Material Witness

by Vannetta Chapman

  “What if he’s already in town?”

  “If I see him, I’ll send him home.”

  “Ya, okay. I suppose that works.”

  By the time they’d switched the pies to Deborah’s buggy, Melinda could feel sweat soaking through her dress. “Danki. You’re a gut freind.”

  “Gern gschehne. Now you go, but drive carefully. Go home and find your family. Bring them to Reuben’s.” Deborah reached out and straightened her friend’s kapp, which had come unpinned in the front. “Shane has a plan, Melinda — a gut plan. I think it’s our best chance.”

  Melinda turned Ginger around and headed home, unsure if she’d find her family there or an empty house.

  How had this happened?

  She’d spent her entire adult life trying to protect her boys. Now it seemed they stood in the midst of harm’s way.

  Her mind raced ahead to all the things that could go wrong, but Ginger’s slow, steady pace gradually calmed her nerves. Surely God had not saved Aaron from the terrible chicken breast disease — how she hated that name — so she could watch him perish at the hands of an evil man.

  No. That wasn’t possible.

  God had plans for Aaron. Plans “of peace, and not of evil.”

  She’d known that from the moment she’d first held him in her arms. God had plans for each of her children. She could trust in the truth of his promises. Even when she pulled into her lane and confirmed her fears — that Noah’s buggy was already gone — she didn’t immediately turn and rush Ginger back into town.

  Instead she pulled the buggy up to the barn, stepped down into the shade, and checked her mare. Ginger was dependable — more like a family pet than a workhorse. A light golden-brown, she wasn’t as spry as when they’d first purchased her nine years ago, but Noah said not to worry, that Ginger still had many years of service left. Buggy mares had been known to last seventeen, even up to twenty years. If they were treated well. If they were cared for correctly.

  As Ginger nudged Melinda’s hand searching for a treat, it was plain from her labored breathing to the way she shuffled her feet that she actually needed some water and a few minutes’ rest.

  So Melinda unharnessed her from the buggy, pulled her into the coolness of the barn, and dropped a cupful of feed into her bucket. Then she made sure there was plenty of water for her to drink. Going through the motions of the chores calmed Melinda, forced her to think rather than react.

  Her instinct was to turn and hurry back to town as quickly as possible, but hurrying wasn’t always the wisest course of action. Hurrying could get her family killed.

  She needed to stop, let the horse rest, and think.

  She needed to focus and determine how best to prepare for the hours and days ahead.

  She needed to pray.

  Deborah was already on her way into town, on her way to finding Melinda’s family and warning Melinda’s husband of what needed to be done. They would be here soon. If she stayed put, Ginger would be well rested by the time they needed to leave again.

  Melinda walked into the house, retrieved a small pad of paper and a pen from the kitchen drawer, and walked back out to the porch. Sitting on the steps where she had a good view of the lane leading up to the house, she began to make her list.

  She listed things they would need at Reuben’s this evening. Tapping her pen against the paper, she drew another column. In that column, she listed things they would need for the weekend, in case Noah decided it was wiser they stay that long. She didn’t think he’d say that, but it was best to be prepared.

  Twenty minutes later, Noah’s buggy still hadn’t appeared on the lane. Twenty minutes. Probably Deborah was just arriving in town, just tying up Cinnamon and going to look for Noah and the boys. Melinda forced her worries down and turned the page of her small pad.

  Her third list was sadly short. No matter how she focused, she couldn’t come up with more than three lines to write under the title — so she stood, tucked the pad into her apron pocket, and began collecting the things they’d need to take to Reuben’s. But her mind kept running over the last list, determined to lengthen it.

  There had to be more possibilities.

  She’d pulled out two extra traveling blankets from the closet when a fourth possibility occurred to her. She dropped the blankets on the floor, pulled out the pad, and wrote it down.

  Obviously, it wasn’t Callie’s money. Callie didn’t know where or what it was.

  But they could help her find it. If it would lure this evil man out of hiding, bring him to a place where Shane could capture him and take him away, then they would find the money.

  Find the money, capture the murderer, and their lives could return to normal again.

  It was but another puzzle — a mystery of sorts.

  And together, their circle of friends had become quite good at solving them, especially when lives were at stake.

  Chapter 11

  SHANE SLID INTO THE CHAIR across from Stan Taylor in the Shipshewana Police Station. He’d snuck in through the back door, careful to remove his wood-carving disguise before he’d come within a block of the station.

  “You look horrible, son.” Taylor pushed a bottle of water into his hands, then sat down behind his desk, the chair groaning under his weight — which might not have been a testament to his weight as much as it was to the age of the chair.

  “Yeah, it’s part of the disguise.” Shane stared at the water. “Did we run out of coffee?”

  “We did not, but if you keep drinking it, you’re going to crash. Drink some water instead. I’m guessing you didn’t sleep at all?”

  Shane ignored the question, focused instead on opening the bottle and guzzling half of it.

  “So catch me up. Your texts make sense less than half the time. Or maybe you’ve forgotten how to spell.”

  Shane didn’t bother to explain to Taylor that texting consisted of abbreviated spelling. Instead he took another long swig from the water bottle and sank back against the cracked plastic chair.

  “I’m meeting with the Byers and Yoders tonight at Reuben’s farm.”

  “Think you can get Callie out?”

  “Yes. Tobias took the dog to Doc England’s an hour ago. We plan to put Perla in Callie’s spot as soon as darkness falls.”

  “How will that fool anyone? Perla doesn’t exactly look like Callie.”

  Shane leaned forward, rubbed at the tension headache developing along the back of his neck. “She’s the best we’ve got. She’s good with her firearm, and she’s approximately Callie’s height.”

  “I’m guessing Perla weighs five pounds more —”

  “Ten.”

  “And she’s Hispanic.”

  “It’ll be dark.” Shane finished the bottle and tossed it in the recycle box beside Taylor’s desk. “Look. It’s not a perfect plan, but I think it will work. They’re the same height. If our perp’s watching — and I’m not sure he will be — I don’t think he’ll be able to notice the weight difference or the skin color from a distance in the dark.”

  “All right. Then what?”

  “After the switch, I’ll hustle Callie out to Reuben’s. Once the group is together, we’ll work on figuring out what money he’s looking for. If we can, we’ll find the money, find the identity of our man.”

  Taylor sat up straighter. “Great. While you’re all at Reuben’s, I’ll be in town with the extra county personnel.” He unrolled a detailed map of Shipshewana on the desk between them. “We’ll place people here, here, and here.”

  Shane shook his head. “I want you to back off that alley.”

  “Didn’t you say that’s where she saw him?”

  “Exactly. If that’s his spot, if that’s where he’s comfortable, I want to leave it open for him.” He grabbed a highlighter from the pencil holder on Taylor’s desk. “Pull your people back to here and place extra reinforcement over at the corner.”

  Taylor studied Shane’s marks for a minute, then nodded. “All right, but we
have two problems. During the day, these areas are crowded, and we won’t be able to see much.”

  “Agreed, there’s no reason to set up before six tonight. The switch will happen closer to nightfall.”

  “Once it’s full dark, our people are going to look conspicuous standing around.”

  Shane tapped the map with the highlighter. “Put them in landscaping clothes. Keep them in place after dark, like they didn’t finish their work. They’ll be better able to blend into the shrubbery that way too.”

  Taylor rubbed at his eyebrows, something Shane knew he did when he was concerned or exhausted, or in this case — both. “Prelim autopsy confirm the stun gun?”

  “Not conclusively. But there was a mark on Mrs. Knepp’s upper torso consistent to the marks a Taser with drive-stun capability would make. She definitely died of a heart attack, and her lab reports show she received an electrical shock from an unknown source.”

  “So someone tased her.”

  “Yeah. I’d say so.”

  “What does Leroy have so far?”

  “No fingerprints. He can tell from the shoe prints that our perpetrator is roughly six feet tall. Shoe size was a ten.”

  “Everything check with the kid’s story?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

  Taylor sat forward, placed his hands flat against the desk. “I’m a cop, Shane. I think I’m a good one. You’re the guy who chases murderers, and I appreciate the times you’ve helped us before. Seth Zook … that was a tough case.”

  “I’m still not happy about how it wasn’t resolved either.”

  “Then there was Stakehorn’s murder.”

  “Perp’s still in jail.”

  “And finally Katie Lapp.”

  Shane didn’t bother answering.

  “I realize you have other work outside of Shipshewana, but you’ve always done a good job for us, for our citizens, and my point is that I appreciate it. Now do you have any theories as to what we’re dealing with this time?”

  “You want my hunch? Without the proof?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “I think the murder was a mistake all around — mistaken identity, mistaken outcome. He was after Callie. Probably the woman she heard in the background of the phone conversation, the woman she heard laughing, was in the quilt shop shortly before the time of Mrs. Knepp’s attack.”

  Taylor considered that for a minute, then grunted in agreement. “She saw Callie leave and gave our killer a heads up.”

  “Exactly. He might have followed her, but the street was busy. Somehow he messed up, confused Mrs. Knepp for Callie.”

  Taylor leaned back, the chair squeaking once again under his weight. “Because of the dresses. Because they were the same color.”

  “It’s the best explanation.”

  “Didn’t he wonder why she was in the bushes, spying on her own shop?”

  “People do strange things, Captain. And I don’t think our perp’s exactly normal. Who knows what was going through his mind. But he sees the dress, sees someone roughly the same height and build, and he makes his move. When he uses the Taser, he doesn’t think it will kill her —”

  “Because he doesn’t realize she’s eighty-two years old.”

  “He grabs the purse.”

  “Which he thinks has the money.”

  “Or information leading to the money.” Shane thought of this psycho attacking Callie and his anger spiked. This case was quickly becoming personal, and when it was personal, he risked making a mistake, which meant he needed to control his emotions.

  “Enough money to kill for?” Taylor’s question pulled him back to the conversation.

  “That amount varies for different people. And remember he probably didn’t realize he was killing someone when he tased Mrs. Knepp. Once someone kills though? Experience has taught me that the second time is easier.”

  Taylor sighed, stood, and attempted to hitch his pants up over his protruding stomach. A thought flitted through Shane’s mind about suggesting Weight Watchers online, but he decided the middle of an investigation might be a bad time to recommend a new dieting plan.

  “Why would he think Callie knows where the money is?”

  “Maybe because she does. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

  Deborah had no trouble spotting Noah’s horse and buggy. He preferred to tie it up on the far end of town, down by the old train station, which was no longer in use. Probably he’d dropped the boys off somewhere closer to town.

  The question was where.

  How would she ever find them in this crowd?

  Joshua was awake now. Awake, hungry for his afternoon snack, and needing to find a bathroom fast or he’d be pulling off those pants and diaper quicker than the twins could find trouble. Why couldn’t her son use his diaper for one more week? She wasn’t ready to potty train him today, but he was a stubborn one.

  “Keep your pants on, son.”

  “Josh potty.”

  “We’re almost there. Wait one minute, please.”

  She walked quickly around the corner and saw The Kaffi Shop. Noah wouldn’t be there, but it did have a bathroom and carried juice, milk, and pastries. Anything to prevent a meltdown while she looked for Melinda’s family.

  A copy of the wanted poster Shane and Aaron had created was taped to the window, right beside the open door. Deborah didn’t pause to look at it, but she did notice several people standing there, discussing what a pity it was for a sweet old lady to have her life ended in such a senseless way.

  They didn’t appear overly worried. It didn’t seem to have kept anyone home, possibly because extra officers had been brought in from the county office. And it certainly wasn’t hurting their appetites. They sipped their coffee and munched on pastries as one claimed she’d heard there had been three bullet holes and the other adamantly insisted it was a knife attack.

  Deborah slipped past them, hoping Joshua didn’t pick up on any of the things they were describing. She needn’t have worried.

  He was too busy trying to pull off his pants and diaper.

  “Not yet,” she whispered.

  “Potty. Joshua potty.”

  Kristen, one of the local high school girls, was working the counter.

  The place was crazy crowded, but Kristen waved at Deborah, who pushed her way through the mob of people and hurried back to the bathroom. Once there, Joshua looked up at her as he danced in a circle around her legs.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, son. Now.”

  He wiggled out of his pants and pulled the tabs on the diaper, a grin spreading across his face as she helped him onto the toilet.

  Unfortunately, his good mood didn’t last.

  As soon as they left the bathroom and he smelled the chocolate chip cookies, he pushed between the legs of the people in the shop and pressed his face against the glass counter of the display.

  “Joshua, come back here.” Deborah excused herself, made her way to the front of the line, and finally caught hold of his hand. With some effort she dragged him away from the display.

  “Joshua hungry.” He looked at her with eyes as round as the large fresh cookies stacked behind the case. “Mamm. Cookies.”

  “Josh, honey. The line is much too long.” Deborah squatted beside her son and attempted to reason with him. When it was obvious he wasn’t hearing a word she had to say, she tried to take his hand in hers and head outside once more. Joshua was having none of it. The cookies were plainly inside, and that was where he wanted to be. He sank to the ground as if he had no bones, dragging his feet and pointing toward the counter of baked goods and iced drinks.

  “Joshua thirsty. Josh hungry.”

  A few tourists sent her the look — the one that said, “Control your child or take him home.”

  She wished it were so simple.

  By the time she’d dragged him out to the sidewalk he was in full-blown meltdown.

  Fortunately there was a vending machine across the street.

 
“Let’s buy you some cold water.”

  “Cookies. Joshua wants cookies.”

  Cookies! She’d left the pies in the buggy. What had she been thinking? The murderer, Callie, Melinda’s boys … her mind was so full, she’d completely forgotten the pies.

  Feeding a dollar into the slot of the drink machine, she snatched the cold bottle of water from the bin below, and twisted the cap open. Joshua stopped crying as soon as his lips settled around the cold bottle.

  “Joshua like water.”

  “I know you do, sweetie.”

  He took a big drink, dribbling some on his shirt. “And cookies.”

  “How about some pie instead?”

  Picking him up, she hurried toward her buggy. Was it really mid-afternoon? The day was passing too quickly. She needed for time to slow down.

  Joshua clutched the water bottle as they neared the buggy, hurrying. Deborah wondered if the pies were ruined.

  She’d finally come within sight of her buggy when an old man stepped out from between two Englisch cars. Deborah moved to the left to scoot around him, but he moved in the same direction.

  Heart racing, she moved to the right. He was now close enough that she could see his face, the hand that reached out to stop her, the vaguely familiar eyes looking into hers.

  “Deborah. It’s me — Gavin.”

  “Oh, my heavens.” Deborah stopped and picked Joshua up, needing to feel him against her to slow the beating of her heart. “Andrew? Is that … you?”

  “Good disguise, huh?”

  She peered closer. He wore baggy clothes, a wig, and some sort of powder over his skin that made him appear wrinkled — from a distance. Up close, it just made him look dirty.

  “Ya. I thought you were a person in need of a home.”

  Gavin smiled slightly at that. She had no idea why.

  “I even knew you were dressing as an older man. Shane told me, but I didn’t quite envision … this.”

  Joshua reached out to pull on the hair that draped around Gavin’s face, giggling as he did so.

  “Something wrong with your little guy? I thought I heard him crying as you came around the corner.”

  “He’s hungry and probably doesn’t feel like walking.”