Hannah nodded and stuck it deep into her pocket.
“We know the box Naomi received was from the killer.” Jesse combed his fingers through his hair, releasing a stream of water.
“Who else would send her money?”
“And we know the two handwritings match. You still have the butcher paper?”
“Ya. It’s in the barn. I can fetch it for you.”
“When we’re done talking, do that. Keep them both in a safe place until I ask for them.”
“But what does the note mean?”
“Sounds like a threat—he’s telling her to leave town.”
“But why? How is Mary caught up in this? She doesn’t know who the killer is.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
“You said yourself she’s been acting strangely.”
“More frightened than strange, and I assumed that was because of all that has happened.”
“Or it could be because she has identified the killer and is unsure what to do next.”
“Oh, Jesse . . .” Hannah didn’t think she could feel any worse, but the idea of Mary being too afraid to share such a terrible thing caused her stomach to roll and twist. “That would be awful. I can’t imagine living with the knowledge of who had killed your freind.”
“Especially if you knew but didn’t have any proof.”
Hannah shook her head, unable to follow his train of thought, unwilling to believe her friend might be deeply involved in the incidents surrounding this murder.
“Mary didn’t have the proof,” Jesse continued. “We do. There are two notes now, but Mary only had the one. And now we have the paper the box was wrapped in too.”
“Why was she showing her note to Andrew when I saw them together yesterday?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe she thought Andrew could figure out who sent the note or protect her somehow. Or maybe she does know who the killer is. Maybe she recognized the handwriting or thought she did. She could have put it together with whatever Owen had already told her. The more convinced she became of this person’s identity, the more afraid she became and decided to tell Andrew. Then he could have left to try to confront the killer.”
“Nein. I can’t believe Andrew would have tried to handle this alone. He would have gone to the police.”
“The point is that we have two pieces of evidence now. With Mary’s testimony, we’ll be ready to go to the police.”
Hannah chewed on her bottom lip. What Jesse said made sense. “Could this free Andrew? Why did they arrest him for such a thing? How could they possibly think him guilty of murdering someone?”
“I don’t know the answers to any of those questions, but with this note . . . we’re one step closer to finding the killer.”
“What should we do?”
“Go and fetch the butcher paper. Put it and the note in something that will keep them dry. I’ll go inside and look for Mary.”
“She’s not there.”
“What?”
“She came to the funeral but not the luncheon. Said she wasn’t feeling well.” Hannah stared into Jesse’s eyes, and she knew what he was going to say next.
“I’ll go and get one of my parents’ buggies. We brought both today.”
“And I’ll tell your parents and mine that we have to go, but that we’ll be back by evening.”
“Ya. If we’re not back by then, we’ll have more to worry about than my bruder and Mary Weaver.”
Thirty-Two
Amber had made one phone call and then spent the rest of the morning attempting to work, but she’d accomplished absolutely nothing. Her mind kept replaying Shaw’s words, “The murder investigation appears to be coming to a close.”
How was that possible? Had they identified and arrested the murderer?
That thought should have helped her relax. If the police had found the guilty person, then her friends were safe.
But she suspected the solution wasn’t so simple.
For one thing, Shaw had smirked when he’d delivered the line, as if he knew something she didn’t. As if he knew something that would further disrupt her world.
What was that man’s problem?
She clicked off her computer, stood, and proceeded to pace back and forth between her desk and the window.
Lunch had been out of the question. She couldn’t imagine eating a single bite until she had answers.
Grabbing her purse and her tablet, she decided to take her worries outside. At least it had finally stopped raining, and waiting in her office was making her crazy. She’d explained to Elizabeth where she was going and was halfway down the stairs when Pam stepped into view.
“Going somewhere?”
Today Pam wore black slacks, a white blouse, and a scarf that looked to be handwoven. It consisted of fall colors—orange and brown and red—and even from where she stood Amber could see elephants tripping up and down the cloth. Elephants! The woman had a real knack for fun clothes and accessories—even down to the precautionary umbrella she had in her hand.
“Amber? Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes. I was distracted by your scarf.”
“This?” Pam’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll give it to you if you like it that much, but I thought I was supposed to meet you here. Why are you leaving?”
“I decided to pace outside. I was wearing out the floor in my office.” As they made their way to the parking area, Amber filled her in on the morning’s events, ending with, “That Roland Shaw makes me want to shake something good and hard. Who does he think he is?”
“He thinks because he’s a federal investigator he can tramp all over our little town and make bogus accusations.”
“Well, he can’t! Or he shouldn’t.”
“And how does he know that you’ve been in contact with Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes? Surely he hasn’t tapped your phone.”
Amber unlocked her car, but they stood staring at each other over its roof, not wanting to believe things had reached such disturbing levels.
“Maybe he made a lucky guess.” Amber opened her door, got in, and buckled her seat belt.
Pam did the same. “I suppose that’s possible. He could have seen it written on your calendar—”
“I use my tablet for that.”
“Or on Elizabeth’s calendar, while she warned you he was in the office.”
“That might have happened. She did leave him alone in the reception area for a moment.” Amber ran her hand over the top of the steering wheel. “But if that’s the case, if he found out after he arrived that I was meeting with the Rhodeses, then why did he come to see me in the first place?”
“He’s digging, Amber. My grammy used to say that if you poked at a thing long enough, you’d stir up something . . . but you might not like what you find.”
“Your grammy sounds like a wise woman.”
“Roland Shaw is digging and poking and stirring. I don’t like that man.”
They drove out of the parking lot through all the rain puddles, and Amber made a left onto US-20.
“Are you sure it’s okay for both of us to be away from the Village?” Pam asked.
“I already spoke with Preston. He’s going to stay on the property until we return.”
“Preston’s a good man.”
“He is indeed.”
“And he can handle anything that comes his way, even Mr. Shaw. In fact, I wouldn’t mind seeing those two tussle it up. I have a pretty good idea who would win.”
“Pam Coleman, I know you are not encouraging violence.”
“Oh no. I wouldn’t do anything like that. Violence rarely solves things.” Pam worried her thumbnail. “I do wish there was an easy and quick way to convince Shaw to leave us alone.”
“I think the best way to do that is to find the killer. Like I told you, Gordon hasn’t returned my call, and when I called the nonemergency number for the police department, Walter Hopkins answered. He wouldn’t even listen to my que
stions. This is driving me crazy.”
“And you still think it’s important to meet with Tom and Sue?”
“If Shaw didn’t want us to, then yes, that’s enough to convince me it’s something we should do.”
Ten minutes later they were walking up to the front doors of the megachurch where Tom and Sue attended services.
“I knew it was large, but I didn’t realize it was this large.” Amber tilted her head back and stared up at the thirty-foot stained-glass window depicting Christ as he ascended to heaven.
“We have big churches like this in Texas.”
“Don’t you get lost in the crowd?”
“Not necessarily. You plug into a small group within the church. And the worship services? They are something else. All those voices raised in praise to God. I have chill bumps just remembering.”
Amber suppressed a laugh as they opened the door to the building and made their way past a bookstore/library and a coffee bar—both of which were closed at the moment.
“What’s so funny?”
“You’ll have to attend an Amish service with me.”
“You’ve been to one?”
“I have—once. Hannah invited me. Hard benches, several sermons, and lots of singing.”
“Sounds like the old brush arbor meeting my grammy talks about. She says we all need some old-style religion to help us along, and that more importantly we need an up-close-and-personal meeting with God’s Holy Spirit.”
Amber didn’t know what to say to that, but she found herself agreeing with the sentiment.
They walked into the church office, and the woman at the desk said they could have a seat.
Tom Rhodes was expecting them.
Three minutes later her phone beeped. She answered it and then stood and walked around her desk. She was approximately Elizabeth’s age, but much rounder, with a quick smile. “I’ll take you back to Tom’s office.”
Tom stood when they walked into the small, well-decorated room. The walls were painted a warm tan and had a few items on them—Tom’s college diplomas, including a master’s in education, a picture of him and Sue standing near Niagara Falls, and a quote from Saint Francis of Assisi.
Amber stepped closer and read the words embedded over a pastoral setting. Where there is charity and wisdom, there is neither fear nor ignorance.
“It’s good to see you both again. Sue is going to join us in a few minutes.”
“I didn’t realize you work for the church.” Amber sat in the chair he indicated across from his desk.
Tom smiled and ran his hand over his close-cropped hair. “I’m in charge of curriculum and education.”
“So you teach other classes in addition to Prep to Bless?”
“I do. Mainly my job is to put the right person in charge of each class and make sure they have what they need to ensure the class is a successful experience for participants. But Prep to Bless I teach myself. You could say it’s my baby.”
“I like that name—Prep to Bless.” Pam sat in the chair next to Amber and placed her handbag on the floor. “Makes me think of a blessing that is coming our way, headed our direction, even as we speak.”
“That’s the idea, but we also want to educate folks on how to prepare to bless others.”
“Prep to Bless sounds like it does what its name claims.” Amber tapped her tablet. “I read through your web information.”
“Excellent.” Tom steepled his fingers. “We believe a little planning can make a big difference.”
“At first I was skeptical, but I have to agree the program you’ve laid out seems very well organized and logical.”
“Those were two of our three main goals.”
“And the third?” Pam cocked her head and waited.
“To commit ourselves to using our resources to help others—both now and in the future. To use what God has provided to banish fear and ignorance.”
“Assisi’s quote.”
“Exactly.”
“Is that biblical, though?” Pam squirmed in her seat when Tom and Amber turned to stare at her. “Think about what Christ said . . . he told us not to worry about tomorrow.”
“Sermon on the Mount, Matthew 6, verse 25. We discuss this passage in my class. Those words, ‘Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink,’ come directly after Christ’s instruction to give to the needy.”
“Huh.” Pam glanced over at Amber, who shrugged.
“We take our guidance from those passages, but also from the Old Testament.” Tom tapped the well-worn Bible on his desk. “Remember when Joseph entered the service of King Pharaoh? Those were abundant years, good years for the people of Egypt. However, trouble was on the horizon. Joseph understood that tough times lay ahead, and he stored up food for the coming years of famine.”
“And that’s what you’re doing?” Amber asked.
“Something like that, yes.”
There was a light tap on the door and Sue stepped into the room. “Did I miss much?”
Today she was wearing what looked like nurse’s scrubs, a lovely lavender color that accentuated her curly red hair. She shook hands with Pam and Amber, gave her husband a quick kiss on the cheek, and then sat in the third chair next to Pam. “I had a late-morning CPR class to teach at the medical center. Sorry I’m late.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Amber said. “We’re interrupting both of your work schedules, but we do appreciate your taking the time to meet with us.”
“I’m glad you’re interested, Amber.” Tom leaned back and crossed his hands behind his head. “What in particular would you like to know?”
“Actually, I’m fumbling around in the dark here.”
“Something we do fairly often,” Pam admitted good-naturedly.
Amber summarized what they knew about Owen’s death, giving the general sense rather than the minute details. She ended with Mary’s confession that Owen had been attempting to attend the local ISG meeting.
Tom’s right eyebrow rose slightly. “The meetings are open to anyone who wants to attend. You would be more than welcome, and so would he.”
Amber opened her tablet and pulled up her notes. “But our information made it sound like you have to be invited.”
“No. Like our classes here at the church, they’re open to all.”
“Maybe Owen was confused.” Pam peered over at Amber’s notes. “Sometimes the Amish, they don’t understand how Englisch groups work. You taught me that when I first came here, that I had to be explicit and detailed in my instructions.”
“Let me see if I have this right.” Sue held up her right hand and counted the points off on her fingers. “A young Amish man, Owen, was murdered. An employee of yours had been in contact with Owen. She stated that Owen might have recently attended an ISG meeting.” She held three fingers in the air.
“I know it sounds like we don’t have much.”
“What do the police say?” Tom’s expression had turned grave.
“They’re working it from all angles, but their response was very dramatic when they heard the name ISG. I was in the station when that happened. Sergeant Avery froze when Mary—that’s my employee—said ISG, then he left the room, and a few moments after that he released her.”
“Police are required to report directly to their federal counterparts when any criminal activity in their district might be related to survivalist groups. I’m sure Sergeant Avery had no option but to involve the feds.”
“Roland Shaw.” Pam’s eyes squinted when she said the name.
Tom and Sue exchanged a knowing look.
“What?” Amber demanded.
“Apparently Mr. Shaw has been a very busy man. He came by here yesterday.”
“Why? What do you have to do with ISG? You’re a church!”
“And so we told him. However, Shaw is a big-picture sort of guy. At least that was my impression. He wasn’t very interested in the details—”
“Or facts!” Amber felt her face flush
. “He is so irritating. The man has his own agenda, and he won’t listen to anyone.”
“I’ll agree that he has his own agenda, or goals, but we try to treat any government employee with respect to the fullest extent possible.”
“So you told him about your program?”
“He already knew about that. No, he came here yesterday to ask to see it, and to ask me about you.”
Thirty-Three
Amber squeaked, “Me?” and at the same time Pam sat up straighter and asked, “Her?”
Sue reached across Pam and patted Amber’s arm. “I wouldn’t worry. He struck me as the sort of man who will leave no stone unturned and then waltz back to his headquarters, wherever that is.”
“I have trouble picturing Roland Shaw waltzing,” Pam muttered.
“Mr. Shaw asked if I knew you, and I told him yes—that we had met by chance a few days ago. When he pressed, I told him that we had a meeting scheduled for today.”
“I’m surprised he hasn’t busted in, pistols drawn.” Amber closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.
“In a way this is good news,” Pam pointed out. “At least he hasn’t bugged your phone like we feared.”
“So you showed him your . . . facility?”
“We did. Would you like to see it?”
Pam glanced left and then right. “I thought we were in it.”
“The Prep to Bless area of our campus is underground.”
Pointing to the ground, Pam looked first at Amber, then Sue, and finally Tom. “Tell me we’re not going to be crawling through a tunnel, because I didn’t dress for that.”
Five minutes later they had taken an elevator down and were standing in the midst of a giant storage room.
“This area can also be accessed by stairs, of course, in case we have a power loss.”
Amber had never been good with figuring size as far as feet and yards. She had no idea how large the room actually was, but she could have put the Village Inn Restaurant inside of it—easily. Regardless of the actual square footage, it was enormous. Her gaze scanned over the rows of shelves that contained canned goods, bottles of water, medical supplies, flashlights, blankets . . . she was having trouble taking it all in.
Murder Tightly Knit Page 19