Who the Bishop Knows

by Vannetta Chapman

  Henry reached for Emma’s hand as they walked toward his buggy.

  “Long day,” she said.

  “Indeed.”

  “It’s possible I hadn’t realized exactly how difficult your life could be. As a bishop, I mean.”

  “It’s a privilege to serve.”

  “I know you feel that way.”

  “I do.”

  “But watching you… well, it seems that ministering to such a large group of people must be a full-time job.”

  Henry squeezed her hand. “I’ll admit it will be easier with you by my side.”

  “Do you think… I’m right for it? That I’m a right fit to be a bishop’s wife?”

  Henry stopped in his tracks.

  “Why would you wonder such a thing?”

  “I laughed at the goats’ escape when I should have jumped in to stop them.”

  “No one could have stopped them, Emma. They saw their chance at freedom and took it.”

  “I wasn’t quick enough to admonish the boys.”

  “They’re only children, and what happened was an accident.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Are you really worried about being my wife—Henry Lapp’s wife? Or is it the idea of being a bishop’s wife that makes you anxious?”

  Emma shrugged. A dozen answers went through her mind—she wasn’t humble enough, wasn’t Plain enough, indulged selfish thoughts, had been known to have a quick temper when provoked… She could go on for some time listing how she fell short of the ideal Amish woman, but she shared none of that with Henry. Instead, she gave what was probably the most accurate answer. “I guess I’m tired.”

  “There are still times when I wonder if I’m right for the job,” Henry admitted.

  “Even after so many years?”

  “Even so.”

  Henry’s words soothed her heart. Somehow he always knew what to say, what she needed to hear. That was as much a gift as his ability to draw. Emma was thinking along those lines when they finally reached the area where Henry had parked his buggy. They glanced back one last time at Ruth’s pens of animals, and then proceeded to walk toward the buggy.

  Henry must have seen it the same time she did, because when she glanced at him, he was staring, his mouth agape. They both stood there, stopped dead in their tracks.

  Twenty-Three

  Henry blinked, sure he must be imagining the words chalked on the door of his buggy.

  But when Emma pulled in a sharp breath, he knew it was real.

  “You were buggy number one,” Emma said.

  “Ya. Always at the funerals.”

  On the side of each buggy was chalked a number, providing a sort of order as they made their way to the cemetery.

  Henry’s had been buggy number one.

  Ruth’s had been the second.

  If there had been other family, they would have followed immediately after Ruth. This helped the people parking buggies to keep things in a logical order, and it also helped families to find their own buggy. Because all the buggies looked alike, the only real way to tell the difference was to peek inside—look for a sweater or toy or bonnet left on a seat. The numbers made telling the difference much easier.

  Now they both stared at the words that had been chalked on Henry’s buggy.

  Stay Out of It

  “Sounds like a warning,” Emma said.

  “But from who?”

  “From the person who shot Jeremiah, that’s who. Who else?”

  “Which would mean he was here today.”

  Emma stomped closer to the driver’s door and raised the hem of her apron as if to wipe the words away, but Henry stayed her with his hand.

  “Leave it.”

  “But—”

  “We should show Grayson.”

  So instead of going home, they drove to the police station.

  Grayson came outside with them and took pictures with his cell phone as well as with a camera.

  “Will it help you to find whoever killed him?” Henry asked.

  “Can’t say.”

  “But now you know he was at the funeral.”

  “Maybe, but I stopped by myself, and there had to be more than two hundred people there—Amish and not.”

  “Ya, the entire community turned out.”

  “It could have been someone who wasn’t at the funeral.”

  “I’m not following,” Henry said.

  “Could have been someone who snuck in while you were otherwise occupied. Waited until the buggies were parked, sneaked in, left his message, and disappeared before anyone was the wiser.”

  “Wait,” Henry said. They were missing something. Something about what Grayson said wasn’t quite right. He snapped his fingers. “It couldn’t have been during the service or before it—”

  “Because you would have noticed,” Emma said.

  “Ya. Fairly hard to miss.” The letters were written to cover the door from top to bottom. There was no way he would have walked up to his buggy, climbed into it, and not noticed.

  “So it happened at Mrs. Schwartz’s house after you returned from the cemetery.” Grayson clasped the camera behind his back and frowned at the buggy. “I don’t like it. Don’t like that whoever it was had the boldness, the audacity to go to her place at a time like that.”

  “Best time, though. No one would have noticed. Lots of people coming and going.”

  “Or it could have been a prank.” Emma shrugged when both Grayson and Henry turned to stare at her. “Teenagers are unpredictable at best. Maybe someone just wanted to feel closer to the danger.”

  “Sounds more wishful than logical,” Henry said.

  “I suppose. I’m ready for this to be over, for all of it to be over.”

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Fisher. We’ll catch this person, and this time there’s no need for you and Henry to be involved.”

  “Good,” Emma said. Then she pressed her lips together as if she’d been too honest and was embarrassed by that.

  But Grayson laughed. “Law enforcement isn’t for everyone.”

  “Especially not the Amish,” Henry said.

  “Especially not Amish women. I’ve taken up crocheting again, remember?”

  “And you have a wedding to plan for.” Henry smiled at her, grateful she was with him, that she would be with him for the foreseeable future.

  “I’m not certain this will help us to catch the perpetrator.” Grayson waved at the message on the buggy. “But it will be useful once we have him in custody. We can get a handwriting sample and match it. Convictions are built on—”

  “Solid evidence,” they all three said together. Henry and Emma had heard it from him before.

  Henry took a handkerchief from his pocket and looked to Grayson for permission. The police chief nodded once, and Henry wiped the words off the door of the buggy.

  “Oh. I almost forgot.” Emma pulled a small notebook from her purse. “Jeremiah’s mother asked me to give this to you. I didn’t look in it, but I did touch it.”

  Grayson took it from her but didn’t open it. “What is it?”

  “A notebook—Jeremiah’s notebook. I’m sorry we both touched it.”

  “She found this in his things?”

  “Ya.”

  “All right. Thank you for turning it over to me. I’ll have someone study it tonight.”

  “Do you think Jeremiah knew his killer?”

  Grayson rubbed at his right eyebrow. “I don’t think this was random if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Please let us know if there’s anything else we can do.” Henry shook hands with the man, and then they turned to go.

  They were on the way to Emma’s house when Emma brought up Jeremiah’s father.

  “I saw you speaking with him. You looked… perturbed.”

  “Where were you?”

  “By the picnic tables.”

  “And you could see my expression?”

  “Nein. It wasn’t so much that.” Emma glanced at h
im, smiled, and then turned her attention out the window. “I suppose I know you that well, is all. The way you stand more stiffly if you’re upset about something.”

  “Stand stiffly?”

  “And run the thumb of your right hand under your suspenders.”

  “I do that?”

  “Only when you’re perturbed.”

  Henry was silent a moment, but then he smiled and said, “I suppose it’s a good thing you know me so well.”

  “Ya?”

  “Ya. You’ll know when I’m upset about the laundry or cooking.”

  “Oh, is that so?”

  Henry’s laughter rang out, easing the tension in his shoulders for the first time that day. “It’s a joke, Emma.”

  “I should hope so.”

  “You’re going to be my spouse, my helpmate. Not my maid.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  But she was smiling as she uttered those words, and Henry understood that he didn’t have to explain himself to her.

  They drove the next mile in silence, with the only sounds the clip-clop of Oreo’s hooves against the pavement and the occasional cry of a bird.

  “On a totally different subject, did you know Lloyd Yutzy is staying with Chester and Mary?” Emma asked.

  “Can’t say I did.”

  “Nancy and Franey are a bit… concerned.”

  “Because?”

  “They’re afraid Lloyd is taking advantage of their hospitality.”

  “In what way?”

  “They weren’t very specific on the matter, didn’t want to gossip, but they were worried.”

  “I’ll stop by and see them tomorrow.”

  The work of a bishop never ended. The thought reminded him of housework, which reminded him of his previous conversation with Emma. He found himself grinning in spite of the fact that it had been a long day with somber overtones.

  “There is one thing I want to talk to you about.” He held Oreo’s reins loosely in his hands. The horse didn’t need much direction.

  “And that is?”

  “Perhaps I should start to draw.”

  “Draw?”

  “Jeremiah’s murder.”

  “But you didn’t see anything, and we’re… we’re not getting involved.”

  “I didn’t see anything, at least nothing that seems important. Certainly I didn’t see him get killed, but perhaps someone in the crowd was pushing out after he was shot, or someone beforehand. Perhaps there’s something in here”—he tapped the side of his head—“that will help Sheriff Grayson catch the person responsible for Jeremiah’s murder.”

  Twenty-Four

  Transcript of interview between Monte Vista Sheriff Roy Grayson and Justin Lane, regarding the July 27 homicide of Jeremiah Schwartz. Audiotapes and a transcript of the interview are included in the permanent case file.

  Sheriff Roy Grayson #3604

  INTERVIEW WITH Justin Lane

  Case #4751.06

  8:15 a.m., Wednesday, August 1

  Sheriff Grayson (SG): Could you state your name for the recording?

  Justin Lane (JL): Justin Tanner Lane.

  SG: Justin, I asked you to come back into the station this morning because—

  JL: Seems like harassment to me.

  SG: Because I have a few more questions about your relationship with Jeremiah Schwartz.

  JL: I already told you. We didn’t have a relationship.

  SG: I also want to remind you that you’re not under arrest at this time. You’re free to leave or contact a lawyer at any point in this interview.

  JL: Consider me reminded.

  SG: You were seen arguing with Jeremiah before the start of Friday night’s rodeo.

  JL: We didn’t argue. I might have raised my voice…

  SG: What was it about?

  JL: You have to understand… Jeremiah had a way of getting under your skin. He was so smug, so sure of himself.

  SG: And so you argued, but what specifically was it about?

  JL: (inaudible)

  SG: Did Jeremiah owe you money?

  JL: No. I wouldn’t have loaned him money if I had it, which I didn’t.

  SG: Any idea who he might have borrowed money from? Anyone on the circuit–

  JL: (laughter) You don’t get it. People who ride the rodeo don’t have money. That’s what we’re hoping to win, but even when we do (sound of snapping fingers), it’s gone, just like that.

  SG: So what was the argument about?

  JL: This place is a real dump, you know. Looks worse the second time around.

  SG: We’re not too worried about interior design. My job is to catch those who break the law.

  JL: So why are you wasting time with me?

  SG: Tell me about your argument with Jeremiah.

  JL: He was leading Piper on. I just thought it was wrong.

  SG: So you did know the other girl he was dating. You were defending Piper?

  JL: I guess.

  SG: Were you jealous because he was dating her?

  JL: No. See, that’s why I didn’t bring this up the first time we were in here. I knew you’d jump to the wrong conclusion.

  SG: Explain it to me, then, so I can arrive at the correct conclusion.

  JL: Jeremiah had no intentions of sending Piper a plane ticket. It was all fine and good when she was being considered for the show, but once she got the phone call telling her she’d been cut, you could tell he couldn’t wait to put this town and her and probably that Amish chick behind him.

  SG: You also failed to mention you were being considered for Boots, Buckles, and Broncos.

  JL: (inaudible)

  SG: Were you disappointed when you received the call informing you that you hadn’t made the cut?

  JL: No. I wasn’t disappointed.

  SG: Seems like you would be. A golden opportunity like that, the chance for fame and fortune slipping through your fingers. Seems you would be disappointed, maybe even angry.

  JL: Yeah, but it’s not about that.

  SG: What’s not about what?

  JL: Bulldogging. It’s not about looking pretty on a television screen. It’s about two things and two things alone.

  SG: And those are?

  JL: The riding and winning. It’s about the bulls and the mud and the blood and getting back up even when every bone in your body aches.

  SG: So you weren’t disappointed.

  JL: No.

  SG: And you weren’t jealous.

  JL: No.

  SG: And… just to be clear… Jeremiah did not owe you money.

  JL: No!

  SG: Justin, while you are not under oath and cannot be charged with perjury at this time, you can be charged with making false statements and obstruction of justice.

  JL: Which is why I’m not lying.

  SG: (inaudible) This is a copy of a notebook found in Jeremiah’s possessions. Take the pages and scan through them. While you’re doing that, let me point out a few things for you. As you can see, there are lists of initials next to dollar amounts. Now, this looks like a bookie’s notebook to me. We have initials and amounts of original bets, odds, and payouts. Your initials appear quite often on these pages.

  JL: You can’t prove that’s me.

  SG: Gaming operations must be licensed and are regulated in this state, and any wins must be reported to the IRS.

  JL: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

  SG: Was Jeremiah Schwartz taking bets on rodeo events?

  JL: I don’t know.

  SG: Did he owe someone money, or did someone owe him?

  JL: I don’t know.

  SG: Who all was involved?

  JL: I don’t know, and if I did I wouldn’t tell you. I’m not a snitch.

  SG: Are you a killer? Are you, Justin? Did you kill Jeremiah Schwartz with a long rifle on the evening of July 27?

  JL: I’d like to stop the interview now.

  SG: Do you know who killed Jeremiah?

  JL: (inaudible)

>   SG: Answer the question, Justin. Verbally, for the recorder.

  JL: You said I’m here voluntarily.

  SG: You are.

  JL: Well, now I’m leaving, and you can’t stop me.

  SG: That’s true.

  JL: You’re just harassing me, and I don’t have to answer your questions.

  SG: Are you sure that’s the way you want to play this, Justin? Because next time I bring you in here, it won’t be voluntary.

  JL: Yeah, well, next time you bring me in here I won’t come alone. I’ll have a lawyer.

  Twenty-Five

  Naomi was walking along the side of the road on her way to work and collecting wildflowers. She could have borrowed her aenti’s horse and buggy, but the widows liked fresh flowers on the table, and she didn’t mind the walk. Plus, they gave her an extra hour’s pay for doing it. Walking in the bright sunshine felt good. It helped to settle her nervous stomach, which had plagued her since Jeremiah’s death.

  The Sangre de Cristo Mountains rose in the distance to the east. If she stopped and squinted, she thought she could make out the sand dunes. To the west, the San Juan Mountains dominated the skyline. They were taller, nearly 14,000 feet according to the website she looked at on Jeremiah’s phone.

  The thought reminded her of his death, and she felt her emotions plummet again. Jeremiah had been a good friend. He took her places, and she’d liked talking to him even when she didn’t understand his moods.

  She was thinking of that, and had stopped to snip a clump of small yellow flowers with the tiny scissors she kept in her pocket, when a buggy pulled up and stopped beside her. She was surprised to see Lloyd Yutzy driving it. She didn’t know Lloyd well, though she’d talked to him a few times when she was staying with relatives in Goshen. She loved her aenti and onkel, but Goshen had made her nervous—all the tourists and photographers and crowds everywhere, which was why she’d moved on to stay with her Aenti Abigail. She sometimes thought about returning home to her parents in Missouri. She missed them, but she liked life in the valley. It was quiet and peaceful. She might enjoy looking up Englisch things on a cell phone, but she preferred living where life was Plain and simple.