by Ashley Emma
“But I wasn’t. The Lord protected me. Everything is all right. I don’t want you to worry.” Now he was the one touching her face, running a thumb along her jawline, then twirling one of the long, white ribbons on her kapp. “Promise me you will pray and cast your cares upon the Lord.”
She only nodded, not sure if she could truly keep that promise. She wasn’t ready to. Not yet.
“Well, are you two love birds going to play Dutch Blitz with us or what? We found the first aid kit,” Seth bellowed from the kitchen, and a few laughs followed his playful words.
“We better go in. Trust the Lord.” Isaac’s tone was gentle as he squeezed her hand reassuringly. She pondered his words.
Could she really trust God with the lives of her aunt, uncle, and cousin when they were the prey of a treacherous killer? Could He help her find and arrest this man, or did she really think she had to do it all on her own?
*
That evening, after a fun afternoon of games with Maria, Seth, Isaac, Aunt Mary, and Uncle Gideon, Olivia dropped off her car at a local diner where the owner said she could leave it for a few weeks, if she paid him something, so she did. She got a taxi back to the Mast house and went upstairs to her room, telling everyone she had sold her car. She finished unpacking the few bags she had brought with her.
The sun had not set yet. She looked out the window at the Sullivans’ house.
There was something written on their basement window. From here, she couldn’t read it, so she dug through her gear bag, pulled out her binoculars, and looked again.
She grabbed onto the windowsill and pressed her binoculars up against the glass, gasping.
Help was written on the window. With what, she couldn’t tell, but one thing was for sure. There was something going on at the Sullivans’ house. And she was going to find out what.
She wanted to run over there right now and kick down the door, but then she’d blow her cover and never find the killer. Or whoever was in that basement. No, she’d have to wait until the middle of the night to go inside quietly and look around without anyone finding out. The Amish here never locked their doors, so getting in wouldn’t be a problem.
She had some time to kill, so she decided to give Branson an update. She walked out into the woods, took her phone out of her leg holster and placed the call.
“Liv, how goes it in Amishville?” he asked.
“It’s interesting.” She crushed some branches with her foot.
“Give me some info.”
“Well, let’s see.” She told him about the car chase, the voice in the woods, and the stairs incident. “I didn’t recognize the voice of the man when he threatened me, but it did sound like he was trying to disguise his voice, so it still could be someone I know.
“Also, I was accepted back into the community by the congregation at the church. No one seems to have heard the gunshot when Bill Sullivan was shot, so I don’t have a witness as far as I know of yet.
“I looked at the site where Isaac Troyer was left after he was knocked unconscious, and it looks as though he was dragged to that spot from the Sullivan house. And, just now, I saw the word ‘help’ written on their basement window. I want to go investigate tonight. The Amish never lock their doors, so I figure I’ll look around when everyone is asleep.
“Also, someone tampered with the stairs while we were in church. Because Samuel was in church with us, he probably couldn’t have done that. Someone else had to have done it, so there could be two perpetrators. But I do think Samuel is up to something. There is definitely something going on at his house.”
Branson said, “Okay. So, no witnesses, and someone might be locked in a basement. Since someone could be in immediate danger, you don’t need a warrant because it is exigent circumstances. But do you think you need backup after all?”
“No. The killer will become suspicious if more people decide to randomly want to join the church because it’s extremely rare. He would probably notice that and figure out that undercover detectives were sent in, then he might lash out. And if you send officers, the community wouldn’t like it. We would get nowhere. Just let me handle this, Captain.”
“Fine, but you better call if something goes down. Anything else I should know?”
“Well, this is kind of personal, but I need some advice. Isaac Troyer just asked me to be his girlfriend. And dating here really means courting, which is dating with the intention of marriage. It’s pretty serious. What should I do—you know—to keep my cover?” She felt guilty for talking to Branson about Isaac. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.
“Date him. I mean, court him. That’s great for your cover. It’ll establish trust within the community.”
That was not the answer she had really wanted to hear.
“In church, someone insinuated I could have killed Bill Sullivan—my mother-in-law and brother-in-law, who both hate me.” She wrinkled her nose at the thought of them. “Even worse, they are telling people I killed my husband so I could be with Isaac Troyer.”
“Not good. We don’t want people suspecting you now that you have coincidentally shown up right after the murder. If you date this guy, he will trust you, so other people he knows will trust you. It’s a good idea. Besides, you are supposed to be watching him because he could be on the killer’s bad side. He might be our only witness, even if he doesn’t remember it. Stay close to him, since he might be in the most danger. He lost his memory, but the killer might not know that, so he might want to scare him, hurt him, maybe even kill him.”
“I won’t let that happen.” If something happened to Isaac she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.
She wanted to groan. She rubbed her temples with her fingers and let out a deep breath. This was getting worse and worse. She was going to have to play Isaac like a pawn.
But then she’d leave, and he could marry Anna and forget about Liv and everyone would live happily ever after.
Maybe in a perfect world.
“Great. Okay. Anything else?” she asked.
“Jeff keeps asking about you.” She could tell by the sound of his voice he was smiling in amusement. “He’s got it bad. He really likes you. Won’t shut up about you.”
“Tell him I’m fine.” She really didn’t want to talk about Jeff.
“Fine. Give me an update soon. And I’ll have him meet up with you to pick up that broken step. You can meet him outside the community somewhere. I’ll have him text you soon to set up a time.”
“I keep my phone on silent so I might not respond right away, but that sounds good.”
Liv hung up and started walking back to the house, crunching twigs and dead leaves under her feet. In a perfect world, when things happened the way they should, she wondered if Isaac would marry Anna and Liv would marry Jeff. It made sense and it was logical.
But would they be happy?
Liv knew deep down that even though Jeff would be a good match for her, she’d never really love him.
*
Liv waited until one in the morning, when everyone in the community would be asleep. She put on a dress just in case she was caught, because she didn’t want to be caught in normal clothes. Then her cover would really be blown.
She made sure her weapon was secure then crept out of the Mast house. She ran across the field to the Sullivans’ house, carrying a small flashlight, shivering a little in the chilly night air. She went to the door that led to the basement, and luckily, it was unlocked.
Liv let herself in silently and tiptoed down the few steps until she reached the basement. Pointing her flashlight in every direction, she searched for whoever wrote help. Or maybe there was a secret door? There was no way she’d ever find it in one night by herself. But she had to try.
“Hello? Anyone in here?” she whispered, but there was no answer.
She searched for almost an hour. She felt along every wall and looked under every box that might be hiding something.
Nothing was here. Whoever had been down here, eit
her they had escaped or Samuel had moved them to another location.
Then she made one wrong move. She turned and her elbow knocked over a metal box that clattered onto the concrete with a loud crash.
She froze, wincing as footsteps thundered upstairs.
“Who is down there?” a man hollered from the second floor.
Samuel!
Before he could make it downstairs, she darted up the basement steps and sprinted across the yard to the Masts’ property, then leaned against the wooden wall of the house. Trying to catch her breath, she heard something. Shattering glass. What was that? It was coming from Isaac’s house. She wanted to pull out her firearm, but she really didn’t want anyone to see it unless it was truly necessary.
She ran down the lane until she reached Isaac’s house.
Someone was smashing Isaac’s buggy, bashing in the sides and shattering the windows with a bat. Olivia sprinted towards the vandal, but he saw her and started running away, dropping the bat in the process.
Was it the same wooden weapon used on Isaac that had knocked him out?
She ran faster and tried to catch up with the vandal, but he slipped away into the night like a phantom, leaving Liv bewildered and out of breath.
Giving up, she stopped and rested her hands on her knees. That guy was incredibly fast. Usually she was able to chase down a perp and pin him to the ground.
She turned back and picked up the bat, using the edge of her skirt as a makeshift glove so she wouldn’t get her own prints on it. Jeff could pick it up as evidence and send it to the lab where they’d see if they could get any prints off of it and examine it to see if it matched the splinters found in Isaac’s head injury.
Isaac rushed out of his house in a frenzy, his hair sticking up. He stared at the buggy and blurted, “What happened? What are you doing here?” No hint of accusation laced his words, only genuine concern.
“I know this looks bad, but I just saw a man bashing in your buggy with this bat. I tried to run after him, but he saw me and dropped this.”
Now she really looked like a suspect.
“It’s okay, Liv. I know. I saw the guy out the window. He vandalized my buggy?”
She breathed a sigh of relief. He believed her. “Yes. I didn’t see his face. Did you?”
“No. It was too dark. Oh well, it doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter?” She tried to hold back the shock in her voice, tried to stop words of argument from spilling from her mouth.
“Yes. I don’t need to know who he was. Vengeance is the Lord’s,” Isaac said calmly, looking up into the starry sky. “Besides, it’s just a buggy. The community will help me. It can be replaced.”
An Amish man having his buggy vandalized was comparable to someone vandalizing her car, but she would be furious while the Amish would hardly react, turning the other cheek. She would want justice, but Isaac was willing to forgive and forget.
She gripped the bat so tight her knuckles turned white. She bit back another argument, knowing she was supposedly Amish now so she had to act like it.
“You’re right. Mind if I keep this?” she asked, shoving all remaining thoughts of disagreement aside.
“Uh…sure, that’s fine. Why?”
“I like baseball,” she lied. Baseball? Seriously? She had never watched a game in her life.
“What were you doing out here, anyway?”
“Just…taking a walk. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Okay. Well, we should get back to bed. Thanks for trying to help, even though you shouldn’t have. It could have been dangerous.” Worry lined his voice.
I can handle it. “Sorry. I wasn’t really thinking. Good night.”
“Good night, Liv.”
She walked back to the Mast house deep in thought. Samuel couldn’t have run all the way to Isaac’s after he heard her in the cellar. She hadn’t seen him behind her, so he hadn’t chased her, and she would have seen him run to Isaac’s house through the open field. She was positive it was his voice she had heard shouting upstairs. Who else could it be? He was the only man who lived there.
If Samuel hadn’t vandalized the buggy and tampered with Uncle Gideon’s staircase, who had?
Chapter Nine
At some point deep into the night, Olivia finally must have fallen asleep after coming back from Isaac’s house, still wearing her dress.
She sat up in bed, listening. Something had woken her up. A gunshot.
Only one thought resounded in her head—Isaac.
Adrenaline pumping, she threw on her boots and shoved her gun into her jacket pocket, rushing out of the house quietly. She ran towards Isaac’s house, flashlight in hand, hair flapping wildly.
Liv stood outside Isaac’s house for a moment and listened. Silence. Then she heard rustling, followed by footsteps toward the door. She reached for her weapon in her pocket.
Isaac stepped outside. “What are you doing now?” he asked groggily.
“Same as you. Did you hear that? Was that a gunshot? I thought maybe you were hurt…”
“Jah, I heard it. But it didn’t happen here. I’m okay.” He smiled at her with appreciation. “Thanks for checking on me, though.”
“Well, what are we standing around here for? Let’s go see what happened.” She cocked her head towards the other houses.
“Okay. Hold on a second.” He put on some shoes and a jacket. “Let’s go.”
*
“Did you come here first?” Isaac asked as they ran toward the other houses, listening for someone crying or calls for help.
“Yeah. I thought maybe the person who injured you might have come back.”
She was always the first on the scene whenever something dangerous happened. Why did she feel as though she had to investigate everything? Even as a child, Liv had always been a risk-taker, from climbing the tallest tree to pranking people. He smiled at the memories of her sneaking a toad into the teacher’s desk, which even some of the boys had been too chicken to do. Or the time she had bet Isaac she could climb a tree higher than him, and she had won.
She had not changed much. It made her even more interesting.
Suddenly a cry pierced the night air. Liv looked up at him with coppery-brown eyes that shone in the moonlight. “Where did that come from?”
“It sounded like the bishop’s house.”
They ran up onto the white porch and knocked on the door. “Mrs. Johnson? It’s Isaac.”
“Isaac? Help!” called a voice between sobs.
They walked in to see the bishop’s wife kneeling beside her husband, who lay on the floor in a circle of blood, a small bullet hole in his forehead.
Isaac’s mind went back to when his grandmother had died several years ago. She, on the other hand, had died of old age peacefully in her sleep while this man had been murdered violently in his own home, with so much life ahead of him that he could have lived. And his poor wife and daughter… Poor little Jill. Now her father was gone, all because of a heartless killer.
It was utterly sickening.
The first time Isaac had seen the effects of death was when little Ava Sullivan, Jake’s younger sister, had drowned when they were all children. Ava’s brothers—Jake, Samuel, and Ian—and Isaac were supposed to be watching her swim in the pond, but the four friends had been so preoccupied with their games…
He would never forget the horrible accident. His gut wrenched at the memory of seeing his three friends weeping after they realized their younger sister had passed away, just like how Mrs. Johnson was sobbing now.
Ever since Ava had died, Jake Sullivan had been different, and his entire family was never the same. Jake’s parents Diana and Bill Sullivan fought often and their marriage had been clearly crumbling, but they stayed together. There was no such thing as Amish divorce.
Jake’s older brother Ian had left the community as soon as he was old enough, probably overcome with grief and guilt, though no one spoke of him again because he was shunned for it. Over the years, J
ake and his other brother Samuel became completely different people as they grew from boys into men—antisocial, unfeeling, and sometimes even callous.
Then Jake married Liv. Had Jake’s heart turned so cold and cruel because of his younger sister’s death and his brother being shunned for leaving? He had lost half his family, and he could see how it had also affected his parents’ marriage. He must have felt an indescribable amount of grief and guilt.
Maybe that was why he had treated Liv the way he had, not that it was an excuse at all.
Death changed everything.
The Lord gives and takes away. Tears stung his eyes at the sight of the dead bishop. His heart went out to Mrs. Johnson and Jill.
“Isaac, are you okay?” Liv said, pulling him from his memories.
“Yes, I’m fine. This is all so terrible. I was just lost in my own thoughts.”
A second murder. When would it end?
At times like this, Isaac knew the Lord had a plan, but it was still so hard.
“What happened, Mrs. Johnson?” Liv asked, looking around. She began walking slowly around the room as if looking for something. “Where is Jill?”
“Mrs. Baker took Jill to her house so she wouldn’t see her father like this.” She gestured toward the body and wiped away a tear. “We were sleeping and there was a knock on the door, so he went to answer it. He said, ‘Who is it?’ and I heard a muffled reply. The hinges creaked—I assume he opened the door—then a moment later I heard the gunshot. I ran out here to find him dead.” A new wave of sobs came, and Mrs. Johnson buried her face into her husband’s cotton night shirt.
“Did you see who shot him?” Liv asked.
“No. He must have run off right away.”
Liv looked out the windows. “So Bishop Johnson knew the person who killed him? Is that why he let him in?”
“He must have. He wouldn’t have opened the door to a stranger in the middle of the night with what happened to Bill Sullivan recently.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Johnson. This is truly a horrific tragedy,” Isaac said, though he knew no words would comfort her.
