Where Shadows Meet

by Colleen Coble

  “Who called it in?” Matt asked.

  “The daughter. She went out to the greenhouse and used the phone there.”

  “They have a phone?”

  The captain shrugged. “The Amish use phones in their businesses. You ever notice the little phone booths out by the road in their communities? Some of the families will share a phone, but they only use it to make appointments or do business. They don’t want it intruding on their personal lives.”

  Matt depended on his cell phone. He barely glanced at the quilt before allowing his gaze to wander the room. A sofa with worn seat cushions sat against the middle of the wall. Sturdy wooden tables, most likely handmade, flanked it with gaslights flickering on top of them. No rugs, no wall ornamentation or pictures.

  A red symbol and words on the wall caught his attention. “Blood?” he asked.

  “Paint.” Sturgis stuck an unlit cigar in his mouth and chomped on it.

  Matt wanted to chomp on something himself, anything to get the vile taste of murder out of his mouth. “It’s a peace symbol. We know what this is all about?”

  “Well, the Amish are all about peace. Maybe it’s a hate crime in some twisted way.”

  “A hate crime against the Amish?”

  “That was my first thought. It seems very well thought-out. The killer brought in everything he would need.”

  “Not everything,” Matt said, his gaze lighting on a spilled pool of liquid. “Hannah Schwartz mixed up some lemonade that came in the mail.”

  “Might be coincidence.”

  “Maybe.” But Matt would lay money on finding poison in the drink. “What about the foreign word? We know what it means?”

  “Not yet. I think it’s Greek.”

  Parke County was a quiet area, and murder was uncommon here. The largest town in this west-central Indiana community was Rockville, where Matt lived, with a population of 2,650. The joke in the area was that they had more covered bridges than residents. Driving through thick forests and hills was a peaceful pastime of Matt’s. He’d been on the force less than a year, and this was his first murder. Seeing something like this was a shock he could not imagine getting used to.

  Matt dragged his gaze from the bodies. “Let’s get the Schwartz woman in here and ask her some more questions. I’ll have one of the deputies take Ajax out and see if he can get a scent on the perp.”

  TWO

  “Demut and gelassenheit are at the heart of a good life, Hannah. Accept whatever God gives you without murmur.”

  PATRICIA SCHWARTZ

  Sitting on the porch of the plain white farmhouse, Hannah couldn’t quit rocking. The cold wind laden with the scent of water from the lake behind the house tugged at the strings of her bonnet and lifted the hem of her long skirt. The rocking calmed the screams still hunkering in her throat. It’s not true. It’s not.

  The chant echoed in her heart over and over. This had to be a nightmare. She’d awaken any moment to find herself helping Mamm make noodles or shoofly pie. She’d hear Datt yodeling on his way in from the greenhouse.

  She’d expected God to punish her for her sin. Even when she’d put her black shoes on the road to the bridge, the knowledge settled over her like one of her mother’s heavy quilts. The heart commits sin first, and her heart was as black as the night. This punishment, though, was too much. She couldn’t bear it.

  Reece stayed close, but she huddled inside herself, undeserving of his comfort.

  “Hannah, liebling?”

  Hannah looked up to see her aunt Nora and her cousin Moe standing by the steps. “You’re not yodeling now,” she told Moe. Confusion contorted his face, and she knew she wasn’t making sense.

  Her aunt rushed up the steps with her arms outstretched. Hannah rose to meet her and practically fell into her arms. “They’re dead,” she sobbed. The screams she’d been holding back built in her throat, moving closer to her mouth. She clamped her teeth closed again.

  Nora held her, their tears mingling. Hannah became conscious of Moe’s big hand on her shoulder too. He wouldn’t know what to say, but his presence calmed her. Nora had to be grieving too. She’d lost the brother she loved. How could a loving God allow something like this to happen? Hannah didn’t understand.

  “Ms. Schwartz?”

  Hannah lifted her gaze to meet that of the young cop. She struggled past the cotton wool in her brain to find his name. Deputy Beitler. He was a merciless hunter, his blue eyes assessing her for any weakness. His gaze softened for a moment, then hardened to flint again.

  He couldn’t blame her any more than she blamed herself.

  “Come inside with me a minute. There are some questions we need to ask, and we want you to see if anything is missing in the home.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered. Her gaze went past his shoulder to the black body bags being wheeled out of the house on gurneys. A scream rose in her throat, but she locked it behind her teeth. Her mouth and eyes watered with the effort of holding in her grief.

  “Be strong, Hannah,” Moe said. “We’ll go with you if you need us.”

  Before she could answer, she heard the sound of buggy wheels and the deep vibration of her cousin Luca’s voice calling to her. The blood rushed to her head, and without realizing she was moving, she found herself by the buggy as Luca swung his boots to the ground. He was more like a brother than a cousin to her, having lived with the Schwartz family since he was five.

  The Amish didn’t hold much with hugging, but in her desperation for comfort, she hurtled herself into her cousin’s arms. He smelled of sweat and horse as his arms came around her awkwardly, though he hugged her as tightly as she clung to him. His chest heaved, and she knew he’d heard the news.

  She lifted her head and saw his shocked gaze on the body bags being loaded into the emergency vehicle, but she couldn’t turn and look too. One glimpse had been too much to bear.

  “Both of them?” he whispered.

  She wet her lips, but no words could make it past the tight constriction of her throat, so she merely nodded.

  His gaze roamed her face as though to seek out some glimmer of hope. When he found none, his shoulders drooped. “It is God’s will,” he said. “Will we not accept both good and evil from his hand?”

  It was the way of the Amish to accept whatever came, to turn the other cheek when injured. But both of Hannah’s cheeks felt brutalized, left raw and bleeding. She had no more to give. Seeing the bodies of her parents had shattered her innocence. The pain in their faces had driven a spike deep into her heart and left a wound that would never heal. Why should they have had to suffer on her behalf? And there was another death, one few people knew about. Mamm was going to have a baby after many years of trying.

  Luca released her, and she followed him as he went to where Reece stood with Deputy Beitler. Nora and Moe were a few feet away, and Moe was comforting his mother. Even if Luca was unaware of the detective’s speculative stare, she was not. How could the man suspect they might be capable of such a horrible deed? He must know nothing about her or her people.

  Luca stopped in front of the detectives. “I am Luca Schwartz, Hannah’s cousin. I live here too. Can you tell me what has happened?”

  “I’m Deputy Beitler. This is Detective O’Connor. I’m sorry to tell you that your aunt and uncle were murdered tonight.” He paused when Luca made a soft moan. “I’m sorry for your loss. Can you tell me how you happened to be living with them?”

  “My dad and Abe were brothers. My parents were killed in a buggy accident when I was five.”

  The deputy nodded toward the house. “I was about to ask your cousin to examine the home and see if anything is missing. I’d appreciate your cooperation as well. If we can pinpoint the motive, it might lead us to the killer.”

  Digging her feet into the dirt, Hannah prepared to tell him again that she couldn’t go back in there, but Luca nodded and turned toward the house. Her gaze collided with the young deputy’s, and she could have sworn she saw triumph in his eyes
. Her dislike of him mounted.

  Life wasn’t a game, and it shouldn’t be about power. Her heritage emphasized the good of the many, not self-interest and power. The Englisch persisted in getting the focus of life wrong. She clutched her wool cape more tightly and followed the men. Duty called, and she would do her best to answer it.

  She glanced at Reece, and he answered the plea she put in her gaze by taking her elbow. The warm touch of his hand strengthened her. “I couldn’t get through this without you,” she whispered.

  He gave her elbow a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll protect you, Hannah. No matter what it takes. You can count on me.”

  She nodded, knowing he meant the words from the heart. With him by her side, she didn’t feel so alone. His presence was better than her aunt’s or her cousins’. Maybe because she knew how her family would react if they knew why she’d survived this night.

  She wet her lips and forced herself to step through the door. The spot where she’d found her parents drew her gaze, but they were gone.

  Cruel. Deputy Beitler was as cruel as the devil himself. She averted her gaze from the spot, and the room blurred as she blinked back moisture. She was overreacting. He was doing his job—finding out who killed her parents.

  “Anything missing?” Deputy Beitler asked.

  Hannah forced herself to study the room. The harsh glare from the lights the detectives had strung around the room threw everything out of focus. The stark illumination forced its way into the shadows, showed every defect with glaring detail, and made the room look small and forlorn. Was the couch really that worn, the wood floor that scuffed?

  She knew what it must look like to these Englischers, even Reece. A modest home with the bare necessities. Their home had been filled with love and laughter, good food, acceptance. These men chased after fireflies that escaped their fingers, always pursuing bigger and better. A place like this held true riches.

  The men sought what was in this very home, but they didn’t know it.

  A large wooden chest, six feet long and eight feet tall, occupied the east wall. The doors stood open—and the shelves were bare. A gasp escaped Hannah’s lips.

  “What is it?” Reece asked.

  “Mamm’s quilts.” Barely aware that she put one foot in front of the other, Hannah walked to the chest. At last count, there had been ten quilts, each worth at least fifteen hundred to two thousand dollars. But it wasn’t the lost money she mourned. Her mother had a special touch with fabric, an unusual method of juxtaposing color and design that no one else could duplicate. The hummingbird design she’d stitched into many of her quilts had never been matched and was admired in their community and in the state.

  Hannah could pick her mother’s handiwork out of thousands of quilts. She turned her head to the men who had followed her. “They’re gone, all of her quilts.” Whirling, she went back to the center of the room. “Where’s the quilt that covered them?”

  “It’s been taken in for evidence.”

  “I’ve never seen it before, but it was Mamm’s.”

  “How do you know if you’ve never seen it?” Reece’s partner asked.

  “The hummingbird pattern stitched into the quilt. No one else does that. You have to look close to see the fine detail, the tiny stitches, the design.”

  “Maybe it was made when she was younger, or when you were too small to remember,” Reece suggested.

  “Perhaps.” Uneasiness tugged away the composure she’d begun to gather around herself.

  “Anything else missing?” asked Deputy Beitler, his voice clipped.

  Hannah glanced at her cousin. “Do you see anything, Luca?”

  He shook his head. “I checked upstairs. All is in order. Why would anyone take the quilts?”

  “How many?” Reece asked.

  “Ten. Close to twenty thousand dollars.” She winced inwardly at how flat her voice sounded. The deputy would think she cared about the money, when in fact it was the last thing on her mind.

  “They’ll probably start turning up on eBay,” Beitler said.

  “Or in shops that sell Amish quilts,” Reece said.

  Deputy Beitler pointed to the wall. “That symbol mean anything to you?”

  Slowly she dragged her gaze to the garish red symbol she’d avoided since entering the house. She forced herself to study it, but it just looked like a cross with the beams sagging. The word under it contained letters she’d never seen before. “No.” She swayed where she stood, and Reece took her arm.

  “She’s about dead on her feet,” he said. “She needs to rest. No more questions tonight, Beitler.”

  The other deputy’s scowl darkened. “I’m not through yet.”

  “You’re done for tonight.” Reece’s voice was firm. “She’s had all she can take.”

  He put his arm around Hannah, and she leaned into his embrace in spite of the raised eyebrows the action was sure to cause.

  Luca shifted from one foot to the other. “Can we stay here?”

  Beitler gave him a sharp look. “Not until we’re done gathering evidence.”

  The last thing Hannah wanted was to stay here. “I want to stay with Aunt Nora,” Hannah said. “She needs me too.”

  Luca nodded. “I’ll come too.”

  Deputy Beitler took out his pen and pad. “What’s the address? I’ll likely have more questions tomorrow.” Luca gave him the address, and he jotted it down.

  Another deputy poked his head in the door. “We’ve got another body. Down by the pond. Ajax led us right to it.”

  THE BODY LAY half-submerged in the pond along the back of the property. The contorted limbs told Matt the man had died the same painful death as the family inside. “Any ID?”

  “Yeah,” one of the deputies said. “Driver’s license belongs to a Cyrus Long.”

  Only when Hannah gasped behind him did Matt realize she and Luca had followed him and O’Connor. He swiveled on his heel to face them. “This the guy who was here tonight?” In the wash of the halogen lights, Hannah’s skin held no color. Her gaze stayed fixed on the body. He moved to obstruct her vision, and the horror in her eyes began to recede.

  She looked up at him then. “Yes. He’s our neighbor.” Her mouth dropped open, then closed. “He said he wanted to buy one for his wife, Ellen.” Her gaze focused on Matt again. “Her birthday is next week.”

  Matt took the pad and pen out of his pocket. “How well did you know them?”

  Luca answered. “As well as any Englisch neighbor. We were friendly, but our lives went in different directions.”

  Hannah nodded.

  “How did he get this far?” O’Connor asked, still inspecting the body. “If the perp poisoned him, too, how did he get out of the house?”

  “Good question. Maybe the coroner can tell us.” He stepped away to talk to O’Connor in private. “Let’s start canvassing the neighbors, checking Nyesville and other towns around the county. See if anyone has heard threats directed toward the Amish.”

  O’Connor nodded. “We had that rash of barn arsons five years ago. Three Amish barns were torched. Maybe it’s related. We never found the offender.”

  “Hey, look at this, Matt,” one of the deputies called.

  The plastic bag the deputy pointed to held chocolate chip cookies. Matt glanced around the area. No quilts, but the pond was right here. “Maybe this is the murder weapon. And maybe this is the perp. Let’s dredge for the quilts. Maybe he tossed them in the water.”

  HANNAH’S WORLD HAD gone dark even though sunlight streamed in the windows of her aunt’s home. Through unblinking eyes, Hannah lay on the bed looking up at a water stain on the ceiling.

  Downstairs, Aunt Nora clanged pots. She could smell the aroma of coffee and shoofly pie, something that would normally have her scooting down the steps. No one made shoofly pie like Aunt Nora.

  The upstairs felt quiet, almost as though it mourned with her. The Amish community had circled around the past week, trying to love the pain away. Their kindness wasn
’t working.

  A tap sounded on the door, and she tried to ignore it. She felt no hunger, felt nothing more than the slight weight of the blanket on her body and the beginning thump of a migraine in her left temple.

  “Hannah? Are you awake?” called her best friend, Sarah, through the wood panel.

  She struggled into a sitting position. “Come in, Sarah.” She’d thought Sarah would come this morning. She lived two farms over.

  Her friend eased into the room as though she feared her footstep on the bare wood floorboards would cause a fresh spate of sobs. She carried a tray of steaming coffee and a sliver of shoofly pie on a saucer. “I brought you some breakfast.” Her dark blue dress and white apron were pressed and starched, and her hair wasn’t drawn back quite so tightly as usual under her kapp. Sarah had a crush on Luca, and Hannah wondered if he was downstairs too.

  The aroma of the molasses pie filled the room, but Hannah turned away from it. “I’m not hungry.” She swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. She had to get up, face the day.

  Sarah shut the door behind her with one foot. “Try to eat, Hannah. You can’t mope. God’s will be done.”

  “If one more person says that to me, I will scream.” She swallowed against the constriction in her throat and composed herself. “I know God is sovereign, but it’s not fair, Sarah.” She rubbed at her temple.

  “You have a headache?” Sarah moved to sit on the bed. She took Hannah’s hand and began to apply pressure to the fleshy pad between the thumb and the first finger.

  Hannah’s headache began to ease almost immediately. “Thanks, Sarah. Why couldn’t God punish me instead of them?”

  “How is it your fault? The poison was in the cookies Cyrus brought.”

  “But it was my sin.” Confession trembled on her tongue. “God’s punishment is more than I can bear.”

  “You haven’t . . . done something . . . with Noah, have you?”