When they arrived in his office, Ryan indicated she should take a seat. He too sat down and surveyed her in silence, leaning back in his chair, his knuckles drumming next to his keyboard. “What can I do for you?”
All of sudden Katie was nervous. “I came across some evidence,” she said, “and I thought I should bring it to you.”
Ryan sighed and folded his arms. “I don’t understand why you want to be involved in this case. You’re not an investigator. Please remember, someone was murdered and you were a witness to the perpetrator. You need to keep a low profile. The man saw your face, and you really need to hope that he thinks you can’t identify him. What if something were to happen to you? Are you prepared to face that?”
Kate squirmed in her seat. “I have two suspects.” As soon as her words were out, Kate thought that they were ill-chosen, but it was too late now; she’d just have to press on. “The son, Moses, stands to inherit the property. He had a falling out with his father some time back. The other suspect also stands to gain financially. Henry Moore is the wealthy landowner on the other side of Joseph Byler’s farm. Joseph Byler was selling to a developer who intended to have power lines put right through the farm. If that had happened, then the power lines would be extended right through the entire Moore farm.”
Ryan looked surprised. “You think Henry Moore is a suspect in this murder? His family’s highly respected in this town.”
“I don’t suppose the gun left at the scene was licensed, so that’s no help, but he’s a hunter who has experience with firing a weapon,” Kate said. “Plus with Joseph Byler dead, he doesn’t have to worry about losing his farm or letting it go for a cheap rate.”
“Really? You know for certain that the son, the heir, won’t sell Mr. Byler’s farm to the developer?” Ryan asked, “‘cause if you did know that for certain, then perhaps Henry Moore would be a suspect, but you don’t know that, do you?”
Kate cast her eyes downward and shook her head.
“Katie, the police exist for this very reason.” Ryan’s tone was gentle. “Thank you for coming today, but please leave the investigating up to us. I also suggest you don’t continue to ask questions around town.”
“But I was told that information at the knitting circle,” Kate protested, realizing how lame that sounded as soon as she said it.
Ryan’s mouth twitched upwards at the corners. “Katie, we have experts to do the investigating. Leave the investigating to us, and you stick to your knitting.” He smiled politely at her.
Kate narrowed her eyes. Could he be any more condescending if he patted me on the head? she thought.
“It is just that you need to let the police do their job.”
Kate nodded. There was nothing more she could say, but she most certainly would be doing some investigating, and the handsome Ryan Weaver would not have to know that she was doing so. It was some time before she had to meet up with Rose, so she would head straight to the library to do some research. She knew where it was; she had passed it on the way to the police station.
Matthew 10: 16.
Behold, I am sending you out as sheep in the midst of wolves, so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.
Chapter 16.
By the time Kate arrived at the library, she was sweating under her thick, cotton dress. The bonnet was even worse, covering most of her head, making her hair damp and stuck to her scalp.
The town was small and quaint, and the library was tucked away in a corner sitting in the middle of a paved lot. It was a far larger building than she had expected.
Kate stopped just inside the entrance, turning her face upwards as the cool air from the air conditioner washed over her body. The interior of the library was spacious and open, with a front desk off to the right, and shelves of books to the left. Kate walked forward, looking to the left, hoping to see the computers, but when she couldn’t locate any, she decided to ask at the front desk.
At Kate’s library back home, one needed to be a member of a library to use their internet, so there was a good chance she would soon be back at the front desk even if she had found the computers without help.
The library was all but empty. Kate could see an older woman sitting alone in an oversized chair, reading a book, and a man in his twenties moving about some nearby rows. As for employees, the only one she saw was a woman with a stern face flipping through a magazine behind the counter.
Kate made her way toward the help desk, and stopped before the woman. “Excuse me,” she said, and the woman looked up. “I need to use the internet; can you tell me where the computers are?”
The woman flipped her magazine shut, and her right brow raised on her forehead. “The internet?”
Kate was confused for a moment; she still wasn’t used to being Amish. The reasoning behind the woman’s shock came to her a moment before the woman spoke again.
“I didn’t know Amish people could use the internet.”
“Oh,” Kate said, thinking quickly. She glanced at the little, gold name tag on the woman’s shirt, in an effort to stall a bit longer. “Well, Sandra, we can use it for business purposes. The bishop has to okay it, but you know, the world has changed, and a lot of customers are looking for goods all over the country.”
“Is that right?” Sandra asked.
Obviously, Kate wasn’t sure if that was right or not, but it sounded good, and she stuck with it. “Yes,” she said.
“I’ve never, ever, in five years, seen an Amish person come in to use the internet.”
Kate bit back her annoyance, nodded politely, and smiled. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?”
Sandra shrugged her shoulders and then pointed a long finger past Kate’s shoulder. “All the way back, there’s a computer room on the left. You’ll need a library card to use the ones at the desks, but the ones along the wall can be used for fifteen minutes without one.”
Kate smiled once more. “That should be plenty of time,” she said. “Thank you for your help.”
Sandra didn’t answer, so Kate turned and headed toward the far end of the library. The computer room was small, with eight computers at individual desks, like one would find in a school, and four more along one wall, sitting on a table built into the wall itself. These computers sat at about chest height, and so people had to stand to use them. Kate moved to one and got right to work, delighted to have internet at last.
Kate googled Henry Moore, and several entries popped up. The person who had attacked her was muscular and well built, and the images on the screen were indeed of a well built man. Kate squinted at the image. The man’s build certainly fitted. And what had the knitting circle ladies said about the son, Moses Byler? They said he was tall and wiry. No, it couldn’t be the son. The perpetrator was most certainly shorter than she was.
Kate then did an internet search for Joseph Byler, and one of the first links was a site for the farm. She wondered who ran it, and then realized that she very well might have been right about some Amish using computers to sell their goods. The website, however, didn’t turn up much of anything. When she clicked on the link, a bare page popped up, simply listing the address and hours that a fresh vegetable and fruit stand was open, and during which months. It was devoid of color, and was simply black and white. There were no photos, and even worse, there was nothing about Joseph Byler.
Kate backed out of the page, and started scrolling through the other links that had come up when she searched the dead man’s name. By the time fifteen minutes were up, and the computer had logged her out and gone to a black screen with the library’s name written in thick, white letters, Kate had been on page eighteen of the search site, with nothing to show for it.
She was discouraged, but of course the man was Amish, so it made sense that she had been unable to discover any information about him. Still, it was disheartening, and she left the library discouraged. She had only taken three steps outside when she paused. There was still plenty of time to kill, so she would go to a
café and think over what she knew about the case so far.
There was a little café not far from the library, and Kate walked in through the bright orange door of the corner brick building and looked around for a seat. They all appeared to be taken, but just as she was about to leave, a young man got up, and left his seat at a table for two near the window. Kate headed straight there and sat down, facing out, her back to the wall.
A waitress hurried over to wipe the table and take her order. Soon, Kate had a vanilla chai latte and a grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich sitting in front of her. Kate reached for the chai latte with delight. Amish coffee was very good indeed, but vanilla chai lattes were her favorite, and she hadn’t had one in ages.
“Ms. Lambright, Katie.”
Kate jumped, and looked up at Officer Ryan Weaver. “What are you doing here?” she blurted.
“I always come here; it’s near the police station.” He nodded in the direction of several police officers who were eating lunch.
How did I not notice them? Kate thought. I must be slipping; I’m going soft.
Ryan moved closer to the table. “It’s not usually this full.”
Kate simply nodded, feeling tongue tied in the officer’s presence.
“Are you expecting someone?’
Kate finally realized that the seat opposite her at the little table was the only seat not taken. “Oh, I’m sorry; won’t you join me?” She felt awfully embarrassed and felt her face grow hot. She imagined it was beet red.
Ryan smiled at her, and her insides churned. How can he have this effect on me? she wondered.
The waitress appeared and Ryan ordered coffee and a cheese quesadilla.
“Are you in town by yourself today?” he asked, when the waitress had left.
“No, Rose Kauffman drove me in. She’s the daughter of the people I live with.” Kate hoped he wasn’t going to give her the third degree. It was one thing to fool nice, trusting, Amish people, and quite another thing to fool a trained cop.
Ryan shrugged. “I haven’t been in town long, so I don’t know many of the Amish folks here. I was transferred from Chicago.”
Kate was unable to hide her surprise. “You were? Why did you want to come here?”
“I wanted to get away from city life. I thought the country would be much better – you know, cleaner, better living, that type of thing.”
“You wouldn’t know much about the Amish then, coming from Chicago,” Kate said, secretly pleased at the fact and starting to relax somewhat. If he didn’t know much about the Amish, she was less likely to be caught out.
Ryan smiled again. “No, I don’t, and I haven’t really had any long conversations with any Amish people.”
Just then, the waitress appeared with Ryan’s cheese quesadilla, but just as she was about to set it down, a young child appeared from nowhere and slammed into her back. The waitress dropped the plate.
Without thinking, Kate’s hand flung out and seized the plate. Her reflexes were finely tuned from years of physical training, and her action was purely driven by instinct.
The child’s mother at once appeared and apologized profusely. The waitress tried to make light of it but said it was just as well she hadn’t brought the coffee at the same time, or there could have been a nasty accident. The mother took the little boy by the arm and hurried him out of the café, while he poked out his tongue at everyone.
The waitress promptly returned with the coffee, and Kate looked at Ryan, wondering if he would comment on the way she’d caught the plate.
“That was amazing, the way you caught that plate of food, and not even spilling so much as a piece of tomato. How did you get such good reflexes?”
Kate had to think fast. “Chickens.”
Ryan frowned. “Chickens?’
“Yes, chickens move like lightning, and they’re so hard to catch. I’ve developed good reflexes from years of catching chickens,” she said, managing to keep a straight face.
Ryan frowned for a while. “I see,” he said slowly, but Kate knew that he didn’t see at all. “You know, I’m finding out new things about the Amish all the time. I had no idea that you’d be so interested in a police investigation. I thought Amish believed in turning the other cheek? Live and let live, that sort of thing?”
“We do,” Kate said carefully, “but not all Amish are the same.”
“I see,” Ryan said again. “So do you work?”
“I work on the farm,” Kate said, again choosing her words carefully.
“Does anyone ever leave the Amish?”
Kate was taken by surprise by his question. She had heard talk within the community of some people who had left while on rumspringa and never returned. “Yes,” she said truthfully. “Why do you ask?”
Ryan slowly stirred sugar into his coffee, before looking up at her. “It’s just that you’re not like any other Amish person I’ve ever met, not that I know the Amish too well,” he added. “And given that, I was wondering if it had ever crossed your mind to maybe leave one day, or whether you intend to stay in the community forever.”
Kate looked at him, and saw a slow flush travel across his face. “I have definitely thought about leaving,” she said, and he beamed at her. A small thrill ran through her as she realized that Ryan was likely asking as he was attracted to her and wondered if there was any hope for them.
Kate did not know whether to be pleased that Ryan seemed attracted to her, or whether she should be upset that she wasn’t doing a good job pretending to be Amish.
Psalm 5: 12.
For you bless the righteous, O Lord; you cover him with favor as with a shield.
Chapter 17.
Kate was uncomfortable in the driver’s seat of the buggy as she made her way to the large farm. Despite the horse in front of her doing most of the work once again, Kate was quite anxious about driving. Nevertheless, it wasn’t too bad. She was finding it easier to make small adjustments to the right or left with just a slight pull on one side of the rein. If she flicked the reins, the horse sped up; if she pulled on the reins a little, he slowed down.
Kate hoped that Henry Moore would swallow her cover story, which was that she had lost her dog. Her real purpose was to identify him, to see whether or not he was the one who had attacked her in Mr. Byler’s barn. Katie was a little concerned that Henry Moore would recognize her, but she figured he probably wouldn’t be able to tell one Amish lady her age from another. After all, Amish women dressed alike, and the bonnet was a further bonus in concealing her identity.
The road she traversed on her way to the Byler farm was paved all black, and looked as though it had been redone within the last few months. The black top was as dark as a starless night. The road ran right along the farm she was aiming to get at, but a guard rail kept her from getting impatient and just cutting across the fields to the large white farmhouse near the center of the farm’s allotted land.
The fields were green and full, each long rectangular patch growing something else. There was what looked to Kate like cabbage; there was corn; there were peas and potatoes. The horse trotted slowly along, flicking his head back and forth when the flies came to give him bother. They would fly away for a few minutes, and then they were back, and the horse flicked his head to the side again.
Finally, the guardrail ended for a short distance, and there was a break in the fields, and Kate pulled the horse to the right. Slicing up through the fields was a dirt path, well worn, and the buggy wheels fell into thicker ruts put there by cars driving up and down the path again and again over the years.
Kate bumped along, working to get used to how unforgiving an uneven section of ground was in a buggy as compared to car. The white house grew larger as they neared it, and the dirt path rose slightly. When it broke a small crest and went even for a few feet before dipping back downwards, Kate could see a smattering of vehicles parked at the end of the drive, near the front door of the house. A red pick up and a black car were standing in the shade of an old
oak tree.
Kate kept the buggy going forward slowly, and as she neared the cars, she stopped. She wasn’t sure if horses kicked out at cars or not, so she tied the horse a good ten feet from the closest car. She climbed out, had a few words with her horse, and then went to the house.
The front porch was as white as everything else, all wood, the paint flaking away in some spots, while the house looked as freshly painted as that road had looked paved. The second step creaked, and Kate paused, suddenly feeling nervous, without being able to exactly tell why.
Of course, it had something to do with what she was about to do, and certainly had to do with the fact that she was reasonably sure the man who owned the house had murdered another man. She was also reasonably sure that he was the one who had attacked her in the barn.
Kate balled a fist and went to knock, but the door in front of her opened, leaving just the screen door between her and the living room of the home. Henry Moore himself was standing there, but he was turned away from Kate, and he didn’t even notice her as someone called for him and he walked away from the door, leaving it open. Through the screen door, Kate could hear voices one room over. She strained to hear what they were saying, and could just make the words out.
“You did it; I know you did. Didn’t you?” a voice said. Kate estimated it to be a man’s voice, or maybe a teen’s. Male though, Kate was sure of that. After the young voice stopped, an older one started, deeper and steady. Kate was certain this voice belonged to Henry Moore.
“I recommend you think hard about what you’re going to say to me.”
“I’m only speaking the truth,” the younger voice argued.
“The truth?” Henry Moore asked. “What would you know of it?” His voice was cold and held the hard edge of a sneer.
Off the Grid (Amish Safe House, Book 1) Page 8