by Debby Giusti
The older woman placed the sugar bowl and spoon on the table in front of Becca. She relaxed in a chintz-covered chair, feeling at peace in the familiar surroundings. Even Elizabeth’s motherly scrutiny brought comfort.
The older woman arranged a large slice of homemade pound cake on a delicate China plate and topped it with strawberry preserves. “Eat. You are too thin.”
Becca laughed as she accepted the cake, enjoying the rich buttery taste mixed with the tart berries. As the two women sipped their tea, Becca shared highlights of her overseas journey before she got to the reason for her visit.
“I’m sorry I didn’t write, Elizabeth. When I left after Katie and Datt died, I...I needed to leave everything behind.”
Elizabeth took a sip from her cup. “You were running away from your past, but you are back now. That’s what matters.”
“Also...” Becca had to be careful how she broached the subject. “I was worried about your safety. I feared my letters could put you in danger.”
“But how could that be?”
“Have you heard anything of Jacob Yoder?”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Why would I? He died years ago as you know.”
“I believe the sheriff may have been wrong in identifying the body as Jacob’s.”
The older woman made a clucking sound as she patted Becca’s hand. “You were never satisfied with life as it was and always searched for something more. You must accept what Chief McDougal told you and not fear the past.”
“I survived what happened, Elizabeth. The past has no hold on me. What I fear is that Jacob is alive.” Becca explained about the explosion and hearing his all-too-familiar voice at the Freemont race.
“Accidents happen even with modern gas appliances,” Elizabeth insisted. “And surely the voice you heard belonged to someone else.”
Becca had hoped Elizabeth would side with her, but inwardly, she knew her theory about the burial mix-up was hard to grasp, even for such a dear friend.
“I’m going to talk to those who live near the Yoder farm,” Becca said. “Someone might have information.”
“They will not be open with their welcome.”
“I know that all too well.” Becca had left the community and severed ties with her past. She would not be accepted back unless she repented and asked forgiveness for leaving the Amish way of life. Neither of which she planned to do.
After finishing the tea, Becca stood and hugged her friend once again. “There are so few people with whom I can openly talk about the past, Elizabeth. Thank you for listening.”
“You are like family, Becca. Come back often.”
Outside, the winter sun hung low in the sky. Becca raised her hand to shield the glare from her eyes. With her gaze averted, she almost ran headfirst into someone leaning against her car.
Looking up, she gasped. “Colby?”
A swirl of emotion rose up within her. Confusion. Frustration. Anger. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
She glanced around and spied his car parked across the street on the next block. Her eyes widened. “You followed me here.”
“I wanted to help,” he offered.
She squared her shoulders and shoved her jaw forward with determination. “I don’t need your help, if it includes secrecy and duplicity.”
“What you need is to realize you’re in danger,” he countered, sounding as frustrated as she felt. “Traipsing all over the countryside isn’t smart, especially if someone’s after you. You didn’t know I was behind you because you were so focused on driving here that you failed to notice my tail. That means someone wishing to do you harm could have followed you, as well.”
She stared at him, weighing what he had just said. Her anger dissipated somewhat as she realized he was right. Had she been so centered on seeing Elizabeth that she hadn’t thought of her own personal safety?
Silence settled between them for a long moment before Colby asked, “Do you mind shedding a little light on why you’re here?”
When she didn’t respond, he stepped closer. “Come on, Becca. We’re both interested in finding out what happened on post. What aren’t you telling me that might have bearing on the explosion and murder?”
She shook her head, still not willing to reveal anything to Colby. “My past doesn’t play into the investigation.”
“You’re parsing words.”
Which she was, but she didn’t know if she could trust him. She never talked about growing up Amish to anyone in the military. Not that she told untruths. Rather, she provided information only on a need-to-know basis.
Becca stared into his eyes, expecting agitation or anger. Instead she was touched by the depth of concern and strength of compassion she saw.
Confrontation would be easier to handle.
Jacob Yoder scared her, but being defenseless around Colby Voss scared her, as well.
* * *
“When do you plan to drive back to Fort Rickman?” Colby asked, hoping she would reply at least to that one question.
She dropped her hands. Her guard seemed to slip at the same time.
“Later this evening,” she said, all the while trying to step around him.
He moved in front of her, blocking her way.
“Colby, please.”
“Please what, Becca? Please don’t interfere? We’ve had a murder on post, and the killer may have been stalking you. I need answers to questions you aren’t willing to talk about, like what he was doing in the quadruplex last night, and why you came here and what you hoped to find. I thought we were working together.”
She stared at him long and hard as if determined to elude his questions, yet he wouldn’t be brushed aside.
Nor would he stop staring into her pretty but confused green eyes. She eventually blinked, which seemed to open the dam that had held her in check. Her lips quivered. She wrapped her arms around her waist and blinked back tears that made him want to reach for her.
“My sister was murdered eight years ago. So was my father.” The words tumbled out as if of their own volition.
Colby kept his expression passive. Inside he felt like she’d punched him in the gut. He hadn’t seen that coming.
“Jacob Yoder, the man who killed them, died in a house fire that same night.” Becca spoke rapidly as if she needed to pour out the information before she had second thoughts. “His wife also succumbed to the blaze. The local sheriff called it a murder-suicide and closed the case.”
“Which you thought needed to remain open?”
“I’m not sure the body they found in the burned rubble was the killer’s.”
Colby didn’t want to stop the flow of information or deflate her determination of getting at the truth, but chances were good that the body was who the old sheriff said it was. Errors happened, but logic made him wonder if Becca was digging up something that had been buried for a reason.
“What about dental records?” he asked, hoping to gently expose the fallacy in her supposition.
She shook her head. “None were available.”
“DNA?”
“It wasn’t done.”
“An autopsy?”
“Both bodies were buried without a medical examination.”
Becca bit her lower lip and stared at him intently. She was waiting for a response. He didn’t want to provide false hope at this point and decided posing another question might be the safest tactic.
“If the body wasn’t that of the killer, whose was it, Becca?”
“That’s what I need to determine and why I plan to talk to Jacob’s neighbors.”
Colby glanced at the row of small homes lining the quiet residential street. “Townspeople who live nearby?”
“Folks from the country.”
Horses’ h
ooves clip-clopped over the pavement. Becca turned at the sound. A young girl, not more than twelve or thirteen sat in the seat of a buggy next to an older bearded man.
“There’s something you need to know.” Becca pointed to the Amish lass. “That young girl? When I look at her, I see myself. In those days, I was Rebecca Mueller. I lived on a farm with my father and sister Katie. I rode in a buggy, Colby, because I grew up Amish.”
* * *
Becca couldn’t stop talking.
For too many years, she had bottled up the past and ignored her early life. Now that she had revealed the truth to Colby, she wanted him to understand the way her life had been.
Colby took her arm and hurried her along the sidewalk toward where he had parked his car. All the while, she continued to fill him in on her father and sister, their farm, their poverty. She stopped when he opened the passenger door.
“Get in, Becca. If you’re determined to visit Jacob’s neighbors, then I’m driving. I don’t want you on some back road all by yourself. Especially if Jacob is alive. We’ll return for your car later.”
A sense of relief swept over her. “Then you believe me?”
“I don’t know what to believe at this point. But I know you see a connection between what happened to your family and the explosion at Fort Rickman. We’re working together so I’m in this with you.”
At least Colby was being honest, which she appreciated. Plus, he was willing to consider her theory about Jacob. Having a second investigator reviewing her father and sister’s deaths as well as the farmhouse fire that had claimed two lives would be beneficial. Maybe Colby would pick up something she had overlooked.
Something else took hold as Becca directed him out of town and along a narrow road that headed into the country. A sense of connection. She had been alone for so long. Having Colby at her side meant she could share the workload as well as the anxiousness that frequently welled up within her when she dealt with a death case.
Her father had talked about his own anxiety after her mother had died. Too often he grumbled at having no one with whom to share the load, the work, the worry about the farm or what he often referred to as his cross. Simon of Cyrene had helped Christ, her father had frequently groused, but he had no one.
Becca had been hard-pressed to find a comparison between her father’s situation and the Lord’s, yet she couldn’t escape the sense of guilt he seemed willing to place on her shoulders. The guilt of her not doing enough or being strong enough or being born the wrong gender had turned into a constant litany around the Mueller house.
Now that she had shared some of her past with Colby, that crush of guilt eased. He was a good man with a finely honed sense of right and wrong and a desire to keep her safe, which she appreciated.
Becca had never wanted a man’s protection, no doubt due to her own history with her father and Jacob. She’d always taken care of herself, but ever since she’d met Colby, she’d felt an inner tug to give up some of her insistence on control.
At times, the feeling scared her, but at the moment, she was overcome with relief.
* * *
“Will the neighbors want to talk?” Colby asked as they drove into the country.
“I’m not sure. They’ll remember I left them eight years ago, in spite of what happened to my father and sister.”
Cresting a hill, a patchwork of farms appeared in the distance along with a line of cars that passed them as they headed deeper into Amish country.
“Things have changed,” Becca said as a minivan and two four-door sedans sped past. “This area used to be peaceful and isolated. Looks like tourists enamored with the plain life are flocking here now.”
Colby hadn’t expected traffic this far from town.
“What happened to your family’s place?” he asked.
“I’ve held on to it. The house isn’t much and the little bit of land my father owned was unproductive. A local developer was interested in buying the property, but I was getting ready to deploy and never replied to his request.”
Becca pointed to the upcoming intersection.
“Turn right at the next road and stop at the first farmhouse. The Hershberger property adjoins Yoder’s farm. Sarah Hershberger was an old friend. I’m hoping she’ll talk to me today.”
A woman stood at the side of the two-story structure, hanging laundry on a clothesline. Seeing the car pull into her drive, she scurried toward her house as if eager to get inside.
Becca called to her as she and Colby stepped from the car. The Amish woman was as tall as Becca and pretty in a homespun way with her long dress, apron and bonnet. She glanced at Colby with some sense of hesitancy as Becca motioned him forward.
Once Becca had made the introductions, Sarah flicked her gaze to the nearby road and motioned them toward her home. “You must come inside. I’m not sure who might be watching.”
“You’re worried?” he asked.
“It would be better if others don’t see me talking to Rebecca. She left the community and turned her back on the Amish way. I accepted her decision. Some do not.”
Yet, Sarah was ushering them into her house.
The main room was large with a long, hardwood table and benches that appeared hand hewn.
She pulled the curtains closed before she pointed to the table. “Sit. Please. Do you wish something to drink?”
Becca held up her hand. “We just need to ask you a few questions.”
Sarah tugged at the edge of her apron and scooted onto the bench across from them. “What is it you need to know?”
“Jacob Yoder,” Becca said.
Sarah studied her friend with serious eyes. “What are you asking, Rebecca?”
“I’m asking if you’ve seen him.”
“The sheriff would know. You should talk to him.”
“He’ll tell me Jacob is dead,” Becca insisted. “I need the truth.”
“The truth is not always easy to tell.” Sarah licked her lips. “The day before your father and Katie were killed... The day before the Yoder house burned, someone knocked at our door.”
“Go on,” Becca encouraged.
Colby’s pulse kicked up a notch, realizing the importance of what she was about to share.
“A man asked for Jacob,” Sarah continued. “I told him he had the wrong house. He said he was Ezekiel Yoder. Jacob’s brother.”
Colby leaned closer. “Did you see Ezekiel after the fire?”
“No.”
“You’re sure it was Jacob’s brother?”
“That’s who he said he was. I would not make this up.”
“Of course not.” Becca patted her old friend’s hand and kept her voice neutral. “Did anyone else know about Jacob’s brother?”
The Amish woman shrugged. “I do not know. No one has mentioned him.”
“What about Jacob?” Colby asked.
Sarah wiped her hand across the smooth surface of the polished table as if brushing aside crumbs. “I—I thought I saw Jacob.”
“Where?”
“Here. I had washed my husband’s work clothes and had them hanging on the line outside.”
“As you did today?” Colby asked.
She nodded. “Yah. I peered from my window and saw someone grab a shirt and trousers off the clothesline. He glanced up before he ran away, but I do not think he saw me through the glass.”
“You told no one?” Becca said.
“I feared Jacob would come back.”
“So you recognized the man?” Colby asked. “It was Jacob Yoder?”
Sarah nodded, her eyes wide. “It was Jacob.”
“Could it have been Ezekiel instead?” he pressed.
“No.”
“How can you be sure?”
Sarah glanced at Becca.
“You know Jacob. He is handsome. Remember how you said he made you feel when he looked at you.”
Becca’s cheeks flushed. She glanced at Colby and then back at Sarah. “Are you sure Jacob stole the clothing?”
“I am sure.”
“Did you think he might harm you?” Colby asked.
“Yah, I was afraid. I knew about Katie’s death. Becca’s father, too. Everyone was worried.”
“Did you tell the police?”
“I told no one.”
“Your husband?” Becca asked.
Sarah shook her head. “I feared for Samuel’s safety. He does not know.”
“Yet you’re telling us this now?”
“Because you were one of us, Rebecca. You will find him.”
Becca glanced at Colby. The look of determination on her face told him more than any words could. Jacob Yoder was probably alive, just as she had believed all along. If he had his sights set on Becca, Colby would have to be extra vigilant in order to keep her safe.
SIX
“You’re sure it was Jacob Yoder?” Colby asked Frank McDougal, when they were sitting in the living room of his spacious home. The former Harmony sheriff had welcomed Becca and Colby into the three-story stucco with detached garage that made Colby wonder about the pay scale for an Alabama sheriff.
“Yes, I’m sure.” McDougal nodded emphatically. “Yoder’s body was burned in the house fire, but we were still able to make a visual identification. His wife had become infirmed over the last few years of her life and died in her bed. We ID’d her, as well.”
“Was an autopsy performed on either victim?” Becca asked.
McDougal glanced at Colby and shrugged. “We’re a small town, far from the big city, but we still do things by the book. However, this time an autopsy wasn’t warranted.”
Irritated by McDougal’s excuses, Colby asked, “Were you aware Jacob Yoder had a brother who was seen in the area just a day prior to the fire?”
The retired cop’s gaze narrowed. “It’s been eight years. Who told you about a brother?”
“A witness who saw him the day before Jacob died.”