by Amy Lillard
Edie shook her head. “Laundry day.”
Now that Kappy could believe. Well, sort of. Edie wasn’t about to use her mother’s old-fashioned wringer washer to clean her clothes. It stood to reason that the clothes she had on were the only clean ones she had at the moment and her trunk was full of all the dirty ones.
“As much as I love the Madonna Tour 1987, what are you doing here?”
Edie took hold of the fabric of Jimmy’s shirt, careful not to touch him as she urged him forward. “We came to see Mamm’s grave. Right, Jimmy?”
Jimmy studied the toes of his plain black lace-up boots before giving a quick nod. “That’s right. Visiting Mamm.”
Jack Jones turned to Kappy.
“I’m just along for the ride.”
“Uh-huh.” Jack looked from one of them to the other, the set of his jaw clearly stating that he didn’t believe any of them. He was too much of a gentleman to press Jimmy for the truth. Or perhaps he thought that it was best not to. After all, what sort of trouble could the three of them get into at a cemetery?
“And you being here has nothing to do with the fact that the Esh girl’s buggy was run off the road just over there.” He jerked a thumb back over one shoulder, indicating the general direction of the accident. It wasn’t quite a question.
Edie studied the spot for a moment. “You don’t say.”
Jones crossed his arms and stared at Edie. At least Kappy thought he was staring at Edie. She couldn’t see his eyes behind those dark glasses. “You know that any clues you find should be turned in to the police.”
“Clues?” Edie asked innocently. “Why would there be any clues?”
“Evidence, then,” Jack corrected.
“Evidence of what?” This time Kappy thought Edie’s wide-eyed innocent look was a little over the top.
“If you find anything, you just be sure to let me know.”
“Of course,” Kappy and Edie said at the same time.
“How’s the investigation going?” Edie asked. At least this time she had toned down her innocent act.
“As well as can be expected.”
“And you’re not at liberty to discuss the details with me,” Edie continued.
Jack shot her a confused look.
Edie shrugged. “I watch CSI.”
“Yeah, well, hit-and-runs are hard to solve. Witnesses are hard to find, if there even were any. Can’t track them down, you know. There’s no real way to know who would be driving on this road about the time Sally June Esh was.”
Kappy nodded.
Edie gave Jack a small grin. “Be careful there, Detective. You keep talking like that, and you’ll let something slip.”
“There’s nothing to let slip.” Jack nodded at each of them and moseyed back over to his car.
They stood that way for a moment, all three of them huddled together, until Jack Jones was well and truly gone.
“What evidence do you suppose he was talking about?” Edie asked.
Kappy shrugged. “I don’t see any evidence. Do you?” She made a sweeping gesture toward the road. There were no skid marks, no tire tracks. Whoever hit Sally June had not bothered to slow down, not even right before impact.
* * *
Somehow Kappy kept all her questions to herself as they drove back to Edie’s house. She could tell Edie was having as much trouble as she was, but neither mentioned it. Jimmy sat in the back and chattered on about coming again. He liked visiting his mother’s grave, and he wanted to make sure that he had flowers to bring the next time.
Edie muttered something in return. Kappy didn’t know what she said, but it seemed to be enough to satisfy Jimmy. He sat back, but continued to plan his next visit with his mother.
“You should bring him more,” Kappy said in an aside to Edie.
“I know.” Edie’s fingers tightened on the wheel until her knuckles were white. “It’s just that . . .”
“It’s hard to visit her, knowing that you will never have the chance to make amends.”
Edie swallowed hard and gave a quick nod. “I would give anything to go back in time and stop that last argument we had. But I can’t. And I didn’t listen. Oh, Kappy, if I could take back the things I said . . .”
“We all feel that way,” Kappy answered as Edie pulled her car to a stop to one side of the house. They didn’t have a proper driveway, just a packed gravel lane with a strip of grass running down the middle.
“What about Jack Jones?” Kappy asked as they got out of the car.
“What about him?” Edie slung her purse strap over her shoulder, then shut the car door. A little too smoothly.
“I think he likes you.”
“Pbbfftt . . .” Edie blew her bangs out of her face and rolled her eyes.
“Don’t be coy,” Kappy said. “Are you going to make me walk home from here?”
Edie looked around as if she was confused as to where here was. Then she gave a quick shrug. “I thought you might help us feed the dogs.”
“Jah,” Kappy muttered. She didn’t mind helping Edie. Not at all. But Edie had driven home without thinking, forgetting that she needed to drop Kappy off at her house. Had the encounter with Jack Jones bothered her so much, or was it the trip to the cemetery? Kappy figured the latter.
With the three of them working side by side, they made short work of feeding and cleaning up after the dogs.
“The gerbils, too?” Kappy asked. She wiped her sweaty brow on the hem of her apron and motioned toward the small hutches where Jimmy kept his gerbils. He had started the business on his own last year, and to date had been quite successful selling the cute rodents to Amish and Englisch alike.
“No.” He puffed his chest out proudly. “They are my responsibility. You two go on in the house and rest. And don’t forget to save me a glass of lemonade.”
“You got it.” Edie motioned for Kappy to follow and together they left Jimmy in the barn to complete his chores.
“Thanks for helping,” Edie said as they made their way to the house. “Another set of hands makes it go so much faster.”
Then the idea struck. “I could come every day,” Kappy offered. “And help, jah? It would be good for Elmer, too. I could bring him to play. Maybe that would keep him in his own yard more. And maybe then . . .”
“Maybe then what?” Edie asked.
“Maybe then you won’t think so often about selling everything and taking Jimmy away.”
By now they had reached the porch, Edie turned as her brother bustled out of the barn, a metal bucket in each hand. He didn’t even notice them as he made his way to the water spigot and started filling the buckets, whistling as he waited.
“He loves it here,” Kappy said quietly. And it would kill him to leave, she thought. But she didn’t say it.
They let themselves in the back door and headed for the kitchen.
Edie poured them each a glass of lemonade as Kappy settled at the table.
“It’s just confusing, you know,” Edie said. She slid into the chair opposite Kappy and took a long drink. She didn’t meet Kappy’s gaze.
“What’s confusing?”
Edie shook her head. “Maybe that’s not the right word. I worry. Am I doing right by him?” She didn’t have to tell Kappy she was talking about Jimmy.
“Of course you are.”
Edie frowned and sat back in her seat. “How would you know? You’ve never been out there.”
“I don’t have to be out there, as you say, to know that Jimmy is right where he belongs. Right where God put him.”
Somehow her words brought Willie Lapp to mind. He had been where God put him, but that hadn’t been enough. Was he wrong in leaving?
“What if he’s missing opportunities?” Edie said.
Kappy pulled her attention from Willie and settled it back on the woman in front of her. Edie Peachey might dress a little strangely, and she seemed to have no desire to bend her knees and repent for her time spent with the Englisch, but she loved her broth
er and wanted what was best for him.
“What if he could have more education,” she continued,
“and I’m keeping him from that by allowing him to stay in the church and raise gerbils and beagles?”
“Did you see him out there? He’s happy raising beagles and gerbils.”
Edie shrugged. She fished her cell phone out of her pocket and pressed the screen. “You really think the killer is the one texting us?”
Kappy knew a change of topic when she heard it. “Well, you said yourself that the killer always returns to the scene of the crime. He wasn’t there today. And he didn’t come to the funeral.”
“We don’t know if he did or not,” Edie pointed out.
“Maybe this is the next best thing.” She pointed toward the phone Edie still held.
Edie pressed her thumb to the screen.
“If you still think it’s an accident, where are the skid marks?” she read. “It’s almost like he’s bragging.”
“Like he’s proud of himself,” Kappy agreed in a hushed whisper. What kind of person found satisfaction in such actions?
“We can’t let him get away with this,” Edie said. “This is where we live and he can’t come here and start killing people.” She furiously pressed her thumbs to the screen, her mouth a thin line, brows furrowed, eyes determined. “There.”
“What did you do?” Kappy was almost afraid to ask.
“I’m texting him back. We know who you are and we know what you did. No crime goes unpunished.”
“That’s what you wrote?” Kappy frowned.
“Yep. And send.” She pressed her thumb to the screen one last time, then sat back with a smile. “Let’s see how Mr. Killer likes that.”
Chapter 6
Sunday. Kappy loved Sundays, especially church Sundays. She spent most of her days sewing kapps and taking care of her small garden and hardly got off her property for anything other than a quick trip to the market. At least that had been the case until Edie had come back to town. Still, church Sundays were the best.
She got up with the sun and did her necessary chores. She let Elmer out the back, picked a few cucumbers and tomatoes, then went inside to wash up and get dressed.
There was something special about donning that crisp white apron after thirteen days of wearing a black one. Kappy appreciated the ritual. She had heard others grumble behind the bishop’s back about changing the old ways, but she enjoyed the specialness of dressing differently, presenting herself differently on the church Sabbath. It made it important somehow, as if her manner of dress was there to remind her, Today is special.
After she fixed a small breakfast, ate, and cleaned up the mess, she hitched up her buggy and headed over to Edie’s.
Since Ruth Peachey had died, Jimmy had taken to riding to church with Kappy. She didn’t mind; in fact she kind of enjoyed his company.
She pulled up in front of the Peachey house and secured the reins before climbing down.
Jimmy rushed out onto the porch, his sweet lopsided smile lighting up his entire face. “Hey, Kappy. Happy Sunday to you.”
She smiled in return. “Happy Sunday to you, Jimmy. Is Edie still asleep?”
He shook his head, then climbed into the buggy. “No,” he yelled out the window. “She’s inside. Where’s Elmer? Is he not going with us?”
“Elmer’s a dog. He has to stay home.”
“Not always. I read in the paper that some dogs go everywhere with their owners. Wouldn’t it be great if Elmer could come with us like one of those Englisch dogs?”
The image of Elmer in the Rabers’ barn pulling on the pant legs of the bishop as he preached the Sunday sermon almost made her laugh out loud. Somehow she managed to keep her composure. “That would be great, Jimmy. Too bad it can’t happen.”
He held up his alert necklace. “They let me have this for emergencies. Why wouldn’t they let me have a dog to help me?”
Help you what? was on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t have time to answer as Edie came out onto the porch.
“Any text back?” Kappy asked.
“Good morning to you, too,” Edie quipped.
Kappy shook her head. She had hardly slept the night before. Between the excitement of knowing that the following day was a church Sunday and the accusing text that Edie had sent to the killer, sleep had been the furthest thing from her mind. “Sorry. Good morning, Edith.”
“Never call me that.” Edie pointed a finger at Kappy, her tone and expression stern, but Kappy knew she was putting it on.
“Uh-huh. Any word?”
She shook her head. “Maybe we’ll hear something later.” “Jah,” Kappy said, flipping over a rock with the toe of one black lace-up boot. “Maybe.”
“Thanks for taking Jimmy to church.”
“No problem.” She understood how awkward it had to be for Edie. Jimmy still wanted to attend services as he had since he was born. What was his sister supposed to do? Drive up in her Englisch car and drop him off at the door?
Plus, Jimmy was something of an outsider. And that made him and Kappy two of a kind.
“When you get back, I’ll whip us up something for supper. We can sit and stare at the phone together.”
Kappy laughed. But it wasn’t really funny. Perhaps this entire investigation thing had gotten out of hand.
“Sounds good,” she said, then hopped in her buggy and drove them back down the lane.
* * *
Even as much as she loved church, Kappy wasn’t able to concentrate on the sermon. Every little sound, every shift of the congregation, every sigh, every baby hiccup, every everything seemed to draw her attention away from the message. From there it was a short jump to Sally June Esh.
She should be there, at church, sitting with her mother a few rows in front of Kappy. She chanced a quick look toward the men’s side. Sally June’s brother, Jonah, and her father sat side by side, their attention centered on the deacon as he delivered today’s message. Their expressions were solemn, a bit pinched and overly focused. Kappy knew that look well. She had worn it the first year after she had lost her family. It had been nearly sixteen years since her parents and her two brothers were killed in a car-buggy crash, and still she missed them every day. The Amish might understand better than most that everything was part of God’s will, but that didn’t mean it automatically popped into their thoughts. Understanding took time. And with time, their lost look would be replaced with one of resignation and then acceptance. She prayed for the Eshes that it would happen quickly.
After the final prayer, the men carted the benches outside and flipped them over to form their tables for eating. The women got the food ready. It was a beautiful day to be outside. The sun was shining, but not too hot. The wind created a stir that was just enough to keep everything cool. In the blue, blue sky, clouds moved across, creating floating shadows on the valley below.
“I don’t know what she thought, bringing those here.” Frannie Lehman frowned at the jars of pickled green cucumbers resting on one bench top. The frown didn’t concern Kappy. Frannie was always frowning about one thing or another.
“That’s what she’s used to,” Alma explained. As the bishop’s wife, Alma felt it her duty to keep the peace, even over something as small as pickles.
But Kappy had to admit that the fat green cucumbers did seem strange.
Kish Valley was known for its church pickles, solely on the basis of color. All the ladies in the area made church pickles with white cucumbers. They tended to have a ghostly look about them, but Kappy only noticed after someone—an Englischer —pointed it out in front of her. Kappy had been at the farmers’ market stand at the end of the valley. She had needed to pick up a few extra green beans since hers had fallen prey to the beetles. The women hadn’t known that she was listening as they went on and on about the strange color of the pickles. Kappy had never thought much about it. That was simply what the church pickles looked like, and she hadn’t given it much attention up until then. B
ut she supposed to someone who hadn’t grown up in the valley, white pickles would look a little odd. But they tasted the same. Or rather close enough so no one thought much about it.
“She lives in the valley now.”
“What are you saying?”
Kappy didn’t recognize the third voice. It sounded familiar, but she simply couldn’t place who it belonged to.
“I’m saying Bettie Hershberger may have grown up in Lancaster, but she’s in the valley now and the pickles here are white.”
“I think there’s enough room for all the pickles.” Alma smiled at the other two women in turn, then began fishing the green pickles out of the jar for the hungry churchgoers.
* * *
For whatever reason, Kappy couldn’t stop thinking about those pickles. She ate her meal as quickly as possible, then walked around looking at plates to see if anyone had opted for the green pickles. Not seeing anything on anyone’s plates, she headed back over to where the pickle jars had been set up.
All the white pickles were gone, but just a few of the green pickles had been taken.
It was strange. Were the white pickles that much better? Or was it simply a habit? Was everyone eating the white pickles because they liked them more or because it was just what they were used to?
“I would tell you that the green pickles are just as good as the white ones, but since they are the only ones left . . .”
Kappy turned, dragged out of her thoughts by the man approaching.
Silas Hershberger smiled, showing her his even white teeth. She had never really noticed before, but they were as straight as if he had been to one of those fancy Englisch doctors who prescribed braces.
“Hi, Silas.”
“Come to get some pickles?”
She shook her head.
“You don’t want any pickles?” He frowned. “I mean, you’ve been standing here for a while, just looking at them.”
She shrugged. “Sorry. I guess I just got lost in thought.”
“Oh.” He almost looked disappointed.
“Why are you so interested in pickles today?” she asked.