BOOKS BY VANNETTA CHAPMAN
THE AMISH BISHOP MYSTERIES
What the Bishop Saw
When the Bishop Needs an Alibi
Who the Bishop Knows
PLAIN AND SIMPLE MIRACLES
Brian’s Choice
(ebook-only novella prequel)
Anna’s Healing
Joshua’s Mission
Sarah’s Orphans
THE PEBBLE CREEK AMISH SERIES
A Promise for Miriam
A Home for Lydia
A Wedding for Julia
“Home to Pebble Creek”
(free short story e-romance)
“Christmas at Pebble Creek”
(free short story e-romance)
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Cover by Bryce Williamson
Cover Image © Elysiumm, jlophoto / iStock
Published in association with the literary agency of The Steve Laube Agency, LLC, 24 W. Camelback Rd. A-635, Phoenix, Arizona 85013.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
WHO THE BISHOP KNOWS
Copyright © 2018 by Vannetta Chapman
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97408
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
ISBN 978-0-7369-6651-1 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-7369-6652-8 (eBook)
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Chapman, Vannetta, author.
Title: Who the bishop knows / Vannetta Chapman.
Description: Eugene, Oregon: Harvest House Publishers, 2018. | Series: The Amish bishop mysteries; 3
Identifiers: LCCN 2017036958 (print) | LCCN 2017040453 (ebook) | ISBN 9780736966528 (ebook) | ISBN 9780736966511 (softcover)
Subjects: LCSH: Amish--Fiction. | Clergy--Fiction. | Murder--Investigation--Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Christian / Suspense. | FICTION / Christian / Romance. | GSAFD: Christian fiction. | Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3603.H3744 (ebook) | LCC PS3603.H3744 W495 2018 (print) | DDC 813/.6--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017036958
All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s and publisher’s rights is strictly prohibited.
DEDICATION
For the fine folks of the Texas Hill Country
CONTENTS
Books by Vannetta Chapman
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Epilogue
Discussion Questions
Glossary
Recipes
Light-as-Air Biscuits
Buttermilk Whole Wheat Quick Bread
Honey Whole Wheat Bread
Molasses Nut Cookies
Cinnamon Fans
Potato and Vegetable Scones
Company Chicken Casserole
Amish Snickerdoodles
Double Good Blueberry Pie
Author’s Note
About the Author
Somewhere in the Embers Lies the Truth
A Terrible Secret Hides in the Bulrushes
Ready to Discover More?
About the Publisher
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book is dedicated to the residents of the Texas Hill Country—where two lanes are still plenty, and it’s commonplace to find yourself driving behind a cattle or horse or sheep trailer. Ten years ago my husband and I left the big-city lights of Dallas and moved to small-town Texas. We found the people friendly and the sunsets long. We rediscovered games of 42, the thrill of nature, and the fun of high school sports. In other words, we rediscovered our roots. Thank you for that.
I’d also like to once again thank the Harvest House staff, who have been a dream to work with through the last 12 books. My agent, Steve Laube, is a continual source of wisdom and humor, plus he answers emails promptly. My pre-readers, Kristy Kreymer and Janet Murphy, are incredibly talented and encouraging. I love you both.
My husband, Bobby, is unbelievably patient with me while I’m “in the cave.” My mom takes care of post office runs and animal care when I’m away. And my son reminds me I need to occasionally take an afternoon off and go see a movie. You all help me keep it together, and I love you more than I can say.
Who the Bishop Knows is my twentieth full-length novel and the last in the Amish Bishop Mysteries. I hope you’ve enjoyed this journey into the Colorado Amish. With every book I write about the Amish, I discover new things about their community, their lifestyle, and what we have in common—which is what reading and writing are really about.
And finally, “Always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Ephesians 5:20).
Suffering passes, while love is eternal.
That’s a gift that you have received from God.
Don’t waste it.
LAURA INGALLS WILDER
We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us.
ROMANS 12:6
One
San Luis Valley, Colorado
July 27
Bishop Henry Lapp ordered two hot dogs, two bags of chips, and one large drink. He waited for his purchases somewhat impatiently, having received his change and hoping he wouldn’t miss the last of the local amateur events. Local boys were competing—even Amish boys—and he wanted to be in the stands to cheer them on.
He was thinking of that, of how the Amish and the Englisch so often stood together as one community, when the unmistakable crack of a rifle rang out.
“Rodeo clown?” the woman behind him asked.
“Sounded like the real thing.” This from the teen working the hot dog counter at the Ski Hi Stampede, Colorado’s oldest pro rodeo.
Then the screaming started.
Henry dropped the napkins he was holding, turned toward the stands, and took off at a sprint toward his seat. In the back of his mind, he needed to reach Emma, but that was ridiculous. Who would shoot Emma? Who would shoot anyone at a rodeo?
A river of people poured from the arena stands.
“Someone has a rifle!”
“Get out of my way!”
“Call the cops! Has anyone called the cops?”
Henry pushed against the crowd, dodging to the left and right, fully realizing he was headed the wrong direction but knowing he had no choice. He had the sensation that everything was moving too fast. At the same time he seemed to be stuck in slow motion. He turned the corner into the arena, his heart pounding and sweat trickling down his back. Emma was still in the stands where he’d left her, surrounded by her family, who had huddled up like a high school football team. The bleachers were more than half empty now, though they’d been packed to capacity five minutes before.
Henry rushed up the stands, pausing only long enough to make eye contact with Emma, to assure himself she was uninjured.
Once he reached their row, he turned to stare at the tragedy before them. Around the arena stood cowboys and cowgirls, young and old, Englisch and Amish. Henry allowed his gaze to slide past them, toward the middle of the arena, where a young man lay motionless in the dirt as medical personnel rushed toward him.
“Who is it?” Henry asked, breathless from his dash up the stands.
“Jeremiah Schwartz.” Clyde scowled at the ever-growing crowd gathering in the center of the arena.
Jeremiah had been competing in rodeos since he was a lad of sixteen. Now he was nineteen. Technically, he was visiting from Goshen to help his widowed grandmother with her farm chores for the summer, but everyone knew his passion was steer wrestling. The real reason he came was the chance to compete in the 97th Annual Ski Hi Stampede.
He was Plain, but he hadn’t yet joined the church. It was past time that he made that decision, and Henry had spoken about it on more than one occasion. Jeremiah was enjoying his rumspringa, or at least he had been up until a few minutes ago.
Emma’s family looked on in alarm as the medical personnel attended to the young man.
Stephen and Thomas, Emma’s youngest grandsons, pressed in close to their father. They were only eleven and twelve, and their expressions revealed shock mixed with a little fear.
Rachel grasped Clyde’s hand and reached out to touch Emma. She was a good woman, and Emma had shared on several occasions that she thought of her as both a daughter-in-law and a friend.
Katie Ann stood frozen, eyes wide, both hands clasped over her mouth. At eighteen, she’d already seen too much death.
Silas, the oldest of Emma’s grandchildren, bounded up the steps. “Sheriff Grayson is setting up a perimeter. No one’s to leave the arena.”
“Half of the people have already fled,” Henry pointed out.
“Unless they’re walking home, they won’t get far. Monte Vista PD posted officers at the parking lot gates. No one in and no one out.”
“Even buggies?” Clyde asked.
“Ya. Even buggies.”
Emma made her way around her family, touching each of them as she did, and stopped next to Henry.
“You’re okay?” he asked, though he knew she was. He could see she was, and yet his heart needed to hear her say so.
“Ya. Of course.”
He clasped her hand in his, sending up a silent prayer of gratitude for this woman who had changed his life. She had brought back color and joy and laughter. She’d taught him to embrace his gift.
“Do you think you should go down there?” she asked.
“Not much I can do.”
“Maybe not for Jeremiah, but…”
Henry didn’t want to involve himself in this tragedy. Images of Betsy Troyer, Vernon Frey, and Sophia Brooks darted through his mind. He thought of himself and Emma and Sophia’s sister huddled beneath the sand dunes as a killer stalked them. He didn’t know if this was another murder, but he did know he’d rather not be involved.
“Too many people down there already.” He understood better than most that they were looking at a crime scene that would need to be contained.
“Surely they would let you through.”
“But what good could I do? The professionals are seeing to him.”
“You could pray.”
“Which we can do here.”
But then he saw that Ruth Schwartz had almost made her way to the bottom of the stands, fighting the crowds, her hands in the air and her kapp strings flying behind her.
Henry looked at Ruth, glanced at Emma, and nodded his head. Jeremiah was Ruth’s grandson. She shouldn’t be dealing with this alone.
He picked his way back down the stands, circumvented the folks who were gawking by the railing, and walked up to the police officer who was intent on keeping people off the field.
“No one else is allowed out there. Sorry, Henry.” Ricky Moore was the newest addition to the police force. A personable fellow, he had a sister married to a Mennonite pastor. He’d always been pleasant and agreeable to Henry, but he was trying to handle a crisis—one hand was on the butt of his gun, the other hovered near his radio. His expression, usually smiling, was grim, and his eyes continuously scanned the crowd.
Instead of arguing, Henry waited until Moore glanced his way again, and then he inclined his head toward Ruth Schwartz. The crowd of officers and first responders had parted for her, and she’d collapsed to the ground at Jeremiah’s side. A wail that cut to Henry’s bones pierced the evening.
“Is she one of your congregants?”
“She is.”
Moore didn’t hesitate, and Henry thought that said something about the man. He stepped aside and mumbled, “Try not to trample on any evidence.”
Two
Emma watched Henry as he stood next to the police officer, waiting to be let near Jeremiah’s body.
“I can’t believe this is happening again,” Rachel murmured.
“Who would do such a thing?” Clyde asked, not expecting an answer. But Silas seemed to take the question seriously.
“Jeremiah was running with a rough crowd.”
“English?” Clyde raked his fingers through his beard, tugging the corners of his mouth down and into a frown.
“Ya, rodeo types.”
“Do you know who would want to harm him, Silas?” The question flew from Emma’s mouth before she considered whether she should ask such a thing with others standing so close. The last thing she wanted to do was start rumors while Jeremiah was lying on the ground.
“Nein.” Silas crossed his arms and stared at the growing presence on the field. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to do such a thing, being angry enough to do so. It’s beyond me.�
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“It sounded like a rifle,” Clyde said.
“How would anyone smuggle a rifle into an arena?” A heavy weight had settled on Emma’s chest, along with an ache at the back of her throat. She wanted to sit down and weep. This was supposed to be a family outing, a night Jeremiah had looked forward to for many weeks. She knew that because Ruth had told her so. And now, once again, they were facing a tragedy. “Why would anyone do such a thing?”
“We’ve seen this before. Like with the Monte Vista arsonist.” Katie Ann didn’t look at Emma, but she stepped closer and dropped her voice to a barely discernible whisper. “And Sophia’s murderer.”
“Let’s not assume the worst,” Emma said, but even as she said it she knew the worst had happened. From their vantage point more than halfway up the stands, they could see Jeremiah. He hadn’t moved since falling from the horse, since being shot from the horse. The steer he was supposed to have wrestled had been corralled in a far corner of the arena.
Stephen and Thomas were trying to be stoic, but they looked as if they might burst into tears at any moment.
“Katie Ann, maybe you could take the boys up a few rows and engage them in a game of I Spy.” Katie Ann looked as if she were about to argue, so Emma stepped closer to her and said, “Maybe distract them away from the field.”
“Ya, gut idea. Let’s go to the top, boys. Maybe if we look hard enough we can see Cinnamon from there.” The boys started talking about their buggy horse as they turned away, and Emma mouthed a thank you to Katie Ann.
When they were gone, Clyde motioned them into a tighter circle.
“Did any of you see anything?” he asked.
Rachel, Silas, and Emma all shook their heads.
“I was watching for Henry,” Emma admitted. “He’d gone to get us both a hot dog.”
Rachel hugged her arms around her body as if she were cold. “The boys were pestering me for money. I didn’t realize anything had happened until I heard the screams.”
“I was thinking about tomorrow, what I need to do at the farm.” Clyde ran a hand up and around the back of his neck. “I wasn’t really paying attention at all.”
“Well, I was,” Silas said. “Jeremiah had just come out of the gate. He was gaining on the steer when a shot rang out, and then he flipped backward off the horse. I remember thinking he could be trampled by the steer if it turned back toward him.”
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