Dead Broke

by Vannetta Chapman

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tony didn’t back off just because Yutzy seemed irritated. Henry expected the detective in the man was in charge now. He reminded Henry of his little beagle Lexi. Tony Vargas had caught the scent he was seeking, and now he was on point and ready to give chase.

  “Someone saw your buggy near Agatha’s barn at the time that Nathan was shot. Can you explain that?”

  “Nein. I cannot.”

  Henry thought Yutzy might be about to bolt. He nodded to Tony, indicating for the man to back down a little. Tony dropped his gaze to the ground, shook his head in frustration and stepped away.

  “Tell me what’s on your heart, Clarence.” Henry had been a bishop for a very long time. He knew when someone was struggling emotionally, and the man standing in front of him was carrying a heavy burden for sure and certain. “If you’d like we can call for your bishop to join us, but you need to tell us what’s going on. You need to let us help.”

  “Jonas Schrock is a gut man—a gut bishop, but he’s tried to help in this situation to no avail.”

  “What situation?”

  “My schweschder.” As the word schweschder slipped from his lips, Yutzy deflated like a balloon that couldn’t hold itself up without air. “Jonas has been trying to help me with her for some time, and honestly we haven’t made any headway. She’s simply—well, she’s difficult to live with.”

  “Okay.” Henry nodded as if that made sense, though it didn’t. What did Clarence’s schweschder have to do with Nathan’s murder?

  “I’m not saying that Eunice had anything to do with Nathan’s murder,” he clarified, as if he could read Henry’s mind. “But her reaction to his death...it just isn’t normal. It isn’t right.”

  He hopped up and began pacing in front of them, the story spilling out like water breaching a dam. “They went out together about six months ago. I wouldn’t even call it courting, because it never became that serious. Eunice turned forty-one earlier this year, and maybe that hit her hard. Either way, suddenly she was agreeable to dating. She even asked my fraa to help her arrange an outing with someone.”

  “And your wife arranged for her to date Nathan King?”

  “Ya. They went out two...no, three times. Eunice became more sullen and contrary with each date. Finally Nathan came to me and said that he was sorry but it wasn’t going to work.”

  “How did you respond to that?” Tony asked.

  “I thanked him for being honest and forthright. Trust me, I know how difficult Eunice can be.” He stared off across the hills, suddenly lost in another time. “Yesterday my fraa found this in Eunice’s bureau drawer. She wasn’t snooping mind you, only putting away her clothes.”

  Yutzy reached into his pocket and pulled out a broken chain. On the end of it was some sort of whistle.

  “What is that?” Tony asked.

  “Something Nathan wore. He always had it on when I saw him. It’s a...you know...silent whistle. Helped to call up the goats when he needed to move them or load them.” He turned it over in his hand. “It’s not like it’s jewelry. We don’t wear any of that, not even a wedding band, but this was for Nathan’s work. I just don’t understand why she stole it...why she kept it.”

  “Can we have that?” Tony patted his pockets, then glanced at Henry.

  He didn’t have to say what they were both thinking. The whistle and chain were part of the case now. They wouldn’t want to be adding to the fingerprints on it. Henry pulled out a handkerchief, and Yutzy dropped the item on top of it. Tony wrapped it up and put it in his pocket.

  “Eunice wasn’t always like she is now. When she was a young thing, she’d run about and play with others like any normal child. The trouble started in her teen years and...well, things got worse from there.”

  “Did she see a doctor?” Henry’s voice was gentle. He understood that many times Plain folk were hesitant to approach Englisch professionals, especially if the problem was related to mental or emotional health. They felt it was the family’s place to love and care for such individuals, and only in the most severe cases did they seek medical intervention.

  “My parents finally agreed to take her to a special doctor who diagnosed her with schizophrenia. The doctor put her on several medications and for a while she was better.”

  “But then she stopped taking them.”

  It was an old story, one that always broke Henry’s heart. And such things didn’t only occur in Amish families. When he’d taken one parishioner into a mental health facility, the doctor had explained that it was a vicious cycle for many mental health patients. They would reach a low point, seek help, receive a thorough medical work-up, and be prescribed counseling and medication. The two things worked, usually so well that the person stopped one or both, at which point they’d begin to slide back down into the pit of mental illness.

  “Ya. We didn’t know at first. She was gut at pretending, at hiding the medication.” Now he turned to look at Henry. “I’d hoped that moving here...that a change of scenery might help.”

  “I’m truly sorry for what you’re going through. You’re not the first family I’ve counseled with these sorts of problems.”

  Tony pulled out his phone, glanced at it, then shook his head once and stuck it back in his pocket. “So her reaction to Nathan’s death was unusual?”

  “Worse than that,” Clarence admitted. “She laughed about it. She was almost giddy. That’s why I didn’t want her going to the funeral. Then she snuck in, and I’m sure you either heard about or saw what happened. Goats everywhere. It was quite the mess.”

  Henry stepped forward, put his hands on the man’s shoulders and waited until Yutzy raised his gaze. “Gotte loves you, Clarence. He loves you and your fraa, your kinner and grandkinner, and your schweschder Eunice. I can’t tell you what will solve this problem, but I can tell you that you don’t need to be ashamed of it.”

  Tears slid down Clarence’s leathery cheeks. He nodded, as if he’d hoped as much but been afraid to believe it.

  “I’ll admit we haven’t reacted well. It’s easier to avoid others, stay here on the farm, try to deal with it ourselves. But honestly, Eunice has become too much for us to handle. Her illness, it’s beyond me.”

  “We’re all injured in one way or another. That’s a side effect of going through this life; but we’re all blessed too.” Henry clapped his hands together and smiled. “Where Is Eunice? I would be happy to speak with her.”

  Clarence shook his head. “Off. She goes off a lot lately.”

  “Off where? And how?”

  “She takes the older buggy usually. It’s smaller, so we rarely use it for the family. Plus it’s quite dented up. Sometimes she rides an old bike around town. Often she loads the bike onto the back of the buggy. She’s quite strong physically. It’s only mentally and emotionally that she suffers.”

  Again, Henry and Tony glanced at one another.

  They needed to see this bike.

  They needed to question Eunice.

  “I bought this old place a few miles from here. I thought my son might want it, but he moved back east. I’ve been meaning to clean it up and sell it, but there hasn’t been time. The house is dilapidated, and the barn is falling down. I don’t know why I’ve kept it. I guess I was dreaming that Eunice would marry, and then...” His words faded away, as had his dream of Eunice marrying.

  “I can come back tomorrow if you like, and we can speak more of this. Emma and I are here until Monday. When Eunice comes home, call Agatha’s and leave a message.”

  Clarence nodded, looking relieved at Henry’s offer.

  “What does she do out there?” Tony asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When she goes out to your old place...what does she do there?”

  Now Clarence laughed, though somewhat sheepishly. “My schweschder has got it in her head that she’s an Amish cowgirl. She wears these old boots I bought from a yard sale, and she likes to go out and lasso things.”

&nb
sp; “Lasso things?” The hairs on the back of Henry’s neck pricked up.

  “Ya. She even asked for a new rope for Christmas last year. It’s a harmless hobby—she ropes bales of hay, fence posts, that sort of thing.”

  Henry could tell by Tony’s suddenly stiff posture that he was one step ahead, but Henry caught up quickly because it made sense now.

  The bits of rope on the goat’s fur.

  The bruise around Nathan’s neck.

  The missing chain and whistle.

  Eunice’s hobby.

  Everything was falling into place. Everything except the manner of death because Nathan hadn’t been killed by a rope. He’d been shot.

  Clarence was still talking, his voice coming to Henry as if from a far distance. “Sometimes she even takes my old hunting rifle out and sets up cans...shoots at them.”

  Tony pulled out his phone and tapped on the screen until he’d pulled up the maps program. “Show me. Show me where your place is.”

  And then they were running toward the truck, leaving Clarence standing there with his mouth hung open and a look of utter confusion on his face.

  Henry turned and hurried back to the man. “Go to the phone shack. Call Jonas and ask him to come here, to wait with you. We’ll be in touch as soon as we know something.”

  “Is Eunice in trouble?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know, but we’ll find out, and we’ll be in touch as soon as we know something.”

  He could tell the man had more questions, but Tony had already started the truck. Henry jogged back to him and climbed into the vehicle as Tony’s phone buzzed. Tony answered it, his jaw clenching even as his grip on the wheel tightened. They were speeding down the lane now, throwing white rock and raising a cloud of dust.

  “They went where?...How long ago?...Call the police, Gina. Tell them everything you told me. Tell them to send a squad car and that the suspect might be mentally unstable.” At this point he swerved out onto the blacktop road. “Tell them she might be mentally unstable, that she’s a diagnosed schizophrenic off her meds. Tell them to hurry.”

  He ended the call and said the last words Henry wanted to hear. “Agatha received a note. It gave a location and told her to be there within the hour if she wanted to know who had killed Nathan King. She and Emma left forty-five minutes ago.”

  “And the place?”

  “Old farm on the west side of town.” Tony punched the accelerator. “Clarence Yutzy’s place.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Agatha and Emma tried in vain to wiggle out of Eunice’s lasso.

  “The woman knows how to tie a rope,” Emma muttered.

  “Indeed she does. But what does she have planned for us?”

  Emma thought she’d been whispering, but Eunice stepped into the room and shrieked, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Before Agatha could answer, she snatched up the gas can and darted back out quick as two shakes from a duck’s tail.

  “What’s she going to do with that gas can?” Emma squirmed with renewed vigor.

  It didn’t help.

  Each time either of them moved it only tightened the rope on the other. Agatha was already losing the feeling in her arms and fingers. How long had they been sitting there? Had Gina managed to get in contact with Tony and Henry? And when were those bats going to stop sleeping and start hunting? Because Agatha did not intend to be around when that happened.

  She paused in her squirming to stare up at the bats. “I think one just blinked at me, or nodded, or maybe it was simply thinking I look juicy.”

  “Stop worrying about those bats and think of a way to get out of these knots.”

  Which was undoubtedly what she should do, but suddenly Agatha was besieged by images of having her hands cuffed in front of her with plastic ties, being thrown in the back of a van, Tony telling her to jump...” She shook her head and tried to dislodge the memories. The past wasn’t what she needed to focus on now.

  “Are you okay?” Emma asked.

  “Ya. Mostly. You?”

  “My right shoulder hurts, but other than that...”

  Then three things happened nearly simultaneously.

  First, Agatha suddenly noticed the acrid smell of smoke.

  Second, the bats startled, swooped, and with a great flurry of little bat wings they darted out of the barn.

  And third and most distressing, Eunice stuck her head back into their room. “Can’t stay.”

  “Eunice, stop this right now.” Agatha aimed for her most serious grandmotherly tone. “You don’t want to kill us. Come over here and undo these ropes.”

  “Sorry. Can’t.”

  “What do you mean you can’t?” Emma’s patience had plainly snapped.

  “I’m out of here...double quick...fast as a lightning bolt...like an arrow from a bow.”

  And then she was gone.

  “There’s something wrong with Eunice.” Emma’s voice was grim, but she wasn’t panicked.

  “She’s right about one thing, though. She can’t stay and neither should we. This place is about to go up like a carefully constructed bonfire.”

  “How are we supposed to leave?”

  Which was a very good question, made more pressing by the increased smell of fire, tendrils of smoke, and tiny flames coming from the other side of the wall where Eunice had been. What had she done? Did she actually mean to kill them?

  The fire Eunice had obviously set crept under the wall separating the two rooms, snaked across the floor and reached the bales of hay on the far side of the room, which caused flames to spit, crackle, and then quickly spread.

  Agatha had no intention of dying in a fire. She was going to Shipshe for vacation. She was going to see her grandchildren, and she had a B&B to run, and there were things she wanted to say to Tony. “We need to stand up.”

  “What?”

  “Stand up. Push with your back and your feet on three. One, two, three!”

  Emma grunted and Agatha pushed with all of her might. They raised up a fraction of an inch, then dropped back to the crates Eunice had insisted they sit on. The thud felt like it rattled Agatha’s bones. She pushed away the pain. She could think about that later.

  “Try again. Ready?”

  “Ya. We can do this.”

  This time they made it all the way up, then fell back down when both Agatha and Emma attempted to turn toward the door. Now smoke was obscuring their vision. Emma coughed, and sweat dripped down Agatha’s temples. But her perspiration wasn’t from the heat of the fire. She was frightened, maybe more frightened than she’d ever been.

  “Gotte, please help us.” Her chest hurt and she wondered if she was having a heart attack. “One more time, Emma. On three, and you turn toward the door. Swing to your right.”

  “Got it.”

  “One, two...three.”

  And suddenly, miraculously, they were up and moving toward the barn door. The ropes bit into Agatha’s arms. The crates they had been sitting on bumped into their legs and threatened to send them sprawling. If only they could work their way free of them, they might be able to run, but there wasn’t time.

  And perhaps miraculously, they didn’t trip, but instead inched toward the door.

  The flames raced across the floor, a distant part of the roof caved in, and somewhere outside Eunice’s horse gave out a frightened neigh and thundered past the barn.

  Agatha coughed and fought the urge to drop down and cover her head. She couldn’t drop down. They had to keep moving.

  As they reached the door, she shouted, “Don’t stop. Keep going, Emma. As far as you can go. We need to get clear of this fire.”

  They made it a dozen feet from the barn before they fell to the ground.

  TONY AND HENRY PASSED Eunice on the caliche road. She was madly pumping the pedals on her old bicycle, headed down the lane, headed away from the old buildings and toward the main road. Tony braked, no doubt in order to block her path and apprehend her, but Henry shouted, “Over there!”
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  Henry pointed to smoke coming from an old dilapidated barn that, as they watched, burst into flames. Agatha’s horse and buggy were parked a good distance from the structure, but Eunice’s buggy caught fire as Tony slammed down on the accelerator. In the distance, Henry thought he saw a buggy horse galloping away.

  But those things were all in his peripheral vision. The one thing he strained to see, the one thing he had to see was Agatha and Emma.

  “Please, Gotte...” The words were more than a prayer, they were a plea from the very center of his heart.

  Leaning forward, he saw the two women, tied up like two calves, stumbling from the structure.

  Tony spied them at the same moment, accelerating and then slamming the truck to a stop a good twenty feet away. Both men were out of the vehicle the second he jammed the gearshift into park.

  Henry didn’t remember crossing the distance or losing his hat. One minute he was in Tony’s truck and the next he was kneeling beside Emma and Agatha. Tony had pulled out his pocketknife and was attempting to saw through the nylon rope. Henry stuck his fingers between two coils and forced them apart, tearing the skin from his fingertips as he did so.

  And then the knife did its work.

  The rope slipped away.

  The women fell onto the ground.

  “We need to get behind the truck,” Tony hollered.

  Henry realized that the fire was roaring now. The wind had whipped it to a fury and the old wood provided ample fuel. He helped Emma to her feet as Tony helped Agatha, and then they were running toward the truck.

  “To the far side,” Tony shouted.

  As they collapsed onto the ground behind the truck there was a whoosh and a boom and pieces of old wood flew into the air and flopped onto the dirt. One or two pieces of flaming debris pinged the other side of Tony’s truck.

  Agatha shouted and covered her head with her arms.

  Emma threw herself into Henry’s arms.

  And then, from a distance, they heard the sound of sirens.