When the Bishop Needs an Alibi

by Vannetta Chapman

  “This is it,” Tess whispered as they reached the edge of the clearing. They stood there for a moment, staring and wondering what could possibly take place here. The area wasn’t that large. It was bigger than the Englisch football field behind the high school, but not by much.

  Emma and Tess pulled back, leaves crunching beneath their feet. They worked their way around the meadow to the opposite side and huddled in a grove of nearby trees. An owl hooted in the distance. Some small animal skittered across the ground. A light breeze stirred the trees.

  Now it was a matter of waiting. According to the journal, the drop-off or pickup or whatever it was should occur at three in the morning. Emma hoped so, as she had to be home by four thirty to help prepare breakfast. Life on a farm paused for no man or murder mystery. Cows needed milking, regardless.

  “I’m sorry,” Emma said. “I’m very sorry about Sophia. She was a nice girl, a gut person.”

  When Tess didn’t answer, Emma pushed on. “Catching the people responsible won’t bring her back.”

  “I know that. I know it won’t.”

  They were sitting side by side, shoulder to shoulder, under the cover of the pine trees. Emma felt the young woman reach up and brush at her cheeks.

  “But it’s the right thing to do.” Tess’s voice dropped to a low whisper. “These people…whatever they’re doing, they’re willing to kill for it.”

  “True.”

  “Which means they won’t stop. They’re likely to kill again.”

  “It’s a definite possibility.”

  “And that’s why we’re here. To stop them.”

  Emma didn’t answer that right away. How could she? Tess was right, but she also wasn’t speaking to the heart of the matter. Whether or not they caught the people responsible for Sophia’s murder, Tess would have to deal with the ache in her heart. She would have to decide if she wanted to focus on the bitterness she felt or on the love she had shared with her sister.

  But Emma didn’t say those things. She didn’t think Tess was ready to hear them. So instead, she reached over and clasped Tess’s hand in hers.

  Fifty-Seven

  When Henry reached the house, he didn’t go straight to bed. He rinsed out a cup and placed it in the drainer, walked into the sitting room, and picked up the copy of the Budget he’d left on the coffee table. He folded it and placed it on the table next to his chair. The clock was ticking toward twelve, and he couldn’t have said why he was still awake, why he was stalling, why he didn’t want to give in to the draw of sleep.

  He walked into his bedroom and Lexi followed, jumping up on the end of his bed and turning in a circle three times before settling down. “My mamm would have a fit if she could see you lying there, though now that I think about it, maybe she can. Who knows what those who have gone on before can or can’t see?”

  Lexi rested her head on her paws, but she kept her eyes locked on Henry.

  “If she can see you lying on the end of my bed—something she would have never permitted—perhaps she also saw you help us catch the Monte Vista arsonist.”

  Lexi stared at Henry and whimpered softly.

  “And then again, you found the surveillance device.”

  She shut one eye and continued to study him with the other.

  “Given those two cases, I suspect her rules would have softened.”

  For her answer, Lexi closed her eyes and rolled onto her side.

  Henry knew he should sleep. Most likely the next day would be even more trying than the last. It was clear they were closer to catching Sophia’s murderer than Agent Delaney, probably because Delaney had stopped looking. In the agent’s mind, he’d already caught Sophia’s murderer.

  Instead of dwelling on that, Henry’s mind turned to Tess and the grief she must be feeling. Without making a conscious decision to do so, Henry did what was so often his habit when troubled. He slipped to his knees, bowed his head, and petitioned his heavenly Father on behalf of Tess. He prayed for her, for Emma, and even for Agent Delaney. He prayed for himself, that he might know how to comfort Tess and point her toward the truth of the gospel, and then he began to name each of the church members in their community, along with their needs and their blessings. He couldn’t have said how long he talked to God, but his spirit calmed, and the anxiousness of his thoughts settled into an easy peace—a peace that passed all understanding.

  Lexi’s soft snores reminded him that morning would come as it always did—right on time regardless of his habits. He stood, knees popping, and reached for his nightclothes. After he changed, he climbed into bed and immediately sank into a deep sleep.

  He dreamed of his mother, and she seemed to be trying to tell him something. Lexi was in the dream, too, rising up on her back legs, her front paws reaching for Henry, trying to catch his attention. Henry glanced back at his mother, who didn’t appear to notice the dog at all. He thought that was rather odd. She’d always been a stickler about animals in the house. Surely she would say something one way or the other, but in the way of dreams, he couldn’t open his mouth to ask her about it.

  Her left hand was clasped around her waist and her right hand was urging him up, urging him on. He was momentarily frightened. But then he leaned closer, really studied her, and realized there was a solid assurance in her eyes, though she continued to urge him to get moving. He was trying to figure that out, trying to decide exactly what she wanted, when he was yanked from the dream.

  Lexi bounded to her feet and began to bark as if the house were on fire. Henry sat up, disoriented at first, and then he heard the clatter of buggy wheels.

  In the middle of the night?

  Henry hushed Lexi as he pulled on clothes and shoes, grabbed his battery-operated lantern, and rushed to the front door. The time on the clock near the door said thirty-seven minutes past one in the morning. He stepped out onto the porch as the buggy pulled to a stop. He raised his lantern, and Nancy Kline tumbled out of the buggy.

  “What’s wrong?” Henry asked.

  Of the three widows, Henry thought, Nancy had adjusted best to the changes life had thrown her way. Her disposition remained sunny, her words were never bitter, and she rarely complained. She was a good woman, and probably she was the glue that held together the group of three who had opened Bread 2 Go.

  What was she doing here?

  Lexi trotted over, smelled the horse, the buggy wheel, and Nancy’s shoes before ambling toward a bush near the front porch.

  “I didn’t mean to alarm you, Henry.”

  “It’s past midnight.”

  “Ya, I know.”

  “Come up onto the porch. Have a seat. You look—upset.”

  Nancy followed him up the steps and perched on the edge of a rocker. She glanced around and then reached up and patted her kapp into place, tucked in a few stray hairs, and clasped her hands. “She told us not to tell you. We were to wait until morning.”

  “She?”

  “Emma.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “She was. At least she seemed to be, but something feels wrong.”

  Henry set the lantern on the porch floor, turned the other rocker so he was facing Nancy, and sat down. He prayed it wasn’t so, that Emma wasn’t in danger. Perhaps Nancy was overreacting, though she was normally quite levelheaded about things. “When did you see her?”

  “Several hours ago. The three of us were leaving the shop.”

  “I had no idea you work so late.”

  “Normally we don’t, but we had to bake tonight. Business has been better than expected.”

  “I guess so.”

  “I took Franey and Ruth to their place—we ride in together, you know. It helps our families to use one buggy instead of three. I went home myself, but I couldn’t settle down. I even tried some of that herbal tea Doc recommends. Finally I decided to come and see you, but the strange thing? Once I had the mare hitched up, she seemed to come here on her own.” Nancy frowned. “Anyway, I’m here because of Emma.”


  “What about her?”

  “I’m afraid she’s in danger.”

  “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  “She was with an Englisch woman.”

  “Tess?”

  “I suppose so. Emma said the woman is Sophia’s schweschder, but I didn’t see her myself. She stayed in the car.”

  “I left Emma at the diner earlier this evening. She was with Tess.” Henry tried to understand what Nancy was telling him. “They were going to work on Tess’s computer, and then she was going to take Emma home.”

  “I suppose something must have happened between when you left and when I saw them.”

  “They weren’t going home?”

  “Nein. They were headed to the sand dunes.”

  “What? ” Henry shot to his feet.

  “ ‘Chasing down a few clues,’ Emma said. She told us if she wasn’t back by daylight to tell you and Clyde where they’d gone.”

  Henry paced back and forth. “They must have figured out the password.”

  “What password?”

  “And whatever files were on the device must have pointed them to the sand dunes.”

  “Files?”

  “Did she say anything else, Nancy? Anything more specific?”

  “Ya. She did. She said they were going to the dunes, where Highway 150 crosses Mosca Creek—one mile east and to the north of the creek. And there’s a trail to the north through the woods that leads to a clearing. But why would they go there? And is this about Sophia’s murder?”

  Instead of answering, Henry said, “Can you wait for a moment?”

  “Ya. But Henry, do you think we should call the police?”

  “Not yet.”

  Henry called to Lexi. The dog normally came to him immediately, except for the time she’d taken off after the arsonist. Now she hopped down the steps and stood facing in the opposite direction, her entire body on alert, tail wagging and nose in the air.

  “Not this time, Lexi. In the house.”

  She gave him a reproachful look, but she obeyed.

  “That is some little dog.” Nancy shook her head in amazement.

  Henry hurried inside. He wasn’t waiting around for Grayson, and he didn’t know who else he could trust in the police department.

  No, this time he was on his own. He was going after Emma.

  He scribbled a note for Sheriff Grayson and then folded it and stuck it in his pocket. He got the change from his dresser, snagged his hat from one of his cubbies and his jacket from a hook above the bins, and checked his pocket to be sure he had Grayson’s card. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said to Lexi. “And if I can’t get back, I’ll send someone else.”

  He closed the door behind him, careful not to lock it.

  As their bishop, Henry felt he needed to talk to the widows about not working so late, but that conversation would have to wait for another time. It would seem all three women had a bad case of the entrepreneurial bug, not that being a business owner was bad. But Amish women did not work until all hours of the night.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Sure, ya.” They were in the buggy before Nancy thought to ask, “Where are we going?”

  “You’re going home for the night.”

  “And you?”

  “Drop me off at the phone shack.”

  Fifty-Eight

  The phone shack was close, easily within walking distance, but Henry was suddenly convinced a clock was ticking and there was no time to spare, no room for error.

  “I’m happy to wait,” Nancy said as she pulled in front of the small building.

  “Nein. You go on home.” Henry climbed out of the buggy, but at the last minute he turned back to Nancy and said, “You did the right thing telling me tonight.”

  “Will you call Clyde?”

  Henry almost said yes, but then he shook his head. “Perhaps Emma was right. There’s no point in worrying her family if they’re simply running out there to check on a few clues.”

  “But why in the middle of the night?” Nancy’s brow creased in concern. “And they’re going to be worried anyway when she’s not home.”

  “They know she was with me and Tess. Perhaps they’ll think the two of them are working on the computer files at Tess’s motel. Let’s not cause a panic until we’re sure there’s cause for alarm.”

  Nancy nodded and waited until Henry had walked into the phone shack before calling out to her mare and setting her into a trot down the road.

  Henry pulled in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and allowed the restored quietness of the night to calm his soul. What he’d told Nancy was true. She had done the right thing. But he hadn’t mentioned that he felt a strong foreboding that Emma was in danger. There was no need to frighten the woman when there was nothing she could or should do about it.

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out a quarter, and placed it inside the coffee can beside the phone. Then he picked up the receiver and punched in Stuart’s phone number. Henry knew it by heart, and if he hadn’t, then it was listed on the sheet of paper taped to the counter—all the Englisch drivers were listed there. Henry didn’t need only a driver, though. He needed a friend.

  Stuart answered the phone on the third ring, his voice gravelly from sleep.

  “I’m sorry to bother you.”

  “Henry? What’s wrong?”

  “I need a ride, and I realize it’s late. I’d be willing to pay more—”

  “Obviously this is an emergency. Should I pick you up at your place?”

  “Nein. The phone shack to the north of my home is fine.”

  Stuart hung up without asking another question, which said something about the man, in Henry’s opinion. He realized relationships were not always smooth between Amish and Englisch drivers. Sometimes the Englischers mocked the Amish for being willing to ride in a car but not wanting to own one. Sometimes Amish didn’t realize how rude they were being by speaking in Pennsylvania Dutch rather than Englisch while riding in the car. These things and more had caused some hurt feelings over the years, but they’d worked very hard in Monte Vista to cultivate a smooth relationship with those around them.

  As Plain people, they felt called to remain separate, to live their lives differently, to put God and family first above all else. But they also needed to be an example of Christ to their community. Henry had felt passionate about this from the time he first became a bishop all those years ago. He’d impressed the same attitude on his church members regularly throughout his years of leading them.

  The result was that the relationship between Amish and Englisch in Monte Vista was an amiable one. Often their youngies worked in Englisch businesses, and likewise the Englischers were happy to carry Amish-made items in their shops, such as the small pieces of woodwork Henry made. It was beneficial for everyone, and Henry prayed it would remain so.

  As he sat on the doorstep of the phone shack, waiting for Stuart, he mulled over these things. The fact that Stuart had agreed to pick him up in the middle of the night, without knowing where they were going or why, said a lot about the man. His instinct had served him well. Stuart was more than a driver. He was a friend.

  By the time Stuart pulled off the road, Henry was standing, waiting for the vehicle to come to a stop.

  “Danki, Stuart,” he said as he climbed into the truck and fastened his seat belt. The clock on the dashboard said two o’clock. He couldn’t have said why, but he had a sense of sand slipping through an hourglass. He thought of the dream, of his mother urging him to move quickly.

  “We’re going to need to hurry.”

  “Where are we headed?”

  “Sand Dunes National Park.”

  Stuart pulled back out onto the road and turned in the direction of the park.

  “I appreciate your coming at such an inconvenient hour.”

  Stuart tucked his chin and stared at Henry over the top of his glasses.

  “What? I can’t thank a freind?”

  “
You can, and you’re welcome.”

  He thought Stuart would say no more, but then he asked, “How long have I been driving you, Henry?”

  “Years.”

  “Five years. I retired five years ago, and I had a crazy idea that I could drive Amish folk, have time to read while I was waiting, and adjust my hours to those of my wife.”

  “It’s worked well for both of us.”

  “Your community has been very supportive.” Stuart drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “In all that time, you’ve always paid me fairly, or more than fairly, and you’ve never called me in the middle of the night.”

  “Ya. This is something of an unusual circumstance.”

  “Obviously. Which is why I came without question. I want to help if I can.”

  “But you don’t know what you’re helping with, Stuart.”

  To that Stuart grinned. “You know I love a good mystery.”

  “Ya, but it just occurs to me, if I tell you what’s going on, then you could be aiding and abetting a fugitive.” Henry pointed toward his ankle monitor. “Maybe I should have called a taxi.”

  “We both know there are no taxis in Monte Vista, and to call one from Alamosa? That would be terribly expensive.”

  “Indeed.”

  “You’re always quoting proverbs to me, Henry. Want to hear one of my mom’s favorites?”

  “Sure, though I didn’t realize Englischers have proverbs.”

  “We read the Bible same as you do, or some of us read it. Can’t say I understand everything in there, especially not in the book of Proverbs. But this isn’t from the Bible. It’s just a saying my mom was fond of.”

  “Must be the way of mothers.”

  “This was it: In for a penny, in for a pound.”

  Henry was silent for a minute, and then a smile spread across his face. “And does that describe you? Are you in for a pound?”

  “I am.”

  “Perhaps I should tell you what we’re doing, then.”