Hannah nodded again. Finally she closed her eyes and prayed that she wasn’t breaking any rules from the Ordnung. They were supposed to be set apart. They were supposed to stay out of others’ business. But this was different. Wasn’t it?
“It was Larry.”
“Larry Sharp?” Amber’s voice rose in surprise. “Our assistant manager?”
“Ya. And it seems that Larry threatened Ethan. Right before he stormed off. Apparently Ethan called him inept and then Larry became furious. He said they would see who had the last word.”
Eleven
Tate didn’t ignore his work to cook dinner for Amber Wright, but he did season the chicken and ribs, wrap them in foil, and set them to cook on his smoker. Using the smoker required that he stop by occasionally and add more chips to the wood box, but that wasn’t a problem. It was after he’d fixed the tractor that he remembered she’d probably want a vegetable to go with his BBQ, so he hustled inside, found two potatoes in his pantry, and placed them on the smoker as well.
Meat and taters—it would certainly be better than the eggs she had been cooking.
Normally he worked until sunset, but after another two hours in the pasture, he went inside and showered. No use showing up smelling like his animals. Tate didn’t actually plan on staying. His idea was to drive over to her house when she came home, deliver the food, and scat. Whenever she drove to work, he usually saw when her little red car made its way back from the Village to the Dawdy Haus—not that he stared at her or watched for her. No, it was more that he was usually out on his porch that time of day. Since his home was on a bit of a rise, it was easy to see what was going on around him.
He’d moved out to the porch with a glass of tea and was watching the sun drop over the horizon when she pulled into her drive.
“Might as well walk over,” Tate muttered to himself. Seemed a waste of gasoline to fire up the truck just to travel next door. Since the storm had pushed through the night before, the weather was perfect for a stroll.
He put half the chicken, half the ribs, and one of the potatoes into a warming bag Peggy had purchased for church socials. Guilt rubbed up against his conscience—he’d been faithful to read the Bible each day, and he’d made it to the occasional worship service at their church, but he hadn’t been to any socials. He’d sort of dropped off the map as far as social activity went.
By the time he reached Amber’s house, he was beginning to question his plan. He considered turning back, but then he spied the damage to her porch. One look convinced him he should knock on the door. The graffiti he’d heard about had been scrubbed clean. It had also taken the paint off her wall and the porch floor. Both would need to be sanded and repainted.
What was wrong with people?
Why would someone do such a thing?
He could think of a few answers, and he didn’t like any of them.
Tate opened the storm door, knocked, and then he stepped back and waited.
Amber opened the door, surprise covering her face. She looked tired, but she also seemed happy to see him.
“Tate. How are you?”
“Good. I’m good.”
“I didn’t expect to see you tonight. Is something wrong?”
“No. I thought I’d stop by and bring you dinner.” He held up the warming bag full of food.
Amber’s expression almost made him laugh. Apparently she could handle vandalism at the Village, stubborn donkeys in the rain, and an attack on her home, but if someone showed her an unexpected kindness, she was stumped.
“That . . . well, that was very nice of you. Come in.”
She pulled the inside door open wide, and Tate walked into her home for the second time in twenty-four hours. Strange. They had been neighbors for longer than he could remember but had never taken the time to know each other.
The storm door latched behind him.
The yellow cat stretched, then wound between his feet, brushing against the legs of his pants. He bent to pet it, but at that exact moment it dashed out through the pet flap that had been installed in Amber’s storm door.
“Saying hello, right?”
“Yes. And you’re lucky you’re wearing jeans and not black pants. Leo’s hellos tend to leave a furry residue on black pants.”
Tate resisted the urge to reach down and rub any feline hair off the lower part of his jeans. He regularly worked with donkeys, horses, and cows. A little cat hair wouldn’t hurt him.
“You didn’t have to bring dinner. I was about to make—”
“Eggs?”
She blushed prettily and nodded. “How’d you guess?”
“A hunch, since I interrupted your supper last night.”
“Not your fault.”
“It seemed like a good day to barbecue, and I thought I’d share it with you. I heard you had a hard night after I left.”
“I suppose the entire town knows by now.”
“Pretty much.”
Amber shrugged. “Truthfully, I didn’t get much sleep, and I’m too tired to cook any dinner—even eggs. My plan was to eat an apple and go to bed.”
Tate shook his head and patted the bag he’d brought. “There’s chicken, ribs, and a baked potato in here.”
“Oh my. Let me grab two plates.”
“I wasn’t . . . what I mean is that I didn’t intend to invite myself to eat with you.”
Amber peered into the bag. “You thought I could eat all of this?”
“I only brought half of what I cooked.”
“It’s more than I can eat. I’d love for you to stay.”
Tate shifted from foot to foot. What had he done? If he left she’d think he was rude, and if he stayed she’d think he was nosy—or worse—interested.
He’d been raised not to be rude, and he wasn’t nosy. He was concerned.
And why would he be interested?
“I didn’t bring both of the potatoes.”
“I’ll split it with you and add a salad. How does that sound?”
Tate didn’t understand women at all, but the look on Amber’s face struck him as hopeful. So he nodded and followed her into the kitchen. Together they gathered plates, silverware, napkins, salad, dressing, and drinks. Within five minutes they were sitting at her small table, a feast spread before them.
Amber stopped, glanced at him uncomfortably, and then said, “Do you mind if I pray over our meal?”
“No. Why would I mind?”
Her request didn’t actually surprise him, but when she reached for his hand Tate thought he was going to fall off his chair.
“Lord, we’d like to thank you for this meal. Thank you for Tate’s kindness to me, and thank you for watching over us and the people at the Village during this trying time. Please be with Ethan’s wife tonight. Comfort her, Lord. Amen.”
“Amen.”
Amber let go of his hand, and Tate looked up at the same moment she did. Briefly their gazes locked, and Tate felt disoriented.
But then she started praising his BBQ and asking how he cooked it. The conversation helped him to forget what he’d been nervous about.
“I’ve never eaten salad from a bag,” he confessed. “This isn’t bad.”
“It’s one of my signature dishes.”
“I don’t know how working women do it. There’s so much to do around a house—with the cooking, cleaning, and washing. Peggy always said she’d like to clone herself.”
Suddenly he wondered if he should talk about Peggy. What if it made Amber uncomfortable? What if she thought he was some weepy mourner who couldn’t get over his dead wife?
He wasn’t weepy, but he was still mourning, and he hadn’t moved past his wife’s death. The truth hit him with the force of last night’s storm.
“Peggy never seemed to mind,” Amber said. “I’d see her in the grocery store or at the library and she’d always be smiling.”
“She was usually content, unless one of her appliances went out, and then she resembled a lion with its tail caught in
a trap.”
Amber laughed. “That’s my pet name for Leo—Leo the Lion, but mostly he’s a lazy house cat.”
Sometime during the meal Tate relaxed and stopped worrying about what he was or wasn’t saying. He found himself enjoying the dinner conversation with Amber. She had a positive outlook in spite of what had happened the last two days.
After they’d eaten, she insisted on making coffee.
“Decaf,” she promised. “And I have pie from the bakery. Do you like chocolate banana cream?”
“Yes, but—”
“I only have the one piece, so we’ll have to share.”
“An apple and a piece of pie—that was your dinner plan?”
“Guilty.”
“You need to take care of yourself, Amber.”
When she looked at him in surprise, he added, “The Village needs you.”
They walked out onto the front porch with their coffee and single piece of pie, which she had halved. The workers who had cleaned up the mess had moved both of her rocking chairs to one side, and Leo was curled up in one, winking at them in the darkness.
Amber pulled the cat into her lap, stroking it between the ears. The quietness of the evening was occasionally broken by the sound of horses clip-clopping down the road. Tate sipped his coffee and waited. Amber finally sighed, pushed the cat from her lap, and picked up her coffee. Then she proceeded to tell him all that she’d learned since the night before.
She told him about how she’d discovered the vandalism on her porch.
“I wish you had called me. I can be here faster than the police. And you have my number on your cell phone from when I called you last night.”
“Let’s hope there’s no more trouble, but if there is, I’ll remember that.”
Which was a fraction short of saying she would call him.
She told him about her visit with Ethan’s widow.
“I know Margaret, but not well. She and Ethan attended my church years ago. I haven’t seen either in a while, but then, you can’t exactly call my attendance regular.”
Amber seemed to mull that over, and then she told him about Hannah and all the information the girl had gathered.
Tate set his empty coffee cup on the small outdoor table between them and sat forward with his arms resting on his legs. He could feel the muscles in his shoulders growing more taut as Amber spoke.
“I’m going to be honest with you,” he said. “Something about this concerns me. At first I thought we were dealing with teenagers, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Do you think the vandalism is connected to Ethan’s death?”
“It’s something we should consider. I think I mentioned last night that I’m not a fan of coincidences. This has all happened in a forty-eight-hour period. Individually, these incidents don’t seem like much, but combined they bother me.”
“Any other insights?”
He couldn’t make out her expression. She had her back to the living room window and the light fell over her like a veil, revealing little. He could tell from her voice that she was taking what he said seriously.
“No. I do think I know the homeless man Hannah described, if it’s the same person. His name is Preston, and he’s a veteran who served in Afghanistan.”
“How do you know that?”
“He was two years older than my son Collin. In high school he was a fair athlete and a good kid.”
“What happened?”
“War. Some vets transition back better than others.” He thought of telling her more of Preston’s story, but it didn’t seem relevant.
Amber hesitated, then told him about the tension between Larry and Ethan the night she’d witnessed Ethan peeling out of the parking lot and Larry’s strange reaction. “One of Hannah’s friends overheard the two of them arguing with one another. It sounded like more than a passing disagreement.”
“Any idea what Larry and Ethan could have been arguing about?”
“No. We usually meet when my day is ending and his is beginning. Today he sent me a text that he was held up on the far side of the property and couldn’t make it.”
“Humph.”
“Larry’s been very dependable and trustworthy.”
“And yet we have another coincidence.” Tate shook his head. “It seems to me that this didn’t start yesterday morning. Maybe it started last week with Larry, or even before that.”
Amber stood and walked to the porch rail. She stared out into the darkness for a moment. When she turned to look at Tate, she was bathed in the light from the window. He could make out her hazel eyes, prominent cheekbones, and full lips. She was a beautiful woman, and it surprised him again that she had never married.
“I want to talk to Larry, but I wonder if I should go snooping into this. Is it my place?”
“Have you talked to Gordon Avery about what you’ve learned?”
“No . . .” She started to add something else, but stopped herself.
Tate remembered wondering if there was a relationship between the two of them, but surely if there was, Gordon would have been at her house instead of him. He would have been the one sharing the piece of chocolate banana pie. He would have been the one gazing at Amber and feeling his pulse thrum in his ears.
“You have a right to be concerned about things happening on your property. Our police are busy enough that they’re not going to pursue something unless they are convinced there’s a reason to do so. Maybe you need to find that reason.”
“Yes, that makes sense.”
Tate helped her carry the cups and plates into the house. He noticed Leo had dashed back inside and was now perched on the back of her living room recliner, his paws tucked under him and his eyes closed. The cat’s purrs blended with the night sounds.
“Thank you again for dinner.” Amber followed him to the door. “And for staying to eat with me. It . . . well, it helps to have someone to share all of these details with, someone who is a good listener.”
“Anytime.” The word had barely escaped his mouth when Tate wondered why he had said it. They weren’t exactly bosom buddies. “Call me if you hear anyone outside tonight. Promise?”
Amber’s smile was all the reward he needed. “I promise.”
Tate hadn’t thought it would be so dark when he walked home, but he found that it didn’t bother him. There was a sliver of moonlight that helped him to see his way, and he’d walked the old road leading up to his place many times. Though he’d never walked it after eating dinner with a beautiful woman living in the Dawdy Haus, which went to show each day could bring the unexpected.
The best part was that he’d done his neighborly duty, and now his life could return to normal. But he’d charge his cell phone and set it next to his bed in case Amber needed him.
Twelve
Hannah was surprised when Jesse joined her on the trail early the next morning. She reached up to check her kapp, then straightened her glasses, and finally settled for grasping the handlebars of her bike. Why was she nervous? Why was she worried about how she looked? Jesse had been her friend for years, and there was no reason to be all aflutter around him.
He lived farther from the Village than she did, and he didn’t bother driving his buggy or riding his bike. To match his pace, Hannah walked her bike, and they talked as they continued toward the Village.
“How do you like your new job?”
“Better than I thought I would.”
“Ya? Have you started drinking the stuff you brew?” He gave her a sideways smile, and Hannah’s heart tripped a beat. Jesse Miller was too cute for his own good.
“I haven’t yet, but my new goal is to try one drink a day until I’ve sampled them all.”
“Oh, you should be a caffeine addict by then.”
Hannah swatted at him, but missed when he ducked away. He was cute and quick.
“I went to the library last night and looked up some new drinks I might try. My thought was to have a special each day, like we had in the quilt shop.
”
“Ya? Do you need a sidewalk board to put out front? I think we have one in the grounds crew’s shed. Ethan never wanted to mess with it.”
“I’d love one. Danki, Jesse.”
“Gern gschehne.”
For a moment they didn’t speak. She heard the birds chirping as they hopped from tree to tree and, somewhere close, a calf calling out.
Then, slowly, they began talking about Ethan, the theories everyone had, and the recent spate of vandalism. They didn’t come up with any new ideas, but for Hannah it was a relief to share her thoughts with someone—someone who worked at the Village and understood all that was happening. They had left the trail and started across the far side of the parking area when Hannah noticed Henry Yoder waving at them. Henry arrived even earlier than she did. He was in his parking attendant hut, but hanging out the window to try to catch their attention.
“Better see what he needs,” Jesse said.
“I’ll go with you.”
“What’s up, Henry?” Jesse leaned on the window of Henry’s hut.
Hannah tried not to compare the two guys. She’d seen Henry at church and the Sunday evening singings plenty of times, but he was a good five years younger than her. Next to Henry, Jesse looked like a grown man. How silly. He was a grown man, but somehow she hadn’t realized it until that moment.
“I just heard from one of the overnight grounds crew. There’s a problem at Katie’s Mercantile.”
“What kind of problem?” Jesse asked.
“Is Katie okay?” Hannah propped her bike against the shed.
“Ya, she’s not hurt. Just needed an emergency cleanup. Maybe it’s nothing. The grounds guy was passing through like you all, but he was on his way home. He didn’t seem happy about having to go back in, and he told her he’d have to re–clock in first. I didn’t hear much of her side, but I heard enough to know that she sounded kind of upset.”
“Cleanup?” Hannah poked her head in through the shed’s window to get a look at the clock on the wall. “At seven twenty in the morning?”
“Odd. I know. I guess when she arrived at the shop she found quite a mess.”
Hannah clutched Jesse’s arm. When he raised his eyes she knew that he was worried about the same thing she was.
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