Breaking Silence kb-3

by Linda Castillo

  I try to pull down that thick curtain I’m so good at keeping in place, but I don’t know if I manage to. I feel exposed and vulnerable beneath his gaze. So much so that I begin to tremble. I sense this is a profound moment, but I’m not sure why. I’ve had this man in my bed. He’s been inside me—my mind, my body, my heart. But now he’ll know all of those other facets. The ones I’ve never shared with him. The ones I’ve never shared with anyone.

  “Maybe it’s just the getting there that’s so hard,” I whisper.

  I see a rare compassion in his eyes, and it strikes me that he’s done time in the same dark place that haunts me tonight. And I realize he already knows about the other side of me. The imperfect part prone to dark moods and fits of rage. The part of me that drinks too much and courts danger and lies about it when I have to. In that moment, I know he gets it. He gets me. I’m thirty-one years old, and this is the first time anyone has ever given me the gift of true understanding. The knowledge moves me profoundly, relieves me because I finally know I no longer have to hide that.

  “You need to get a handle on the booze.” There’s no reproach in his voice, and he makes no attempt to soften the words with platitudes or euphemisms. That’s one of the things I love about Tomasetti. You get what you get, no frills.

  “Don’t let it get ahold of you, Kate. It’ll ruin your life. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

  I don’t have anything to say about that. Maybe because he’s right, and I’ve known for quite some time this talk was coming. Known that I needed it. I’m glad it came from him, because I probably wouldn’t listen to anyone else.

  “I know,” I say. “I will.”

  We fall silent. The tempo of the rain has increased, slapping the ground, splashing against the brick. I feel the cold air wafting in through the open window behind me. Tomasetti is standing in front of me, as warm and solid as a promise—the kind I know can be counted on.

  “So are you okay?” he asks after a moment.

  “Almost.” I meet his gaze, hold it. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  He smiles. “That’s what all the women tell me.”

  I release a laugh, and the burden I’d been holding most of the day lightens just a little. “You’re an ass, you know that?”

  “That’s why you can’t get enough of me.”

  Being with Tomasetti like this is like a healing balm for all the parts of me that are broken. Tonight, he’s a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. He’s the warmth of dawn after the endless cold of a winter night. He is laughter in the face of grief. Honesty when life is a jumble of lies. Sanity in a world gone mad.

  I don’t know if I love him. I’m not sure what love is or if I’m qualified to make that proclamation. One thing I do know is that I care for him more than I’ve ever cared for another human being. He moves me; he shakes up my world. When I’m with Tomasetti, I don’t see myself as a scarred creature with a past. I’m whole and new and the world is full of possibilities. The future is mine for the taking if I just hang in there.

  Tonight, I need him. I need him with every cell in my body. I need him on so many levels, I couldn’t begin to sort through them or make sense of any of it. I need him with an urgency that scares me, because control is the one thing I will never relinquish, even to him.

  Standing in the kitchen with the rain misting in through the window above the sink, I rise up on my tiptoes and brush my mouth against his. It’s a small thing, barely a kiss. But that moment of intimacy moves me profoundly. I’m keenly aware of all the things that are unique to this man I’ve come to care for. The piney scent of his aftershave. The scrape of his whiskers against my face. The solid warmth of his body against mine. His quickened breaths against my cheek. The restraint of a man who is more concerned about me and my frame of mind than getting me naked beneath him.

  A thousand sensations rise inside me, like a riptide dragging me out to the deep, dark waters of a tumultuous sea. The reckless heat burning my body clashes with the caution of my intellect, warning me to take it slowly. Caution is so damn overrated.

  Breaking the kiss, I look up at him. “I think this is the point when you’re supposed to kiss me back.”

  He pulls away slightly and gives me a crooked half smile, but I can tell he’s assessing me. “I appreciate your clueing me in.”

  “It’s not like you to miss a cue.”

  “I want to make sure you’re doing this for the right reason.”

  “I am,” I tell him. “I’m okay.”

  Another smile, this time with a hint of skepticism. “Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

  I stare at him, my pulse keeping tempo with the rain outside. I can feel the cold mist against my back as it comes through the window. “I’d tell you if I didn’t want this.”

  Lifting his hand, he smoothes a strand of hair from my face. “One of these days we’re going to have to talk about this.”

  “You mean about us.”

  He laughs. “I didn’t mean to terrify you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Liar.”

  I laugh, but it’s a nervous sound. “Okay, maybe a little. But terrify is a strong word.”

  “If the shoe fits…” Setting his hands on the counter on both sides of me, he leans close and brushes his mouth across mine. “There’re no pretenses here, Kate. It’s just us. You and me.”

  “Just us wounded souls, huh?”

  “That’s right.” Taking my hand, he lifts it to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “You can talk to me. About anything.”

  “I know.” I sigh, surprised when my breath shudders.

  His eyes find mine. I stare back, wondering how much he sees, if he’ll find what he’s looking for.

  “I think this is starting to get complicated,” he says.

  “It is.”

  “So is that good or bad?”

  “It’s good. Too good, probably. That’s what scares me, Tomasetti. We both know how quickly things can get snatched away.”

  “It doesn’t always happen that way.”

  “Sometimes it does.”

  He nods, considering me, weighing my words. “I’m not going anywhere, Kate.”

  I want to say something more, but I can’t speak over the knot in my throat. Because I’m supposed to be tougher than that, I give him a nod, look away.

  Taking my hand, he leads me toward the hall that will take us to the bedroom. I pause at the doorway. “I should probably close the window.”

  “Fuck the window,” he whispers, and takes me into his arms.

  CHAPTER 19

  I wake to the hard thrum of a pounding head, the smell of bacon, and an all-consuming need to throw up. Trying not to moan, I roll over and reach for Tomasetti, but he’s not there. That’s when I realize he’s probably the one doing the cooking. Moving with the caution of a woman who knows that at any moment her head could explode, I crawl out of bed and stumble to the bathroom.

  Four aspirin and a long, hot shower later, I walk into the kitchen and find Tomasetti sitting at the table. His laptop sits in front of him next to a steaming cup of coffee. He glances up when I enter and I see him quickly assess my frame of mind.

  “Don’t say it,” I mutter.

  “I was going to tell you that you look nice,” he says.

  I can’t tell if he’s pulling my leg, so I go directly to the coffeemaker without responding, find the largest mug in my arsenal, and pour.

  “I don’t usually see you out of uniform,” he adds. “You have really nice … toes.”

  After everything we shared the night before, a comment like that shouldn’t bother me, but it does. I’m wearing a comfy old sweater and jeans, no socks. I don’t understand why he’s commenting. I wish he’d cut it out.

  Cup full, I join him at the table. “I’d rather be wearing the uniform.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get the go-ahead in a few days.”

  I motion toward the laptop. “What are you working on?”


  “Final reports. We should be able to close the case today or tomorrow.”

  With those words, all the things I’ve been trying not to think about rush at me like a volley of spears: finding Samuel and Ike in the manure pit, Tomasetti’s risking his life to rescue them, the ill-fated car chase, pulling my weapon, finding Mose dead by my own hand.…

  “You sleep okay?” he asks.

  It’s a silly question, because we didn’t get much sleep. I’m not complaining. I’m closer to him than I’ve been to anyone else my entire adult life. It’s new territory for both of us. A good place to be. I don’t know why that feels so fragile this morning. Maybe because we both know how easily the good things can slip away.

  “Thank you for staying,” I say.

  His mouth twitches as he slides the laptop into its case. “How do you feel?”

  “Better.” I sip the coffee, nearly moan as the elixir swirls around my tongue. “You make good coffee.”

  He smiles. “Wait till you try the bacon and toast.”

  “Bring it on.”

  “You’re out of eggs. You don’t keep much food around, do you?”

  “Probably a good thing, since I’m a terrible cook.”

  The rare domestic moment is interrupted when my cell phone chirps. Finding it charging on the counter, I glance down at the display, surprised to see the number of the Lancaster County Sheriff’s Office. “Burkholder,” I say.

  “This is Deputy Howard. Sorry it took me so long to get back to you, Chief Burkholder. Last time we talked, you mentioned you wanted to speak with the Amish bishop out here. Well, I’m out at Amos Smucker’s place now, and he says he’s happy to talk to you.”

  I’d nearly forgotten about my request to speak with Abel Slabaugh’s former bishop. With the case about to be closed, I almost tell the deputy it no longer matters. But I know from experience that information is the one commodity a cop can never have too much of, even if it’s after the fact.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I’ll only take a moment.”

  The line hisses as the deputy passes the phone to the bishop. “Hello?”

  Bishop Smucker has an old man’s voice with a strong Pennsylvania Dutch inflection. Quickly, I identify myself and get right to my question. “How well did you know Abel Slabaugh?” I begin.

  “I’ve known Abel since the day he was born. I was very sad to hear of his passing. He is with God now, and I know he will find peace in the arms of the Lord.”

  “Do you know why he drove to Painters Mill, Ohio?”

  The bishop sighs in a way that tells me he wasn’t happy about Abel driving a motor vehicle. “Driving is against the Ordnung. Of course, Abel asked for my blessing.” Another sigh. “He said Painters Mill was too far to travel by buggy. If it hadn’t been for the problem with the boy, I would not have agreed to it. In the end, I did.”

  “What boy?” I ask.

  “His nephew, I believe.”

  “Moses?”

  “Yes, I believe that was his name.”

  He doesn’t elaborate, and I sense the bishop clamming up. “Was there some kind of problem with Mose?” I ask, pressing.

  The old man hesitates. “Abel confided in me, told me there was a family crisis.”

  “Bishop Smucker, I’m the chief of police here in Painters Mill. I’m trying to close a case. In order to do that, I need your help.”

  “It is a private matter, Chief Burkholder.”

  “I understand. But I still have to ask you why Abel drove to Painters Mill.”

  “Abel spoke to me in confidence.”

  “Abel is dead,” I say. “So is the boy.”

  The old man gasps. “The boy, too?”

  “Why did Abel drive to Painters Mill?” I repeat.

  He is silent for so long, I think he’s not going to answer. I’m about to try a more forceful tactic, but then he says, “Abel told me his nephew was having … confused feelings for his sister there in Painters Mill. Abel’s brother and sister-in-law were concerned. They asked Abel to drive down and bring the boy back here to live.”

  Premeditation and motive, I think. Mose murdered his parents because they were going to send him away to live with his uncle in Pennsylvania. “Thank you for speaking with me, Bishop Smucker.”

  I clip the phone to my belt. When I look at Tomasetti, he’s staring intently at me. “What do you have?” he asks.

  I recap my conversation with the bishop.

  Tomasetti nods. “Mose knew his parents were going to send him to Pennsylvania. He didn’t want to leave Salome, so he killed them.”

  The coffee goes sour on my tongue, and I set down my cup.

  Rising, he goes to the counter and slides two strips of bacon and a piece of toast on a plate. He carries it to the table and places it in front of me.

  “Thanks.” I don’t want the bacon, but I pick up a piece and take a bite.

  His cell phone rings. He glances down at it, then sends the call to voice mail. “That was Rasmussen. I’ve got to go.”

  The words send a hard rush of panic through me. I know where he’s going—to speak to the kids. Get their final statements. I hate the thought of not being there.

  “I want to talk to Salome,” I say.

  “Kate…”

  “I mean it, John. I need to see her.”

  “I don’t have to remind you that you’re on leave.”

  “I know it,” I snap. “Damn it, I want to see her. It doesn’t have to be in an official capacity.”

  Muttering beneath his breath, he picks up his laptop case and starts toward the living room. “You know that’s not a good idea, don’t you?” he says over his shoulder.

  “Since when has that stopped me from anything?”

  “Good point.”

  “If you don’t take me with you, I’ll go on my own.”

  “I know you will.” He growls the words as he goes to the closet, yanks out his trench coat.

  “I just want to talk to her, make sure she’s okay.”

  “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” he says, but he hands me my coat.

  “All the guys tell me that,” I respond, and we go out the door.

  * * *

  I don’t want to be nervous about seeing Salome, but I am. This will be the first time I’ve spoken with her since Mose’s death. I have no idea how she will respond to me. She witnessed the shooting, after all; she watched me gun down her lover. Though I’m sure she realizes I was defending myself and probably saved her life in the process, hearts are rarely as logical as our intellect. I can’t help but wonder if she blames me.

  But I won’t apologize for what I did. If faced with the same choice, I’d do the same thing a second time. I am, however, sorry Mose is dead. I’m sorry I was the one who killed him. More than anything, I want her to know that. I want her to know I care about her and her two young siblings, that I’m here for them. But then, life is full of wishes, most of which are left ungranted.

  I’ll never admit it to anyone, but I wish there was a place in my life for these kids. I’d like to watch them grow up. Keep an eye on them. Make sure they don’t get into trouble during their rumspringas. The thought makes me smile. But I know all of it’s a fantasy. The truth of the matter is, there’s no room in my life for children right now. Just an empty spot that might once have been filled.

  “Are you ready for this?”

  I glance over at the sound of Tomasetti’s voice, realize we’re pulling into Adam Slabaugh’s lane. Ahead I see the old white house with its green roof and shutters, like an aging patriarch looking out over his legacy of plowed fields and pastures.

  “I’m ready.” My words come too quickly, and I see his mouth tighten. “Do the boys know what happened to Mose?”

  “I’m sure they probably know Mose is dead. I don’t know if they were told how it happened.”

  I nod, thinking about that. “What if they hate me?”

  His gaze lingers on mine. “You saved their lives, Kate. If it wa
sn’t for you, those two boys wouldn’t be here.” He shrugs.

  He’s being logical, of course. But it’s not helping. By the time we park in the gravel area between the barn and the house, my heart is pounding and my palms are wet with sweat.

  “Chief Katie!”

  Tomasetti and I turn simultaneously and see Ike and Samuel bound from the house, a Border collie and an obese yellow Lab on their heels.

  Ike doesn’t slow down before running into me and throwing his arms around my legs. “Daisy’s going to have puppies!” he shouts.

  “I was going to tell her!” Samuel complains.

  This is not at all what I expected, and several thoughts strike me at once. First and foremost, despite losing their parents and brother in the last days, and nearly dying in that pit themselves, they’re not broken up or crying or even moping around. The next thing that registers is that the boys are genuinely pleased to see me; they don’t hate me. The realization moves me, shakes me up just a little bit.

  They no longer look like Amish farm boys. Both are wearing newish-looking jeans, sweatshirts, and coats, and I realize their uncle probably took them shopping at the Walmart in Millersburg.

  I set my hand on Ike’s skinny shoulder. “Hey, kiddo.”

  He looks up at me and grins. Only then do I see the remnants of grief on his sweet face. He looks fragile and sad, but he realizes neither. “Hi.”

  When I look down at the two dogs, I’m shocked to find my vision blurred with tears. “Which one is Daisy?” I ask.

  “Daisy’s the black-and-white one.” Samuel motions toward the Border collie. “The other one’s a boy dog, and boy dogs can’t have puppies.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  “Daisy’s really smart!” Ike exclaims. “Uncle Adam said we get to keep all the puppies no matter how many she has. I hope she has a hundred.”

  I’m aware of Tomasetti coming around the front of the Tahoe and kneeling to pet the dogs. “Your uncle home?” he asks.

  “Uncle Adam’s in the kitchen,” Samuel replies.

  “He don’t know how to make pancakes, so we had to go to McDonald’s.”

  “Yeah, but we like McDonald’s,” Samuel adds, nodding.