Seeds of Deception: A Kate Burkholder Short Story

by Linda Castillo

  Katie held her friend’s gaze. “Mattie, I was looking right at him when he said it. The look in his eyes … the way he said it…” Closing her eyes, she forced the words out. “I believe him.”

  “You believe him? A known liar? Over your best friend?” Mattie choked out a sound of incredulity. “After what he did to you?”

  The girls fell silent, as if shocked by the words between them, unable to process the repercussions or put them in perspective.

  Katie forged on. “You’re my best friend and I love you like a sister. I’m on your side. Please tell me the truth.”

  Tears filled Mattie’s eyes. “You have to believe me.”

  “I want to, but things aren’t adding up. I don’t know what to believe.”

  Lowering her head, Mattie put her face in her hands and began to cry.

  The urge to comfort was powerful. It hurt to see her friend in pain. Twice, Katie leaned close to take her hand and tell her it was okay. Twice, she stopped herself before she could.

  After a moment, Mattie raised her head. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her eyes were ravaged, her nose red and running. “The lighter was mine,” she whispered. “Are you happy now?”

  Katie felt something tear inside her. A vital part of her had been whole and undamaged until now, and on some instinctive level, she knew that small part of her would never be the same. “No,” she said softly. “It makes me sad.”

  “It’s not what you think,” Mattie told her.

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  Wiping her nose on the sleeve of her sleeping gown, Mattie shook her head. “It was an accident. A horrible, stupid accident.”

  “Tell me,” Katie said.

  “Billy and I were … smoking. Over by where Mr. Zimmerman stored the hay. One minute we were just sitting there, talking and joking around and the next … Billy just … came at me and started trying to kiss me. Trying to … you know … put his hands on me.” She touched her chest and shuddered. “I don’t like him that way. The only reason I went into that barn with him was to … I don’t know … show him an Amish girl could put him in his place. I guess I thought I could handle him. But when I laughed at him and tried to push him away, he wouldn’t listen. He just … kept coming. We wrestled a bit, kind of awkward like, but then something happened to him. He got really mad and it scared me. I … must have panicked and somehow scratched his face.”

  Looking away, she drew up her legs and wrapped her arms around her knees. “When all that was happening, I dropped my cigarette between two bales of hay. I tried to get to it, but the bales were heavy, and Billy was still trying to … get at me, so I just left it. And I ran.”

  Katie stared at Mattie, her heart pounding, pain and guilt and doubt tearing into her like tiny, sharp teeth. “Billy came out of that barn before you did.”

  “After he left, I went back inside to make sure there was no fire and find that cigarette if I could. I looked for it. I swear to you, Katie, when I walked out of that barn there was no fire. There was no smoke. I figured Billy put it out. That’s the honest-to-God truth.”

  “It was an accident,” Katie said.

  Mattie shrugged. “I’m not even sure it was my cigarette that started it. I mean, Billy had matches. I saw them. He was so angry and cursing at me. As far as I know, he lit those matches and tossed them inside just to spite me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell the police?”

  Mattie’s eyes flashed. “Because I was scared. Billy was like a rabid animal, spitting and snarling. He said if I told anyone what happened, he’d wait until no one was around and finish what he started. I know it sounds silly now, but at the time … if you’d seen his face. I believed him. I still do.”

  Katie didn’t know what to say. Guilt nipped at her conscience. For not believing her friend when she should have. For pressing her when she should have been patient. Worse, she didn’t know how to make things right.

  “I believe you,” Katie said after a moment.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything from the start. I should have. But it was such an ugly thing.”

  “Not easy stuff to talk about.” Katie sighed. “What about Billy?”

  “I don’t know.” Mattie bit her lip. “I don’t know if he started the fire. Maybe he did. Maybe it was my cigarette.” She shrugged. “What if he does that to another girl? What if he doesn’t stop next time?”

  The weight of the questions settled uneasily on Katie’s shoulders. The truth of the matter was she didn’t know what to do. The line between right and wrong seemed crooked and gray. Not for the first time she wished she could talk to her mamm or datt or even Jacob. But, of course, she couldn’t.

  “Maybe we ought to just let things play out with the police,” Mattie suggested. “Maybe this is a lesson Billy needs to learn. Maybe he’ll be a better person because of it.”

  Katie thought about what Billy had done to her earlier in the day. Pushing her to the ground and damaging Jacob’s bicycle. After a moment, she nodded. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “The English police know what to do with boys like Billy Marquart,” Mattie added.

  It wasn’t the perfect solution, but it was the best one Katie could think of. She got to her feet. “I have to get back.”

  “Before someone misses you, sneaky girl.” Rising quickly, Mattie threw her arms around Katie. “Thank you for believing in me.”

  Closing her eyes, Katie hugged her back and tried hard to ignore the little voice in the back of her head telling her that wasn’t exactly the case. But it was close enough to the truth that Katie thought she could live with it.

  “See you at worship,” she whispered.

  “See you then.”

  *

  Three weeks later …

  The old draft horse whinnied softly when Katie dropped the flake of alfalfa into his hayrack. She was in the stall, brushing the animal’s coat when Jacob approached.

  “Did you hear about Billy Marquart?” he asked.

  Katie looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. “Billy who?”

  Jacob didn’t smile back. “He had juvenile court yesterday. The judge found him guilty of felony arson.”

  A sensation similar to nausea seesawed in her gut. “He’s going to jail?”

  “He got some kind of probation. And community service.”

  Katie still wasn’t convinced Billy had started the fire—a doubt that still kept her up some nights. But when she weighed the question of his guilt against the things he’d done to Mattie—and the damage he’d done to Jacob’s bicycle—she figured justice had prevailed, at least in a roundabout way.

  She stopped brushing the horse and turned to face her brother. “Hopefully he learned his lesson.”

  “I think there were lessons in there for everyone this time.” Jacob smiled at her kindly. “Come on, little sister. Let’s go eat breakfast.”

  Giving the horse a final pat, Katie left the stall, closed the door behind her, and walked with her brother into the house.

  Read on for an excerpt from the newest Kate Burkholder Amish mystery:

  AMONG THE WICKED

  Available in hardcover and eBook on July 12, 2016

  And be on the lookout for the trade paperback edition of AFTER THE STORM, on sale May 3, 2016

  And the mass market edition of HER LAST BREATH, available December 6, 2016.

  Get the latest Linda Castillo news at http://www.LindaCastillo.com/

  PROLOGUE

  She waited until three A.M. She’d tried to sleep, but it was a fruitless endeavor. Instead, she spent five hours twisting in sheets damp with fear sweat, heart pounding, her mind running the gauntlet of the myriad things that could go wrong. Finally, too wired to lie still a moment longer, she tossed the covers aside, rose, and stripped off her nightgown.

  Kneeling, she pulled the neatly folded clothes from beneath the bed where she’d hidden them: Long underwear. Blue jeans. Sweater. Two pairs of socks. Insulated gloves. Wool hat.
It had taken her weeks to amass those few simple necessities; she’d been forced to delay her escape twice. She’d stolen for the first time in her life. Lied to people she loved. But she’d finally collected enough cold weather gear to get her through. The rest was up to God.

  Shivering in the darkness, she pulled on her clothes and tucked the gloves into her pocket. She listened for signs that someone else was awake, but the only sounds were the hiss of cotton against her bare skin and the quick in and out of her breaths. She’d wanted insulated boots, preferably with some tread, but she hadn’t been able to afford them, and they were too unwieldy to steal. Her muck boots were going to have to do.

  Fully dressed, she slid the cell phone from beneath the mattress. She never risked leaving it on; cell phones were strictly forbidden by the Ordnung. The punishment for such a transgression would be brutal and swift. Hopefully, she had enough battery left for the only call she needed to make.

  Shoving the phone into the rear pocket of her jeans, she padded in stocking feet to the bedroom door. A smile came to her face when it glided open without so much as a squeak. Amazing what a little lard did to an old hinge. And she reminded herself it was the inattention to details that got you caught. That, she thought, and trusting the wrong people.

  Not her. She didn’t trust anyone. Hadn’t for a long time. Sometimes she didn’t even trust herself.

  She’d planned this excursion for weeks. She’d run through every detail a thousand times. Envisioned the hundreds of things that could go wrong, and adjusted her plan accordingly. She’d visualized success, too. And she’d never lost sight of what it would mean to her life. It was the one thing that kept her moving forward when everything else was lost.

  Freedom.

  Silently, she crept into the hall, where scant feet away, the doors to three other bedrooms held the threat of discovery. There were no windows in the hall, no light of any kind, but she’d anticipated the darkness. She’d memorized every step and knew her route as intimately as she knew her own face. Three strides and she reached the stairs. Hand on the banister, the wood hard and slick beneath her palm. She knew not to touch the wall, or risk knocking the picture off its hook. Senses heightened to a fever pitch, she crept down the steps, skirting the fourth one to avoid the squeak of the nail against wood.

  At the base of the stairs she paused again to listen, but all she heard was the buzz of the kerosene refrigerator in the kitchen and the tick of the clock above the stove. The sounds were nearly eclipsed by the roar of fear in her head. She could feel her knees shaking; her hands were unsteady, her palms wet with sweat. She couldn’t afford to be afraid; fear was a distraction that led to mistakes, and dear God, she would not screw this up. She tried to calm herself—a deep breath slowly and silently released—but it was no use. Terror was a dark presence, its breath hot on the back of her neck.

  The faint rectangle of the kitchen doorway beckoned. No flicker of the lantern. No one awake at this hour. To her right, the muddy light from the front window seeped into the living room. The three-quarter moon was another detail she’d meticulously planned for. What she hadn’t counted on was the cloud cover. It wasn’t going to stop her.

  She moved across the plank floor as soundlessly as a ghost. Through the kitchen, linoleum cold against her feet even through two pairs of socks. Then she was in the mudroom. Colder there. No heat. A draft blasting in beneath the exterior door. Coat on the hook. Not heavy enough, but it would have to do. Her boots were next to the rug where she’d left them after mucking stalls earlier, still smelling of horse manure. She shoved her feet into the boots. Pulled on the coat. Buttoned it with shaking fingers. She tugged the gloves from her pockets, jammed her hands into them. Sweating now beneath the coat. Breaths coming short and fast. Fear mocking her as she reached for the knob, telling her she couldn’t do this. She didn’t smile this time when the door glided noiselessly open.

  Outside, snow coming down hard. A quick shot of dismay. She should have anticipated it. For an instant she worried about leaving tracks. But as she made her way down the porch steps, she realized it was snowing hard enough to cover any trace that she’d been there. The low visibility would work to her advantage, too. If someone happened to wake up and look out the window, they wouldn’t see her. Another gift from God.

  A hysterical titter squeezed from her throat as she sprinted across the yard. Awkward in the muck boots. Feet silent against the snow. Breaths puffing out in front of her. Snowflakes pecking at her face like sharp little beaks. She ran past the shed. Ducked beneath the clothesline. She could just make out the hulking shape of the barn twenty yards to her left. Remembering to avoid the horses lest they whinny in anticipation of hay, she veered right. Past the T-post demarcating the garden. The maple tree in the side yard.

  She reached the rail fence, scaled it with the ease of a gymnast, landed on her feet on the other side. Through the veil of white, the mottled wall of trees beckoned. A profound sense of liberation engulfed her as she raced across the pasture. Boots crunching over tufts of frozen grass. The wind whipped at her face, yanked at her coat and hat. Snow stung her eyes. But she knew exactly where to find the mouth of the path cut into the woods. A deer trail she’d been widening and clearing for weeks now. The sons of bitches should have paid closer attention to how she spent her afternoons.…

  The woods swallowed her, taking her in. The wind chased her for several yards and then tapered off, unable to penetrate the trees. Otherworldly silence all around. The tinkle of snow pellets. She ran for a hundred yards, careful to avoid the fallen log that had been too heavy for her to move. Stooping to avoid the low branch that had been too thick to break.

  She stopped in the clearing, bent at the hip and set her hands on her knees. A minute to catch her breath. She had time. Only two miles to go. Past the lake ahead. A right turn at the deer blind. From there, another mile to the road. The most dangerous part of her plan was done.

  Giddiness rose inside her. She choked out another laugh, a maniacal sound in the dark and the snow. “I did it,” she panted. “I did it. I did it.”

  Straightening, she wiped a runny nose and glanced behind her. Another layer of relief rippled through her when she found the trail empty.

  “I beat you,” she whispered. “Bastards.”

  She started down the trail at a jog, finding her rhythm, settling into it. Snow stinging her cheeks, making her eyes tear, but she didn’t care. Trees swept by. Elation pushed her forward. So close now she could smell the sweet scent of freedom. A new life. A future.

  She reached the lake, a low plane of white to her right. For fifty yards the path ran parallel with the bank. The snow sparkled like diamonds on the ice. On the other side, another line of trees. Muscles screaming, lungs burning, she picked up the pace. One foot in front of the other. Faster now. Comfortable with the pain. Bring it on.

  The sight of the footprint stopped her dead. Panting, she stared, confusion and disbelief pummeling her like fists. Alarm knocking at her brain. Terror breathing hot down the back of her neck.

  Not possible, she thought.

  Her eyes tracked the prints left, into the woods. Not yet covered by snow. Fresh. But who would be out here in the middle of the night? Even as her brain posed the question, another part of her already knew, and the knowledge sent a lightning strike of adrenaline burning through her.

  A dozen scenarios played in her mind’s eye. Continue down the trail at a faster pace, outrun them. Abandon the trail and flee into the woods, lose them in the trees. Or set out across the lake and escape into the forest on the other side. But she knew that wasn’t a good idea. While it was bitterly cold tonight, the highs last week had hovered near fifty degrees. She wasn’t sure the ice was thick enough to support her weight.

  A figure materialized from the woods and stepped onto the trail ahead. A white phantom with dark holes for eyes. Hat and canvas coat caked with snow. Recognition flashed. She tried to be relieved, but her heart didn’t slow, her legs didn’t stop sh
aking.

  “You scared the shit out of me!” she exclaimed.

  A familiar grin. “Sorry.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.” Eyes skittered away from hers. “I couldn’t let you leave without saying good-bye.” A step closer.

  Instinct screamed for her to maintain a safe distance, but she ignored it. No danger here, she reminded herself. Just the paranoia playing tricks on her. “I told you I’d call.”

  “We both know you won’t.”

  She wanted to argue, but there was no time. She tried to ignore the uneasiness slinking over her, grappled for the last remnants of a trust that had been shattered time and time again. But there was something in those familiar eyes that hadn’t been there before.

  “I have to go,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “I love you.” Another step. Close enough to touch. Too close. “Please don’t go.”

  A flash of resolve. A stab of regret. Spinning, she skidded down the bank, launched herself into a dead run across the lake.

  “Wait!”

  She didn’t dare slow down. A few yards out, she slipped, fell hard on her belly. Snow against her face, in her mouth. Ice groaning from the impact. A split second and she was back on her feet. She ran for fifty yards. Arms pumping. Boots sliding. Eyes flicking toward the bank behind her. No one there. But where?

  She continued across the lake. Slower now. Ice creaking beneath her feet. Nearly to the center. Not much farther.

  A sickening crack! reverberated across the ice. Water sloshed over the tops of her boots. Slush beneath her feet. The realization of a mistake. Another step and the ice crumbled. A trapdoor swallowing her feet first and sucking her down. The shock of cold burned like fire against her skin. She spread her arms, hands slapping against the ice. But the momentum dragged her down, plunging her into freezing blackness. Water closed over her face. Cold ripped the breath from her lungs.

  Darkness and panic and underwater silence. On instinct, she kicked her feet. Paddled with her hands. She was a strong swimmer, had swam the length of this lake a dozen times last summer. Her face broke the surface. She sucked in a single breath. Chest too tight. Bottomless cold beneath her.