
Chief Rose started to respond, but I jumped in. “If they bother Becky or me, I will report them, but I haven’t seen them
or their pickup since. I have to believe they are keeping their word.” I calmed myself with a deep breath. “It’s getting late. If there’s nothing else, Becky and I would like to head home.”
“Not so fast,” the police chief said. “I have something else to talk to you about.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow?”
She shook her head. “No, because you’re the key to this whole case. You’re the one who is going to lead me to the killer.”
I watched her. “How am I going to do that?”
“I saw your little meet-and-greet with Hettie Glick this afternoon. I know you’re poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
Becky’s mouth fell open. “You spoke with Isaac’s aenti?”
I shivered as the sunlight and air temperature fell in tandem. “Yes, Timothy and I both met with her.”
“Good, you admit it.” Chief Rose placed a hand on the side mirror, but it popped off and fell to the ground. She picked it up and handed it to me. “You’ll want to get that fixed so I don’t have to write you a citation.”
I ground my teeth.
“I’m impressed by the way you’ve been able to insinuate yourself with the Amish in the county even though you’ve only been here a short time. A meeting with Hettie Glick is the Amish equivalent of an invite to the Vatican.”
I rolled my eyes. “That has to be an exaggeration.”
“Not by much,” she said. “I’ve been the chief of police in Appleseed Creek for five years and haven’t got so much as a ‘hello’ from her.”
“She was willing to talk to me because I was with Timothy. I doubt she’d speak to me if I had been alone.”
“Regardless, I need your help.”
I smirked. “Why? You’re the chief of police.”
She wagged her head, her eyes fixed on me. “I may be able to get the townsfolk to talk to me, but the Amish are a whole other story. You can.”
“What makes you think that?”
She pointed a thumb at Becky. “They seem to like you.”
Becky rubbed her hand up and down her arm. I handed her the car keys. “Becky, you can get in the car if you are cold.”
She took the keys and climbed into the passenger seat. The Prizm door groaned as Becky shut it.
Chief Rose glanced at Becky through the glass. “Now, I can speak more freely,”
“What can you say to me that you can’t say to Becky?”
“She wouldn’t understand what I’m about to say.” The chief didn’t budge. “You will.”
My forehead wrinkled.
“You’re in a profession like mine.”
I laughed. “I’m a computer programmer. You are a cop. I don’t see the similarity.”
“We both work in a man’s world. I’m sure you have to fight for your place among the computer geeks, and I have to fight for my place among the cops.” She smoothed the front of her neatly-pressed uniform. “I need to save my department. You’re going to help me.”
“Save it from what?”
Through the windshield Becky watched us. I noticed what the chief apparently did not—the passenger side window was open. Becky could hear every word.
“Village council wants to shut the police department down. They think Appleseed Creek is too quiet and peaceful to need its own police force. They believe the sheriff’s department is enough protection. We both know that’s not true, don’t we?”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“The sheriff gave me this case. He thought it was a simple open-and-shut thing. If he had been running the show, Becky would have been charged with vehicular manslaughter the day of the accident.”
I glanced at Becky. She placed her hand to her mouth. She can hear us all right.
The chief continued. “Like you, I think there is more to it than that. I was vindicated when the forensic mechanic found the cut brake line.” She leaned forward, and the yellow light from the parking lot lamp cast shadows on her sharp features. “If I solve this case, I will save my department. How could the village council say we don’t need a police department when there has been a murder in Appleseed Creek?”
I shivered. It was the first time the accident had been called murder. In my mind, it had always just been an accident. “What do you want me to do?”
“Same thing you have been doing: checking in with the Amish, following leads I can’t. Oh, and I need you to report back to me.”
“The Amish I speak to don’t expect me to turn around and tell the police. The Troyers are my friends.”
She cocked an eyebrow at me. “All the Troyers? I heard Becky’s parents weren’t speaking to her.”
Becky appeared to gasp.
“Timothy and Becky are my friends.” My tone was sharp.
Chief Rose took a step closer to me and whispered, “I’d be careful with Timothy Troyer if I were you.”
I shrank back. “What does that mean?”
She eyed me. “He’s not the perfect Amish boy he’d have you believe.”
“He’s not Amish anymore.”
A sly smile played on her face. “I wondered if you noticed that. Now, do we have a deal?”
I agreed to nothing.
Chapter Thirty-Six
On Wednesday afternoon, butterflies somersaulted in my stomach as I crossed the campus to Dean Klink’s office. He wanted a report on how I planned to cut spending in my department. I had one. Would he like what I came up with? Probably not.
I stepped through the glass doors that led to the administrative building. It was strange to think I had only been working at Harshberger for two weeks. It seemed like so much longer.
Dean Klink’s secretary, Irene, raised one of her penciled-on eyebrows as I entered her office. She picked up her phone. “Miss Humphrey is here to see you, sir.”
“Chloe, so good to see you!” The dean spoke as if he hadn’t just seen me a few days earlier. “Let’s go to my office.” He pointed to the open doorway.
I sat on one side of a paper-covered coffee table, and Dean Klink sat on the other. Behind him a bookshelf filled with management and higher-education tomes lined the wall. A three-by-four wooden shadow box hung next to the only window, hundreds of fishing lures decorating its shelves.
He stood and removed a dragonfly lure from the box. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
“They are.” The detail and bright colors of several of the lures surprised me.
“Here.” He handed it to me. A serious-looking hook sat at the end of the lure. Is this for shark fishing?
“That one’s for salmon fishing. I used it two years on a fishing trip in Alaska. I reeled in a forty-pound King Chinook with that one.” He clapped his hands, and I returned the lure. With care, he set it back into place. “Have you thought anything about our last meeting?”
Did our discussion on the softball bleachers qualify as a meeting? It felt more like an ambush to me. “I have.” I handed him a proposal of several areas the computer services department could cut back.
He flipped through the pages. “There aren’t any personnel reductions.”
I folded my hands in my lap.
“This only cuts seventeen percent from the budget. I asked for twenty and would love twenty-five.”
“Dean Klink, I’ve only been here a few days. I don’t feel that I know the staff well enough yet to let anyone go. I’m still learning everything each person does. Can I have until the end of the fall semester?”
He shook his head. “The college can’t afford it. You have until the end of this week, or I make the decision for you.”
“That’s not enough time. I—”
“It will have to be because I have to answer to my boss, the college president, about how I’m going to reduce the budget.” He sighed.
“I know these are tough decisions, Chloe, but they are the ones you were hired to make. Now bring me something I can use tomorrow morning.”
I left the dean’s office deflated.
From the green, I could see the hood up on my rental car. I increased my pace. A man was bent over the engine. I called out before reaching the car. “What are you doing?”
Joel pulled his head out from under the hood. “I saw this death trap out here and wanted to make sure it had all its moving parts.”
I furrowed my brow, and something in me snapped. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“Excuse me for trying to help. Is taking care of cars something else you’re so good at? Considering the dead Amish bishop, I don’t think so.”
“What do you know about cars?” I peered under the hood, my arms crossed, checking to see if anything had been tampered with. The brake line looked fine. Good thing I had seen those photos on the Internet that showed how to cut one.
Joel glowered at me. “I work on antique cars, which this contraption doesn’t qualify for. This is just junk.”
“You work on cars?” Could Joel have cut my brake line?
“Does it surprise you that I have a life outside of Harshberger?” Joel released the prop rod and let the hood slam shut. “We both know that most of your interests are off campus.”
I stumbled out of the way and watched him lumber toward Dennis. I stood in the parking lot a few minutes, waiting for my heart rate to come back down. My cell phone rang, and I jumped. It was a local number but not one I recognized. “Miss Humphrey?” The male voice sounded like it could be on the radio.
“Yes.” I took a seat on a bench outside my building.
“I’m Tyler Hart,” the radio voice said. “You called my office yesterday. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to answer. I was in court, and I can’t seem to keep a secretary on my payroll.” He laughed. It was a rich deep laugh that reminded me of Santa Claus.
“Thank you for returning my call.” I walked over to a nearby park bench and sat.
“You need a criminal lawyer,” the Santa Claus voice said.
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