I walked around the outside of the main barn and peaked in the buggy and horse barn. Grandfather Zook’s horse Sparky ate from the trough in his stall and Mr. Troyer’s two buggy horses and his work team kicked up dirt. They could hear the commotion in the dairy barn. Timothy and his grandfather weren’t there.
I left the buggy barn and headed to the milking parlor. As many times as I had been to the Troyer farm I had never set foot in the parlor. Going there felt like an invasion of Mr. Troyer’s private domain.
An open air breezeway covered the twelve feet between the main barn, where the cows lived, to the milking parlor. The breezeway didn’t have any walls, but the roof offered the cows some shelter and protection from the worst of the rain and snow during the colder months.
The barn’s large back door was closed, but the door to the milking parlor was cracked open. I peeked inside and found Timothy and his grandfather inspecting the floor. Mabel’s plume of a tail thumped the ground when she saw me.
“What are you two up to?” I asked.
Grandfather Zook jumped and one of his braces fell from his arm.
I bent to pick it up. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He slipped the brace back on his arm. “I thought you were the lady copper.”
“Chief Rose left, as did the coroner and Deacon Sutter and the bishop. The health inspectors are the only ones left. They said their tests won’t take long.”
Timothy pursed his lip. “I hope that’s true.”
Timothy’s half collie, half German shepherd, half who knew what, shaggy black and brown dog got up from a horse blanket by the door and sniffed my hand.
“Hello, Mabel, what are you doing in here?”
“Daed told me to close her up in here while the tourists were on the grounds. He thought some of them might be afraid of dogs.”
I laughed. “Afraid of Mabel?”
I scanned the room as Mabel licked my hand. The floor was cement and there were two raised cement platforms on either side the main floor. There were three narrow metal pens on either platform. Each pen had a clean milking machine, hanging from a metal hook and waiting for the next use. A bottle of weak iodine solution sat on a shelf by the parlor door. The iodine was used to sanitize the cow’s udders before milking. It looked like any modern milking parlor, but the milking machines and the stainless steel refrigerator against the back wall were powered by propane not the power grid.
“Those lab coats stalking about give me the willies.” Grandfather Zook shivered. “Reminds me of when I had polio.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“When there was an outbreak of polio in my Amish community in Pennsylvania, the state sent a dozen of those lab rats to the community to test us. It was terrifying. Remember, when I was a child we had a lot less contact with the outside world. They said it was because of our ‘inbreeding’ that we got sick. Many of my friends and siblings were sent to Englischer schools to make them more Englisch. They didn’t send me because I already had the disease. I suppose in their minds I wasn’t worth making Englisch.”
Timothy stared at his grandfather. “I never knew that. You never told me that before.”
I shivered. “That’s terrible. How old were you?”
“Nine.” He chuckled. “It was a long time ago. Gott has given me many blessings since, but I hope you don’t mind if I give those lab rats a wide berth.” He adjusted his hold on his braces.
I peeked out the door and saw one of the health inspectors searching the ground around the barn. What was he looking for? “I won’t let them come near you,” I said.
Grandfather Zook grinned. “You are gut to me, Chloe. My grandson is a lucky man.”
Timothy’s face spilt into a smile, and I blushed. The fact that Timothy wasn’t the least bit embarrassed by his grandfather’s statement made my heart jump.
I cleared my throat. “So what are you two doing in here?”
Grandfather Zook bent his head in a conspiratorial way. “We are looking for evidence. My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be, so I asked for Timothy’s help.”
“Evidence?” I scanned the dusty cement floor and didn’t see anything amiss. The back door of the milking parlor stood open. Through the door, I saw the back pasture. Beyond the pasture there were the woods that separated the Troyer farm from the Lambright farm, where Anna lived. “Why’s that?”
He fluffed his snow white beard with the back of his hand. “Early this morning, I heard a noise behind the barn. It may have come from the milking parlor. At the time, I thought it was a deer or a barn cat, but now, I wonder. We’re looking for tracks. The cop lady always looks for tracks.”
I examined the ground. There were blurry tracks on the floor, but it was impossible to tell if they were there from the morning or from our shoes. “What time did you hear the noise?”
“Just about six o’clock. I was in the main barn feeding the barn cats—Simon says they can fend for themselves, and that’s true, but it doesn’t hurt to do them a kindness. Naomi was with me and she heard the noise too.” He patted the barn’s white-washed siding. “I was right on the other side of this wall.” He hobbled over to the open door that led to the breezeway and pointed. “My workshop is right about there. He pointed at the south corner of the barn. The cats eat in my workshop, so that’s where we were standing when we heard the noise.”
Grandfather Zook made wood handicrafts which sold to the Amish gift shops in town to earn a little extra money for the family.
I peered through the door. “That’s a ways away, Grandfather Zook. It’s hard for me to believe whatever you heard came from the milking parlor. It would have to be awfully loud. What did it sound like?”
Grandfather Zook cocked his head. “It was a bang, like a rake handle hitting the milking parlor wall.”
A sound like that would get my attention too. “You didn’t go look?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Naomi was scared and wanted to go back inside the house. When I told her to run inside without me, she started to cry. I agreed to go with her because I thought it was an animal knocking something over. The old farm makes a lot of noises, and there’s no telling what critters are on the land at any given time.” He frowned. “I wish I had gone to see what it was. I would have stopped whoever did this.”
Naomi may have saved her grandfather from confronting a killer.
“With all the spring rain,” Timothy said, “had someone or something been back here I would have thought there would be a track between the barn and milking parlor.”
“Did you see any tracks in the mud?” I asked.
Timothy shook his head.
I stepped away from the open parlor door. “Did you tell Chief Rose about the noise?”
Grandfather Zook turned from the door to face me. “Nee. I wanted to see if I could find some type of proof first. I know the lady cop likes her evidence.”
This was true. I wasn’t sure if I should be horrified or amused that Grandfather Zook, an elderly Old Order Amish man, knew that. It was certainly a sign that the Troyer family had too much interaction with the Appleseed Creek police.
Timothy ran his hand through his white-blond hair. “We’ve been searching for twenty minutes and haven’t found anything outside or inside the parlor. I’m beginning to wonder—”
Grandfather Zook shook his finger at his grandson. “Don’t you start thinking your grossdaddi was hearing things. I know what I know. I only wish I had had the good sense to investigate when I first heard the noise. Then, this all could have been avoided.”
Timothy blew out a breath. “You said yourself it could have been another barn cat or a deer.”
Grandfather Zook snorted. “I’m going to keep looking.”
“Timothy’s father did say he stored the milk for the tourists in the refrigerator here around five in the morning. If someone was here at six, they could have tampered with it and left before the bus arrived,” I said.
“That’s not the
only time,” Timothy said. “It was so chaotic when the southerners first arrived. Since they were an hour early, we weren’t ready for them. Someone could have slipped in here unnoticed and put something in the milk.”
“But wouldn’t that person have to have known your father set the milk aside for the tourists?” I asked. “Did either of you know?”
They both shook their heads.
I fondled Mabel’s ears. “Did you hear anything, girl? Did anyone come inside here while you snoozed?”
Grandfather Zook leaned heavily on his braces and chuckled. “If someone did she would have licked him to death.”
Mabel gave me her best doggie grin. Lassie she was not.
My cell phone rang. As I retrieved it from my jacket pocket, I saw Chief Rose’s name on the readout. Why was I not surprised?
Timothy examined my face. “Who is it? Your dad?”
I sighed. “No. It’s Chief Rose.”
“I thought she just left,” Timothy said.
“She did.” I put the phone to my ear and stepped out the back door of the milking parlor. “Hello?”
“Humphrey, get your behind down to the hospital now,” the police chief ordered.
“What? Why? What’s wrong?”
“These tourists are what’s wrong. They need a new tour guide.” She sucked in air. “You.”
“Me?” I squeaked.
Timothy touched my shoulder, and I turned to face him. His brow was knit together in worry. “What is it?” he mouthed.
I shook my head.
“Yes, you,” Chief Rose snapped. “I need a new guide or these people are going to bolt.”
I gripped the phone to my ear. “They still want to go on the tour?”
“Let’s just say I talked them into it.” She sounded a little too pleased with herself in my opinion.
I knew that smirk on the chief’s face would lead to trouble. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”
“Humphrey, it’s not rocket science. You stand on the bus and tell them about our quaint little town and introduce them to the Amish farmers and convince them to buy buggy-shaped paperweights they don’t need. How hard can that be?”
There has to be a way out of this. “I’m not a tour guide. I’m a computer geek.”
“You’re not a detective either, but you like to pretend you are,” she said.
I grimaced and knew the chief referred to the few times I'd meddled in her investigations, sometimes with her blessing, sometimes without it. Her voice turned sharp. “You know more about the Amish living in this county than English folks who have lived here for generations. I need you.” She paused. “Do it for the Troyers. If the bus people stick around, I will have more suspects.”
“Isn’t there someone else you can ask? There has to be a real travel agent in Knox County. Isn’t there an AAA office in Mount Vernon? Maybe you should call them.”
“Don’t you want to help your boyfriend’s family? I’m surprised, Humphrey. This is your chance to be trapped on a bus with all those lovely suspects, perhaps even clear the good name of Troyer’s father.”
Or be trapped on a bus with a murderer.
“You want me to do that?” I asked. “You want me to investigate while I’m on the bus?”
“You might as well make use of your time. I certainly can’t do it. They aren’t going to say anything incriminating in front of me or one of my officers. Remember everything they say and report back to me. This should be one of your easier assignments.”
A light wind whipped across the pasture. The grass bent low in submission to it. I shivered. “What if they suspect I’m reporting back to you?”
“Humphrey, you look like a human replica of Raggedy Ann. No one would suspect you of anything more devious than forgetting to say ‘thank you’ after someone passes you the salt.”
I chewed on the Raggedy Ann comment and reflexively touched my hair to reassure myself it wasn’t yarn-like. “How many passengers are there?” I squeaked. “I didn’t count when they were here on the farm.”
“Fourteen. The bus seats thirty-five. See, I’m not even sticking you with a full bus.”
“Thanks.” I pulled my car keys out of my jacket pocket and balanced them in my hand.
Timothy arched his brows in question.
“Fifteen if you count the driver,” the chief said.
Which I do. I thought of the irritable-looking man in the blue polo shirt.
“Where are they staying?” My tone was resigned.
“The Dutch Inn right here in Appleseed Creek.”
That made sense since it was the largest inn in town. Hotel options were few in Knox County. There were a couple chain hotels in Mount Vernon or bed and breakfasts dotting the small towns, but none of the B&Bs were large enough to hold fourteen people plus a bus driver.
“Listen to me.” The chief’s patience ran thin. “If you don’t do this, these people will leave and the only suspect left is Simon Troyer.” The threat hung in the air. Chief Rose had me, and we both knew it. “If you care about the Troyers as much as you claim to, you don’t have a choice.”
I locked eyes with Timothy. His brow drooped in concern, and even though he was only twenty-seven, I saw the beginning of light wrinkles feathering out from the corners of his eyes caused by sun and worry. Like she said, I really didn’t have a choice. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Chapter Five
Leaving Grandfather Zook and Mabel at the Troyer farm to continue to search the grounds for evidence, Timothy drove me to the hospital.
I straightened my seatbelt’s shoulder strap while Timothy turned onto State Route Thirteen, heading into Mount Vernon. “When I first arrived at the farm this morning, you and Dudley were talking. He didn’t look happy.”
“He wasn’t,” Timothy said.
“What were you talking about?”
“Dudley wanted the tourists to have an opportunity to walk through the house. I told him that wasn’t part of our portion of the tour. There may be other Amish families that invite them in, but Daed would never be comfortable with that many strangers in the house at one time.”
“That seems reasonable. Why was he so upset about it?”
“I guess the district he used to take tours to in Holmes County always included a home tour. He said if the district didn’t provide one, he wouldn’t have his tours stop in our district again. I told him that was something he would have to take up with the bishop.” Just inside of Mount Vernon, Timothy stopped his truck at a red light. “He didn’t seem to want to talk to the bishop.”
“That’s odd. The tour was the bishop’s idea.”
The light changed to green. “I thought so too.”
Another questions struck me. “Who was the Amish teenaged boy on the farm?”
Timothy turned his head toward me for a half second. “Amish teenaged boy? Who are you talking about?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you. He looked about sixteen and sort of gangly.”
“I didn’t see anyone like that there.”
“You didn’t?” I asked. “I saw him a couple of times with Amish men and then later by himself.”
“Maybe he was a son of one of the men.”
I wrinkled my forehead not sure why I was so concerned with the boy. Then, I remembered how he'd watched Ruth and Anna as they'd stood in the kitchen doorway so intently. “Maybe Ruth knows who he is?”
“Maybe,” Timothy said seemingly unconcerned about this little mystery. He drove up the small hill to the community hospital. Most of the Mississippi folks waited on their tour bus and scowled out of the windows at anyone who happened to walk by.
I placed my hand on the door handle. “You don’t have to come with me.”
He shifted in his seat to face me. “One of these tourists may have killed two people. Do you think I would let you ride in a bus alone with them?”
“I’ll be fine. Chief Rose wouldn’t ask me to do this if it put me in any kind of danger.”
Timothy barked a laugh.
I tightened my grip on the door handle. “You need to go back to the farm and help your family.”
“There’s nothing that I can do there. Daed refuses to talk me about it. Grossdaddi is wandering around the farm hunting for the source of the mysterious sound.”
“I know but…” I trailed off.
He shifted away from me. “You don’t want me to come with you?”
I squeezed his arm. “No! No, it’s not that.”
“Then what?”
“They know you are Simon Troyer’s son.”
“So.” He shut off the ignition and slipped the pickup’s key into his hip pocket.
How do I say this nicely? “They think your father killed their friends. They might not welcome you onto the bus.”
Timothy’s face fell as if he realized I was right. “I can’t let you go alone. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his concern. It felt strange to have someone worrying about me. “I’ll be fine. And remember Chief Rose—”
Timothy snorted. “Wouldn’t put you on the bus if she thought you were in danger. I know.”
I opened the door and paused before hopping out of the truck. “Whoever did this isn’t going to do anything in a bus full of tourists. There would be too many witnesses.”
He leaned across the bench seat and brushed his lips across mine. “Just remember I said this was a bad idea.”
I patted his cheek. “I’ll remember.”
Timothy and I climbed out of the pickup and joined Chief Rose and the bus driver waiting outside of the bus. The police chief with arms folded and her aviator glasses hiding her eyes said, “Took you long enough, Humphrey. I want—”
“His father murdered my cousin!” Pearl cried from the open bus window.
The police chief muttered something under her breath I didn’t catch, and Timothy took a huge step back from the bus.
“Humphrey, I don’t remember asking you to bring Troyer. Are you two attached at the hip?” She made a show of examining our legs.
A Plain Malice: An Appleseed Creek Mystery (Appleseed Creek Mystery Series Book 4) Page 4
