Falling to Pieces

by Vannetta Chapman

  “Well, it didn’t work.” Callie gulped the coffee, then glanced up at Adalyn. “Are you saying I don’t have to worry about being arrested again?”

  “No. I won’t lie to you—I don’t think you’re paying me to give you false hopes.”

  “Which reminds me, we haven’t discussed rates. I didn’t exactly remember to put a line item in my budget for lawyer fees.” Callie stared back into her coffee.

  Deborah reached over and clasped her hand. “We’ll help you if need be.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Why wouldn’t we?”

  “You barely even know me.”

  Adalyn scooted her chair back from the table. “In a town like Shipshewana people either become friends or enemies real fast. Seems to me, you’ve made at least two friends, Callie, and they’re both sitting here at the table.”

  Deborah was relieved when Callie nodded instead of arguing. She even looked a bit choked up.

  “As far as what I said earlier—about paying me to give you false hopes—it was a phrase. I don’t plan on charging you for this one.” When Callie started to protest, she held up her hand to stop her. “I owe Deborah more than one favor. What you can do is let me know if you remember anything else. And call me if Shane Black contacts you again.”

  Adalyn handed Callie her business card as they walked out of the café.

  Deborah drove her back to the shop in the buggy, and they discussed quilting, the auction, and how things were going at Deborah’s farm. It helped to speak of normal things.

  “As I mentioned the other day, we have no church service this Sunday. Instead we’re meeting at one of the farms for dinner and to visit and play games.”

  Callie looked uncomfortable as she climbed out of the buggy and walked toward the shop. “I’ll probably be busy.”

  “Say you’ll try. It’s at our home this week.”

  “I don’t even know where you live.”

  “It isn’t that hard, Callie. Shipshewana is small, and we’re but a few miles on the outskirts of town. I’ll draw you a map.”

  “Won’t that be odd? Having an un-Amish person there?”

  “Actually we call you Englishers, and it’s not so unusual. We often have Amish, Mennonite, and Englishers. In spite of how outsiders paint us, we enjoy visiting with others. Come and see. There’s always a volleyball game going. We can find out if you remember anything.”

  Callie gave her the look that said she knew she was being baited, but she didn’t turn her down cold.

  Deborah drew her a map before they left. When she and Melinda and Esther were on the road again, she couldn’t help wondering how this turn of events would resolve itself.

  The entire situation reminded her of a mystery quilt. She still remembered the first one she’d sewn as a teenage girl. It had seemed so exciting, and she kept pestering her mamm, asking her how it would turn out. “No one knows, until the day we sew the pieces together,” her mamm had explained. “That’s what makes it a mystery.”

  Callie’s past was mysterious; she seemed to be keeping some things hidden. Amish were a closely knit people, so Deborah understood the desire for privacy, but it seemed to go deeper with Callie. Then there was their current situation.

  Like the mystery quilt, each piece made sense when she considered it individually. For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine the completed picture though.

  In time she knew it would all make sense.

  She just hoped when it did, she would like the final results.

  Chapter 15

  CALLIE WOKE to her alarm the next morning (her alarm being Max), surprised she had slept so soundly.

  She expected to toss and turn.

  She expected to dream of Stakehorn’s still, lifeless form.

  She expected to startle awake every time the summer breeze rattled the screen on her windows.

  She didn’t do any of those things. Perhaps it was exhaustion, or maybe the events of the previous two days had caught up with her. Whatever the reason, she slept the sleep of toddlers, oblivious to everything.

  When Max crawled from the foot of her bed to place his cold nose in her hand, she stretched, scratched him between the ears once, and rolled out of bed refreshed.

  Then she remembered Black and his round of questions—the way his eyes had stared into hers, accusing, never backing down—and her temper returned.

  Snatching Max’s leash up, she grabbed her robe and marched down the stairs. “Who does Shane Black think he is, anyway, Max? Man acts like a Texas Ranger. Well, he won’t be pushing us around anymore.”

  Max whined and trotted off to do his business, leaving Callie to plot ways of getting even with Officer Black.

  Once dressed and inside Daisy’s Quilt Shop, her attention turned to different matters. She had a store to run, and she’d paid little attention to it the last two days. Inventory needed to be ordered, stock waited to be replenished, and customers had to be helped. She was grateful it wasn’t a market day, so business was minimal.

  She’d begun to catch up by late morning when the lunchtime customer surge hit and lasted until one-thirty. Relieved that no one was in the store, Callie decided to take advantage of the lull and take Max outside, then make herself a sandwich. She brought it to the counter and was placing an internet order of quilting notions when the bell over the front door rang.

  Looking up, she nearly choked on her turkey and rye when Officer Gavin stepped inside.

  “Miss Harper.” He was in his uniform and stopped just inside the door, as if unsure whether he was welcome.

  Callie took a drink of her unsweetened iced tea and waved him over. “You might as well come on in since you’re here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Gavin stepped up to the counter, his expression betraying none of his thoughts.

  Callie was curious now. Obviously he wasn’t here to arrest her again. That must be Black’s department. So what could have brought the good officer by?

  Instead of making it easier for him, she waited.

  The man did carry himself as if he were still in the military. How many years and in what capacity had he served Uncle Sam?

  She should have figured it out that first evening. She knew the military look, recognized the way an enlisted man carried himself. Her father had served in the Air Force, and she remembered how he stood in exactly the same stance—back ramrod straight, arms at his side, shoulders back, head still, but somehow the eyes were taking in everything. Years after her dad had retired from the service, he kept the military posture. The thought brought a smile to her face.

  Gavin frowned all the more. “Wasn’t sure you’d care to see me, after the other night at the Gazette, and then yesterday at the station.”

  Callie sighed and pushed the last half of her sandwich away. “Did Black send you over here?”

  “No. Of course not.” If it was possible, Gavin stood up straighter. His Commanding Officer would be proud, but as far as Callie could tell, no C.O. was in sight.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Well, what?”

  Callie’s patience finally snapped. She slid off the stool, grabbed the basket of new magazines, and pushed past him to the magazine display near the front of the store. “Then why are you here? I’m sure you have plenty to do guarding the good folks of Shipshewana.”

  “That’s just it. I realize I might have come off somewhat brusque at the scene of the deceased.” Gavin paused as if waiting for her to contradict him. When Callie only shot him a look of disdain, he began speaking more rapidly, as if he needed to convince her before she ran him out. “Which is the point. It’s why I came by. I don’t want you thinking you can’t call on local law enforcement—”

  “Meaning you.”

  “Yes, me and the five other officers.”

  “Including Black?”

  “Actually Officer Black is from the county office, but he does serve as back up when the need arises.”

  “And the need arose Tuesday ni
ght?” Callie finished with the magazines and moved past him toward the stock room. To her surprise, Gavin followed her back there as well. She bent down to pick up a box of Grab-N-Go Kits, but Gavin beat her to it.

  “I can carry it,” she said.

  “I’ve got it.” Blue eyes slammed into hers once again, just like two nights ago. This time instead of frightening her, they confused her. He had been a real jerk, but she’d been taught to respect a man who apologized.

  “Where do you want it?” he asked.

  “Front of the store, next to the carousel.”

  He turned and carried the box out of the storeroom, handling it as if it weighed nothing. Since his back was to her, he didn’t see her roll her eyes. She realized it was immature, but it helped relieve her stress. The last thing she needed was a macho man, a macho officer, showing up to carry boxes for her.

  Why was he here? To ease his conscience? To check up on her? To get more information? Whatever the reason, she’d rather he say what he’d come to say and get out of her store. The day had finally fallen into a nice rhythm. She’d managed to forget Stakehorn’s lifeless form for a few minutes.

  Until now.

  Gavin set the box on the floor next to the carousel. “Might want to hire one of the Amish kids to help with your heavy lifting.”

  Callie put her hands on her hips. “I can handle it, Officer Gavin, but thank you for your concern.”

  His radio squawked, and though the garble that came through made no sense to Callie, Gavin pulled it off his belt, spoke into it once, and clipped it back to where it belonged.

  “I have to go. Traffic problem.”

  “I’d say thanks for stopping by, but I still don’t know why you bothered.”

  Gavin had reached the door. Now he turned and pierced her again with his stare. What he said next shocked her as much as anything that had happened since she’d arrived in Shipshewana. “Look, I don’t have an opinion in these matters, okay? I just do my job, like I’m trained to do it.”

  Callie wanted to interrupt him, wanted to argue that being efficient didn’t have to include being callous. Somehow she bit it back.

  “But if I were to have an opinion,” he continued, “I saw how scared you were Tuesday night. Killers might be frightened after they kill, might be afraid of being caught, but they’re not terrified like you were.”

  “Then why were you so hard on me?” Callie felt her anger surge. She stepped forward, but Gavin held up his hand, stopped her with a shake of his head.

  “I was doing my job, and I’ll keep doing it. I’m just saying, if he was killed—and no I can’t go into any details as to why it might have been a murder scene—but if he was killed, whoever did it is still out there. I don’t want you being too mad, or too stubborn, to dial 911 if you need us.”

  Then Andrew Gavin turned and walked out of her shop.

  Callie returned to the counter, considered her half-eaten lunch, but walked to the kitchen and tossed it in the trash.

  “Whoever did it is still out there.” Gavin’s words circled in her mind.

  Well of course he was. That was the point. She hadn’t killed him. She didn’t know who had. She was just the stranger in town who had stumbled on the body.

  So which was it? Murder? Or old age? Callie’s thoughts wavered between the two extremes like a child on a seesaw.

  The man was old. He could have died of any number of diseases.

  A stroke.

  A heart attack.

  An embolism.

  Her mind went back over the limited medical training she’d had as a pharmaceutical drug representative, the part of her life she’d tried to forget. Nothing she’d seen from Stakehorn when he’d first walked into the store on Saturday or at the deli on Tuesday matched up with any symptoms she was aware of, but then she wasn’t a doctor.

  “Whoever did it is still out there.”

  Gavin’s words followed her around the store as she went back to work—disrupting the easy rhythm she’d found earlier.

  Deborah finished the bulk of her chores by lunch. She had more to do—on a farm there was always more to do—but Wednesdays were when she went to see Esther. She hadn’t missed a week since Seth had died, hadn’t missed a week in over a year.

  Jonas had the buggy hitched and ready when she gathered up baby Joshua.

  “Would you like me to take the twins?” she asked.

  “No need. They’re helping me with the pigs today.” Jonas placed the hamper she carried into the back seat of the buggy.

  “You’re a good dat. You know that, right?” Deborah reached up and ran her palm along his cheek. She liked the way his beard felt against her hand, loved the way he tipped his hat back and leaned forward to kiss her on the lips.

  “Because I let the boys clean out the pig pens? It was my favorite job when I was their age.”

  Deborah laughed at his teasing. “Martha is inside sewing and keeping an eye on Mary.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine. Enjoy your visit. If there’s anything Esther needs, I can stop over Saturday afternoon.”

  Nodding, Deborah signaled to Cinnamon, and the horse set off at a quick pace. Jonas had always been generous with his time, but it was more than that with Esther. He understood the special connection that existed between her and Esther and Melinda. They’d been friends for such a long time. More than that, their love for and skill at quilting had drawn them together when they were only girls.

  So many years ago, they could have never envisioned the twists and turns of life that would bind them together.

  Deborah thought again of her mother-in-law’s words. Ruth had said that sometimes pain had a place in their lives. Hadn’t Esther had enough though? Wasn’t it her turn for happiness? Deborah remembered how her friend used to participate in life, used to laugh and feel joy. Now when she was with her, sadness seemed to pour from her like moonlight had poured through her bedroom window last night.

  Turning onto the lane that led to the Zook place, Deborah glanced over at Joshua, sleeping on the seat beside her. She couldn’t imagine her pain if something happened to him or anyone in her family. And what if she had to live without Jonas?

  There was the thing most people turned from when they looked at Esther. Easy enough to say she should move on, but few people stopped to think what their own life would be like if they were thrown into the same situation.

  Deborah knew how barren her own life would be without her husband.

  And the way Seth had died definitely made matters worse. A farming accident would have been difficult enough, but Deborah had been pushed to the brink by having to endure the police investigation, along with Shane Black’s insistence that those responsible be brought to justice.

  Now their lives were tangled with Shane’s one more time.

  God’s doing or one more complication of living among the English?

  Deborah murmured to Cinnamon and pulled under a shade tree outside of Esther’s house. One thing she was sure of: she needed to be the best friend she could to Esther and Melinda, and at this point that seemed to mean befriending Callie Harper.

  She was more than willing to do so.

  The fact that friendship also involved her in another police investigation seemed a bit bizarre, but then life had always surprised her with its complexity.

  Deborah gathered her sleeping son in her arms, picked up the basket, and walked up the steps of her best friend’s porch.

  Esther opened the front door of the single-story white house before Deborah had a chance to knock. Leah’s head popped out from behind her mamm’s dress, eyes wide, prayer kapp firmly pinned in place.

  “Afternoon, Esther. Afternoon, Leah.”

  “Joshua sleeping?” Leah asked.

  “He was on the ride over. I think he’s awake now though.” Deborah handed the basket to Esther as she walked through the door.

  “When are you going to stop bringing me things, Deborah?”

  “Can’t a freind bring a freind
fresh cookies?”

  Joshua had begun to squirm, so Deborah set him down on the floor. He clung a bit to Deborah’s dress, but stared at Leah and the basket.

  “What kind of cookies, Mamm? I want to see.” Leah’s voice was soft, sweet, and unscarred.

  “Take them to the kitchen.” Deborah said. “Get Joshua a cup of milk and each of you a cookie.”

  Leah took the basket in her right hand, Joshua’s hand in her left, and led him off to the kitchen.

  Deborah and Esther could watch them from the sitting room, but talk more freely from a distance, without little ears picking up every word.

  “You needn’t do this, you know.” Esther’s eyes were on the children, and she had no real scolding in her voice.

  “And you needn’t fuss.”

  Deborah sank into the couch and gave Esther the once over. As usual, every blonde hair was in place, and her clothing was perfectly ironed. If anything though, she seemed to have lost more weight, and her face was devoid of color.

  It occurred to Deborah for the first time that perhaps something more was wrong with Esther. What if she was sick? Maybe she should see one of the English doctors. Surely it was natural to mourn, but what if this was more than grief?

  “It was nice of you to take the cookies you had to Callie. I thought I’d replace them is all. I know you only have time to bake once a week.”

  “And you have more time than I do? With your five bopplin?” Esther’s right eyebrow arched with the question, but her hands remained folded in her lap. Esther had the patience of Job it seemed. Outwardly anyway. She would never ask probing questions, and she wouldn’t volunteer any information. Deborah would have to jump right in.

  “Have you heard anything new?”

  “About what?”

  “About …” Deborah waved her hand, as if that would explain everything. “You know about what. Anything about Stakehorn? Anything new about Callie or Daisy’s Quilt Shop? Anything else on Shane Black?”

  Esther’s face had been impassive until Deborah mentioned Black; then she flinched, just once.