Solitude Death, An Amish Country Murder Mystery

by Sandy McKee

  The nearest large grocery store was ten miles away. It was owned and operated by Helen Beam’s oldest son. It was a family business, and his wife and two eldest children worked in the store. Bill Beam shouted a cheery “hello” as I grabbed a cart.

  “Dana, long time no see. Mom said you were back for good. I’ll bet your mother is so pleased to have you home. How have you been?”

  “Just fine, Bill. Your mother keeps us up to date with you and your family. The store looks great. I love the little barn you built to house the horses while the Amish shop.”

  “Well, they are some of our best customers. Those big families eat a lot,” he joked. “I try to keep things in stock that they use regularly. I also sell some of the Amish baked goods here in the store. People love it.”

  “Do you sell wine and beer in the store yet? I’m so used to that in Florida.”

  “Not in Pennsylvania. We’re still in the Dark Ages. You still have to go to a State Store for wine. We keep after the legislature to change things, but that’s going nowhere.”

  I loaded up on supplies, mindful of the lack of storage room in the Miata . A gorgeous looking guy who reminded me of Tom Selleck insisted on helping me load the groceries into my car.

  “You look familiar,” I tried to flirt. “I’ll bet women drop by here a lot just to have you escort them to their cars.”

  He blushed. “I’m Van White. I was a few years behind you in school. I’m kind of between jobs, and Bill was good enough to let me work here part time. I’m looking for something that pays better, but the job market’s pretty tight.”

  “Well it’s good to meet you, Van. Thanks for the help and good luck with the job search. Maybe you could turn letters on ‘Wheel of Fortune’.”

  “Sure, I get that a lot. She’s my long lost sister.”

  I headed home to drop off the groceries and hopefully see my younger brother. My timing was good. He had finished mowing the yard and he and Mom were sitting on the front porch with ice tea and cookies. I hadn’t seen Phil for several months and was amazed at how much he was looking like our dad. He gave me a big bear hug and welcomed me home. He got me up-to-date with my nieces and nephews and we made plans for a family picnic a week from the coming Sunday.

  “I ran into a guy named Van White at the grocery store. Do you remember him? He’s really a good looking guy.”

  “I’d stay away from that guy, Sis. He’s got a reputation.”

  “I don’t really remember him from school. Was he in your grade?” I asked.

  “For a time. His mother was killed in an auto accident when we were in seventh grade. After that he fell in with a bad crowd. His grandmother couldn’t handle him and he ended up in juvenile detention and different foster homes. I’m pretty sure he never graduated. He was a good athlete, but never really applied himself to academics. He went into the Army and seemed like he had cleaned up his act for a while. He worked as a mechanic for a while in the area, then I heard he got in trouble and went to prison.”

  “Really, he seems so sweet,” I retorted. “What did he do?”

  “I heard he was kind of a gigolo, you know taking care of older women. Someone said he got caught embezzling money from a widow in Pittsburgh. I think he did about five years in the state pen. He’s been back in the area for a couple years. I haven’t heard too much about him until now.”

  “Well, I just thought he was kind of cute,” I smiled. “It sounds like he’s got a lot of baggage and issues. I’ll just enjoy having him carry out the groceries. Say, I gotta run. I’m going to meet the guy who bought the winery. His wife said he’s retired state police. I want to see what he knows about the violence taking place around here. I guess you heard about the Amish teacher.”

  “Of course I did and it’s such a shame, but why are you getting yourself involved with this? “ asked my brother.

  “ Oh, you know me. I can’t help myself. I recently touched base with an Amish friend, so that makes it kinda personal. Plus I love this area and am really angry that someone thinks they can come in and hurt people.”

  “Just be careful, Dana. Things aren’t the same as they were when we were kids. That innocence and “Camelot” period are long gone. Drugs are everywhere and they and the demand for them make people do some crazy shit.”

  I hugged Phil and told him I’d be careful. He thanked me profusely for helping with Mom, and we parted, promising to make an effort to talk every few days.

  Chapter 5

  Saturday

  The winery was at the end of a long winding and hilly road. It was a beautiful rustic structure where tourists could observe the wine making process, sample the wines and purchase all sorts of wines and accessories. There was even a guest house for over night stays. Several Amish men were working in the vineyards as I approached the wine shop.

  Sharon’s husband Bob greeted me as I entered the building. He offered me a glass of wine and indicated a plate of cheese and crackers on the table. Bob was very tall and quite handsome. He had kind blue eyes and bore a slight resemblance to Richard Gere.

  “Sharon tells me that you like to play detective, Dana,” he chuckled. “I can’t say that I approve, but my wife says you’re pretty smart and if I don’t talk to you now, you’ll persist. I do admire determination.”

  “I’m trying to get a handle on what’s going on around here. I just want to live peacefully like everyone else and am really upset by all this violence aimed at the Amish. It seems to me like they have helped this area out. Why would they be the target for violence?”

  “That’s the $25,000 question. We had some problems when I was on the force back a few years ago. It turned out to be some troublemakers who liked to drink and bully people. They seemed to know the Amish are good targets. They don’t fight back and don’t take people to court. They just want to live their lives quietly. Those thugs just seem to resent anyone who is different, and they get their kicks making people’s lives miserable.”

  “It seems to be going a lot further this time,” I commented. The threats, the fires, the buggy crashes and now murder. This seems to be more than loser teens sowing wild oats.”

  “Oh, absolutely. I’m a bit out of the loop these days, but I’ve heard a few theories. There are a lot of active hate groups in Pennsylvania. The police are checking them out. There have also been some cases of lone psychopaths targeting a particular group of people. Some have even suggested that it could be someone within the Amish community or someone who has been shunned. Right now, the search is wide open. As usual, the police are short on manpower, and the investigation will take a while.”

  “Do you know what kind of evidence they found at the school house?” I asked.

  “Not much to go on from what I heard. The teacher was stabbed through the heart with a common kitchen knife. Whoever did it must have known when she would be at the school without any students, and no witnesses have come forth. No fingerprints were found on the knife, and it’s the kind anyone could pick up at a WalMart. By the slant of her wound, the perp was likely left handed. No one connected with the girl could think of anyone who would have any motive to hurt her. She lived a very sheltered life with her parents. Her students seemed to love her.”

  “Wow, that’s not much to go on. It never happens like that on the TV shows.”

  Bob laughed. “No, but this is often the case. There was that message on the black board and some swastikas and satanic symbols but that could be anyone. They didn’t find any prints on the chalk either. The only thing missing, which seems weird, was her lunch. Her mother said that this time of year she usually took a peanut butter sandwich, a tomato, and a piece of fruit, usually an apple with her. Her mother remembered seeing her pack a lunch that morning, but it was nowhere to be found at the crime scene.”

  “That does seem odd,” I responded. “Maybe some kind of trophy if it’s some sicko doing this.”

  “They’re all sickos, Dana. Who else would so such a thing?”

  I thanked Bob
for his time and gave him a bottle of wine that I’d brought back from New Zealand last year. He seemed to appreciate it and said it would be okay to call if I needed to ask him more questions.

  I noticed all the trophies and awards on the way out. “It looks like you’ve really had a lot of success with your wines.”

  “Well most of these were won by the previous owners, but we hope to keep up the quality. Who would have thought that this climate would be so good for growing wine grapes. We produce over 6000 gallons a year.”

  “Someone said that last years lousy weather might be a challenge.” I commented.

  “Haven’t you heard the expression, ‘struggling wines produce the best vines’?”

  I hadn’t but smiled knowingly.

  I headed home, hoping the wine hadn’t pushed my blood alcohol above the legal limit. I took a back road past the old McCormick Mansion that was quite a landmark in the region. I thought back to one of the first serious college history papers that I had written. It was about John McCormick, the man who had built the huge building that resembled a Scottish castle. I was lucky enough to interview his daughter who had opened a small museum in the house as a tribute to her father. Although he was best know for his invention of a turbine, he was also an accomplished painter and song writer. In addition, his political views as a Copperhead went against the popular opinion of his day. He’d even written an amusing song poking fun at those who feared the Ku Klux Klan. Writing the paper had given me some real insight into the multidimensional life of a gifted individual. No one is ever quite what they seem to be on the surface. I decided to keep that in mind as I kept looking into the crimes.

  Chapter 6

  Saturday

  By the time I got home, my brother had left and my mother was taking a nap. Toby was hyper and clearly needed to get outside. As much as I would have liked a nap too, I decided that there would be no peace until my favorite pooch had some exercise. I grabbed his favorite tennis ball and went outside to the pond that my father had built for us back when I was in third grade. As I tossed the ball into the water and watched Toby retrieve it and swim to shore over and over, I thought back to all the good times we’d had at that pond. My friends and I would swim and fish there all summer, and ice skate and play hockey and “crack the whip” most of the winter. We’d build bonfires on the shore to warm ourselves while we drank hot chocolate from our thermos jugs. In the spring, frogs would lay eggs there and we’d collect them and watch them transform into tadpoles. Often deer, migrating birds and once even a black bear used the pond as a watering hole. I silently thanked my dear departed Dad for being so good to us. I wished he was here to talk to about the recent events. He had served in the military police in World War II and after that served as a security guard at the federal building in Pittsburgh. His strong sense of justice had been instilled at me at a young age and we both relished seeing the “bad guys” go to jail for their misdeeds. Somehow I thought he’d know how to get to the bottom of what was going on in our community.

  When I got back inside the house, the phone was ringing. I picked up just as the caller was about to hang up. “Hello, hello,” I shouted.

  “Is this Dana?” a familiar female voice asked.

  “Yes, who’s calling?”

  “It’s Sharon from the Cheese Shop. I was talking to some of my employees about your interest in what’s going on. One of Fannie’s sons works for me here and her brother works for Bob at the winery. I guess Fannie must have spoken pretty highly of you. Eli Jr. saw you here and Henry saw you talking to Bob. They both made a point of telling us that they thought it would be okay for you to attend the funeral on Monday. I think the whole Amish community is feeling very nervous and would welcome any help, especially from a trusted insider.”

  “O.K and thanks for calling. I’d really like to attend, to pay my respects and also to get the chance to ask a few questions.”

  “I’m glad to help, Dana. The sooner this thing gets settled, the happier we’ll all be. Did you hear that they plan to tear down the school house where the murder took place? They don’t want to be reminded of what happened there.”

  After I hung up, I played with the idea of fixing dinner for Mom and me, but convinced myself that it would be good to get her out for a meal. She always enjoyed dining out, and who knows who we might run into in the process.

  We took a ride to the Pantall Hotel in Punxsutawney. Although recently updated, it retained much of its historical ambience, and the food was always great. Mom seemed to be having a good day and ate her entire meatloaf meal. We both indulged in some of their delicious coconut cream pie. On our way out, we passed through the small bar. I noticed the handsome “carry out guy,” Van White, from the grocery store. He was nicely dressed and sitting with an attractive older woman. They were deep in conversation and didn’t seem to notice us until my mother walked up to the table and tapped the woman on the arm.

  “Why Violet Rush, what are you doing here?” asked my mother.

  Violet seemed a bit rattled to see my mother, but smiled brightly. “Oh hi, Edith. It’s good to see you out. This must be your daughter, Dana. I’m just catching up with an old friend here.”

  After we were rather quickly dismissed, we left the bar and got into the car.

  “That’s so odd seeing her out in a bar,” remarked my Mother. “I wonder who that young man was.”

  “Oh, that’s the guy that Phil and I were talking about earlier today, Van White. He’s the one who carried out my groceries. Phil said that he’d spent some time in prison and has a thing for the older ladies.”

  “Well, that’s interesting,” nodded my mother. “Violet is our pastor’s wife. What do you suppose those two have in common?”

  “Well, Mom, maybe we’ll find out in church tomorrow. I’m really looking forward to going.”

  Chapter 7

  Sunday

  My mother was up by six am Sunday morning. She was already dressed for church and sitting in a rocking chair holding her purse. “Dana, we’re running late. I like to go to Sunday school before the church service. You need to get dressed.”

  “We’re good, Mom. Sunday school isn’t until 9:30, then the church service is at 11.”

  “Well, it’s already past nine. We are going to be late, and you know how I hate that.”

  I assured her it was only a little past six. At first she argued, but then quietly accepted that she was a bit confused. I gave her a hug. “It feels good to be helpful, Mom. You did so much for me when I was little. I’m sorry that you’re getting forgetful, but I’m glad to be here with you. You know I love you.”

  After some cereal and toast, we looked over the Sunday paper. There were several items on the stabbing. I read each one carefully looking for any new information. It seemed like there was very little to go on. I had an idea that might bring out some responses. The papers loved letters to the editor, the more outrageous the better. I decided to work on something in the afternoon that might bring out the crackpots and anyone else with an axe to grind.

  We got to church by nine. There were already a lot of people that I’d known since childhood in the old country church. I never felt safer than when I was there. You couldn’t help but feel close to God with the sun streaming through the old stained glass windows. The beautiful oak pews generated warmth and were a great place to sit and reflect. When Jake, my husband, went missing, I wasn’t sure I could go on. I had a lot of guilt, since I had been so opposed to the war that he was off fighting. Despite our political differences, we really loved each other. We just agreed to disagree. His parents, who still live in the Philadelphia area, never really liked me. Jake came from a long line of Naval officers, and I felt like they viewed me as a Jane Fonda. We completely lost touch after Jake went missing. He was their only child, and I’m sure that their pain was as unbearable as mine. I had found strength in this little country church and here I had come to grips with the fact that I would likely never see the love of my life again.
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br />   Violet, the pastor’s wife that we had run into the evening before, touched my arm and brought me back to the present. “Dana, it’s good to see you again so soon. We’re so pleased that you’ve come back to Solitude. Do you think we could speak privately for a moment?”

  I noticed that Mom was happily engaged in conversation with Helen, so I followed Violet to the pastor’s study. We sat beside each other on a flowered couch. “I imagine you two were wondering what the pastor’s wife was doing in a bar with a young man.”

  I just smiled as she went on.

  “Van is my second cousin. His grandmother and my grandmother were sisters. I’m a good bit older than Van, but I’ve known him all his life. He’s had a pretty rough time of it, not that he didn’t bring some of it on himself. I’ve been meeting with him and trying to help him get his life back in order. My husband doesn’t have too much time for him, so I’ve kept it quiet. If he knew I was lending Van more money, he’d have a fit!”

  “I met Van at the grocery store yesterday. He seems very polite, and he’s a good looking guy. My brother went to school with him, and said he had a lot of problems.”

  “Oh yes, and most people don’t know the half of it,” Violet continued. “The deck has been stacked against him from the start. His mother was on drugs and alcohol and ended up in jail when she was eighteen for selling. She was raped by a guard and had Van while still in prison. Just when it seemed like she was getting her life together, she was killed in a head on collision. I’ve tried to keep in touch with Van over the years, and my heart does go out to him. He has a lot going for him, if he could just get a few breaks. I’m trying to get him into some counseling. With his mom being an alcoholic and drug addict and his father being a rapist, who knows what’s in his genes. There may be some new medications that could help him with his demons.”