“And why would you do that? I find it hard to believe that courtesy is your motivation.”
Instead of being offended, Shaw laughed, sat down across from her desk, and cocked his head. “You tend to speak your mind.”
“Yes, I do, and honestly, I can’t think of any reason for you to be here. If there’s something I need to know about the investigation, Sergeant Avery will tell me.”
“Locals.” Shaw dismissed them with a grunt. “Although the murder investigation appears to be coming to a close—”
“To a close?”
“I felt obliged to inform you that my investigation of area groups will remain open.”
“Area groups?”
“Survivalist groups, Amber. You know about them. Right?”
“Know about them?” Amber realized she was echoing Shaw’s words, but her mind was spinning. Had he said the investigation was nearly closed? And if so, how? When? Who?
“Yes. For example, I know you’ve been in contact with the Rhodeses.”
Amber’s heart began to race. She had actually called Tom and Sue to set up a meeting for that afternoon. Pam had agreed to go with her. But how could Shaw know that?
“It’s not illegal to teach folks emergency preparedness, and it’s certainly not against the law to learn it.”
“Call it what you want.” Shaw leaned forward. “These people are all the same—they’re anarchists. They want the economy to fail or the government to fall.”
“Why would anyone want that?”
Shaw shrugged. “Lots of reasons. Maybe they’re adrenaline junkies. Maybe they’re paranoid. Or maybe . . .” His gaze took on an intensity that puzzled Amber, but then she realized his words were not meant solely for her. He actually believed what he was saying. “Maybe they have a vested interest.”
“How could anyone have a vested interest in the fall of the US economy or the US government? That’s insane.”
Shaw let out a laugh. “Now you’re being purposely naive. Some people do invest in the collapse of our government. They buy up stocks in gold and silver, then blog and post and tweet about the collapse of the US Treasury. Sometimes they go so far as to push the balance a bit by spreading rumors about impending disasters.”
“I don’t know who you’ve been meeting with, but the Rhodeses are not like that.”
“Surely you don’t think they dedicate their time, monies, and energy out of a sense of altruism.”
“Do you know what I think?” Amber stood and pushed the button on her phone to beckon Elizabeth. “I think this meeting is over.”
“Fine. But the deeper you decide to go with these groups, the more you’ll be watched. Can you stand up to that degree of scrutiny? Are you willing to trade your privacy to satisfy your blooming curiosity?”
Elizabeth appeared at the door.
“Would you see Mr. Shaw out, please?”
“I’d be glad to.” Elizabeth ducked her chin and peered over the top of her glasses at Shaw. She might be eight inches shorter, maybe more, but she could still convey a don’t-mess-with-me message with one look. Amber didn’t think he would be foolish enough to make a scene.
He was at the door when she remembered what he’d said earlier, and although she’d rather not ask this man anything, her curiosity won.
“You said the investigation of Owen Esch’s death was nearly closed. Why do you think that?”
“I don’t think it. I know it.” Shaw glanced at his watch. “By now they have the suspect in custody.”
And without another word, he turned and left her office.
Jesse had fetched the Waglers’ buggy. It was unusual for a family to leave before the luncheon was finished, but then, Uri and Olivia Wagler had never been concerned about social conventions. Like several of the families in their district, they followed the Ordnung but held themselves a bit apart from the other members.
They weren’t the only odd members in their district. Manasses Hochstetler was as friendly as could be, but he tended to talk your ear off about the why and how of camels, never realizing he was boring you into a good afternoon snooze. Strange fellow.
Naomi and Jonas Graber were another fine example. Their poverty might have embarrassed them, Jonas’s illness could have changed the way they interacted with others, or possibly they pulled away because of the problems caused when Owen had chosen to leave the community. Whatever the reason, they’d never appeared at ease when the community gathered together. It was more as if they were enduring the moments until they could be alone again.
Then there was the odd behavior of the Yoder family. They appeared to be fairly outgoing. The oldest boy, Henry, also worked at the Village. He was as friendly as could be. But the family was nearly always the first to leave, which could have been due to the fact that they had twelve children to watch over during gatherings.
Jesse was thinking on these things and the strangeness of their little community. All groups were probably that way. They might look normal on the outside, boring even, but on the inside they were made up of individual people, families, and still-smaller groups. On the inside were secrets, many of which he’d rather not know.
Jesse wondered if Hannah had managed to talk with Naomi’s children. He was walking back toward the main house, leading the Waglers’ buggy, when the blip of a siren split the quietness of the afternoon. Two police cruisers trundled down the lane, spewing mud and splattering rainwater. Their lights were spinning, and they chirped their sirens once more—as if he wouldn’t see them and get out of the way. They didn’t even slow down when they passed him in their haste to reach the Graber home.
Once there, four officers exited the two vehicles, seemingly oblivious to the rain. All four glanced around. At a nod from one of them, they turned toward the porch steps and climbed them. Gordon Avery—Jesse could make the man out now that he was closer—hesitated and spoke to two of the officers, a man and a woman. In fact, it was the same woman he’d seen at the Dairy Queen the night before. Name like a fruit—Cherry. When Avery spoke to them, they walked back down the steps and stood there as water poured onto their raincoats, surveying the property.
Jesse didn’t know what they were doing, but it wasn’t good. It couldn’t be good. His pulse began to thump louder in his veins, and sweat pooled at the small of his back.
If they’d come to deliver bad news, they wouldn’t have brought two vehicles.
And they wouldn’t be watching, standing at attention, as if they expected someone to make a run for it.
Avery knocked on the front door.
By now, Jesse had led the Waglers’ buggy nearly to the front porch. The mare didn’t mind the wet weather, but she must have sensed Jesse’s anxiety, as she began to throw her head and resist the pull of the reins.
He hadn’t meant to take her right up to the house, but his legs had carried him there. He’d needed to hear what Sergeant Avery said to Naomi. But he couldn’t. The rain and wind carried Avery’s words a different direction. Jesse did see Naomi step out onto the porch, glance his direction once, and then point toward the barn.
They were looking for someone, but who could it be?
Who was in the barn besides the kinner?
That was when he turned and saw Hannah, Andrew, and Lucy Graber standing outside the large double barn doors. The roof overhang protected them partially from the rain, but as the water hit the puddles, it splashed up on them, staining the bottom of Andrew’s pants and the girls’ dresses. They made no attempt to stand back against the wall of the barn. Their attention was completely focused on the scene playing out in the Grabers’ yard. One of them must have heard the sirens as he had, and they’d come outside to see what the ruckus was about.
Lucy pressed her fingers to her lips and backed up to the barn door when Avery made his way over to them.
Hannah raised a hand to sweep the strings of her prayer kapp behind her shoulders.
Andrew didn’t move, except to reach over and briefly squeeze Hannah’s othe
r hand.
Adults were spilling out of Naomi’s house, crowding the porch and overflowing into the yard. No one seemed to mind that the rain was falling as fast and hard as ever. No one seemed to notice that their clothes were quickly becoming soaked completely through.
Jesse dropped the reins to the horse he had been leading and ran across the space that separated the home from the barn. Cherry put out a hand to keep him back at the same time Avery slapped the cuffs on his brother.
“Andrew Miller, you are under arrest for the murder of Owen Esch.”
Jesse shook his head, sure he had misheard. His brother could not do such a thing, and the fact that anyone would even consider him a suspect, as Amber had considered him for her Suspects list, nearly brought Jesse to his knees.
But there was no mistaking the cuffs on his brother’s wrists, and Jesse had no trouble hearing the officer over the splattering of the rain. It seemed as if the entire world would be able to hear.
“He didn’t do it.” The cry came from Jesse’s heart. He barely recognized the voice as his own as he attempted to step forward and stand beside Andrew. His hands began to shake and the thumping of his heart echoed in his ears. He had to fix this. He had to reach his brother.
Cherry moved in front of him to block his path. Jesse was suddenly aware of the uniform, the hard look in her eyes, and the gun on her hip.
Craning his neck, he made eye contact with Andrew, who shook his head once—a quick, jerky, sideward motion.
“You have the right to remain silent.” Avery began to walk him through the large puddles of water and toward the cruiser. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
Jesse’s parents had pushed through the crowd and were standing beside him, watching Avery escort Andrew to one of the police vehicles. Their faces had gone as pale as the kapp covering his mother’s head.
“You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.” Avery had stopped long enough to allow one of the other male officers to pat down Andrew’s arms, back, waist, and legs.
Did they honestly think he might have a weapon?
When they reached the cruiser, Avery placed one hand on the top of Andrew’s head and guided him into the backseat, then firmly shut the door. That was when Jesse’s mother began to weep. The sound caused a pain deep inside of Jesse, like the time he stepped on a nail that pierced through his shoe and deep into his foot. That pain was nothing compared to this. His heart ached for the agony he saw etched on his mother’s face.
She clutched Jesse’s arm and stared after her other son, her oldest child, as tears mixed with rain cascaded down her face.
Jesse’s father finally stepped forward. Bishop Joseph was beside him in a flash, providing support, holding him steady.
“I’m Ivan Miller, Andrew’s father. May I go with him?”
“No, Mr. Miller, but you may meet us at the police station.” Avery sloshed through the water until he stood directly in front of the man. “We’ll be holding Andrew here in Middlebury until the initial hearing. I have an officer who can go over all of this with you at the station. But you can’t actually see your son until tomorrow morning.”
Ivan nodded once and turned to go, but at the last second he pivoted back toward the cruiser and met Avery’s gaze. “He didn’t do this—this thing you are accusing my son of. He didn’t. He couldn’t.”
“That will be for a jury to decide, sir.”
The bishop said something in a low voice, just loud enough for his father to hear over the sound of the rain, and Ivan nodded. Joseph’s eyes found Jesse, moved over him, and rested on Seth, who had also been helping with the horses. “I’ll need my buggy. Quickly, please.”
As the cruisers left, the bishop raised his hand and waited for silence. He didn’t seem to notice that his Sunday dress clothes were now thoroughly soaked and clinging to his skin. He didn’t bother to move out of the rain, though he raised his voice to be heard over the storm. “Let us pray for this one, that God will guide his path. Pray for Naomi and her family as they continue to walk through the valley. And pray for yourself, that you might know how to help each of these and that you will possess the resolve to do so.”
The silence that followed seemed to stretch interminably into the future. Jesse wanted to pray, but his mind was a kaleidoscope of words, questions, and images. When he heard the bishop’s amen, he turned to his mother.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Ya. Ya, I am.” She swiped at her cheeks though her tears continued to fall. “I’ll be strong, for Andrew.”
His father was still talking to the bishop, but Jesse couldn’t wait any longer.
“Where are you going, Jesse?”
“I need to check on something, Mamm. It’s about Andrew. It might help him.”
“He’s your bruder, Jesse. You know he isn’t guilty of this.”
“I know, Mamm.”
“Do what you can, then.” His mother pulled herself up to her full height as Jesse’s four sisters ran to her, forming a circle of arms and love around her. “You do what you can, Jesse. You bring your bruder home.”
Thirty
He stood on the porch with the other men and watched the police cruisers until they’d disappeared down the muddy lane.
The Miller boy didn’t deserve to be sitting in the back of the squad car. He certainly didn’t deserve to spend a night in jail.
But then again, a night in jail usually didn’t hurt anyone. When he was seventeen, he’d been on his rumspringa. One night in the middle of the summer, he’d had a bit too much to drink. He hadn’t done anything as foolish as try to drive a horse and buggy. Truth be told, he couldn’t remember where he’d left either. So he’d started home on foot, and that was when the local police had found him. For some reason he’d decided to walk down the middle of the road. Perhaps he’d thought the yellow line would lead him home.
That evening had happened long before he’d married.
Before tragedy had visited their home.
He’d been young, stupid, and sure of one thing—he didn’t want his dat to know what he’d done. He had refused to give his name or address to the arresting officer. The police had allowed him to sleep it off in a cell, and his parents had never received details about how he’d passed his time that evening. The night spent as a guest of the Middlebury police hadn’t hurt him one bit. In fact, it had straightened him up. He learned only to drink at home, and not to be too obvious about that.
No, the Miller kid would be fine.
There couldn’t be any evidence to tie Andrew Miller to Owen’s killing, no matter what it was the police thought they had found to warrant an arrest. Of that he was certain. Within a day, possibly two, they’d release him.
Then the trail would grow cold, something else would happen to divert their attention, and he would be safe.
Thirty-One
Hannah stood frozen in place, feeling like one of the children playing red light–green light. Except this wasn’t a game. This was Andrew’s life.
She stared down at the muddy hem of her dress as the adults in the yard and on the porch all began to speak at once.
Why had Andrew slipped the note into her hand? What was she supposed to do with it? Was it evidence? Should she turn it into the police?
And most important, why had Andrew given it to her, not to someone else?
Jesse appeared at her side. “Come with me, Hannah.”
“But the kinner, they might be frightened about—”
“They’ll be okay.” It was the first time Lucy had spoken since they’d stepped out into the rainy day. “Emily is inside. She’ll help me. We’ll be fine.”
Lucy disappeared without another word.
“Where are we going?”
Jesse was pulling her around the corner of the barn. He leaned his head forward, out into the rain, and looked left, then right. They were alone, and the overhang of the roof provide
d some protection from the storm, which had increased in intensity. He tugged her toward the center of the wall, where they’d have the most privacy.
“What was Andrew doing in the barn with you?”
“Speaking with Naomi’s daughter Lucy.”
“About the box?”
“Ya.”
“Did either of you learn anything?”
Hannah put her hand on Jesse’s chest. “Are you okay? You’re so wet and you’re beginning to shiver.”
“I’m fine. Tell me about what happened in the barn.”
So she did. When she reached the part about being with Andrew in the barn, Jesse stopped her. “Why would you be out here with Andrew?”
She explained about carrying the treats to the children and Andrew’s appearance with the umbrella.
“He must have been watching me, Jesse. Waiting for a moment to speak with me. Or maybe he merely had the same idea I did—the idea that one of Naomi’s children might know something.” She described the butcher paper Lucy had given them, what the shoe box had been wrapped in, and how the handwriting had matched that on Mary’s note.
“If only we had—”
“Andrew handed it to me when the police arrived. What do you suppose we should do with it?” Hannah pulled the note from her pocket.
“The first thing we’re going to do is read it.”
They huddled together, Hannah with her back against the wall of the barn, Jesse in front of her attempting to block the falling rain.
Carefully he unfolded the note. The words Mary Weaver were clearly written on the outside. They both bent closer to read the message the sheet held.
Mary,
I know you were Owen’s freind. I know he confided in you.
It might be best if you left Middlebury for a time, but not until after the funeral.
It might be safer.
If you decide to stay, we’ll have to deal with this another way.
“That’s all?” Hannah flipped the note over and then back again. “I was expecting . . . more.”
Jesse folded the note and handed it to Hannah. “Better that it stays with you than with me. You have a chance of keeping it dry.”
Murder Tightly Knit Page 18