“Why are you here?”
Uri probably looked like a typical Amish man to an Englischer. He wore dark-colored pants, suspenders, and a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The hat on his head was straw, to block out the sun. And of course he had the traditional beard. He wasn’t tall, but he was stocky. The expression on his face reminded Hannah of a window with a shade pulled down tightly.
Hannah noticed, in that split second, all that was off about Uri. Things she hadn’t taken the time to see at church meetings. Or maybe she was becoming overly suspicious.
His unfriendly tone.
His nearly angry expression.
The way he clenched his hands into fists at his sides.
“I’m the manager of the Village, and one of my employees is missing. I believe you know her. Mary Weaver? She runs the yarn shop at the Village.”
Uri didn’t offer any opinion about that, and Olivia was busying herself, moving more canned goods to the right, no doubt so she would have room to store all that was on her porch.
Was she worried the next year’s crops wouldn’t be sufficient? Did she fear drought or fire or something else?
Or was she merely preparing against the day when she might be left alone again?
Given the combination of canned goods and hunting items, plainly this room had been planned by both of them. There were also items covered with a tarp—large, bulky things that she couldn’t begin to guess the nature of.
“We thought you or your wife might have seen her.”
“No reason for Mary to come here.”
“Does that mean you haven’t seen her?”
Instead of answering her, Uri turned to leave. On his way outside, he paused to straighten a crossbow hung near the door and then turned back toward them. “My fraa has much work to do today. You should both go.”
He walked out of the barn, which didn’t fool Hannah for a moment. Hannah knew he would wait somewhere nearby and be sure they’d gone. It was plain that they weren’t welcome.
Instead of following him out, Amber turned to Olivia.
“Have you seen her? Has Mary been here?”
“My husband’s right. I’ve no time for visiting, with Mary or anyone else.” She stared at Amber, her lips forming a tight line and her hands frozen on top of the jars in front of her. Finally she added, “You can find your own way back to your car.”
Amber moved toward Hannah then, and Hannah motioned toward the door with her head. She had been ready to leave ten minutes ago.
The first step into the fall afternoon caused her to feel like a bird freed from a cage. Hannah breathed in deeply of the crisp air, finally daring to relax a little. Then Amber grabbed her arm, and she shrieked as if a snake had bitten her.
“Don’t look around. He’s watching us.”
“Uri?”
“Yes. He’s standing in the shadow of the large barn.”
Hannah naturally turned that direction.
“Don’t look!” Amber’s fingers dug into Hannah’s arm as she pulled her toward the little red car. They were in the vehicle and moving down the lane before Hannah dared to look back. The windows were tinted—surely it was safe to do so. She saw him then, standing near the barn in the shadows, assuring himself that they were leaving.
“Explain to me what happened back there.” Amber clutched the wheel as she pulled out onto the county road.
“We went somewhere we weren’t welcome. That’s what happened.”
“I’ve never met Amish folk that unfriendly.”
“But you’ve met Englischers that unfriendly?”
Amber laughed, a nervous, forced sound. “Maybe. I seem to remember some rude folks in the city. Back in the day I was volunteering with a charity group in college. We’d go door-to-door asking for donations. Most people were friendly, even if they didn’t donate, but a few would slam the door in your face.”
“Olivia didn’t slam the door.”
“I think she probably wanted to.”
“Indeed.”
The sound of road noise wasn’t as calming as Hannah’s mare clomping down the road, but it did help to settle her nerves a bit, or maybe it was the distance they were putting between them and the Waglers’ home.
“Okay. From the top of your head, tell me what you noticed that was off back at that house. Sixty seconds. Go.”
“This is not a game, Amber.”
“Fifty seconds.”
“Too many jars of food on the porch, way too many in the barn. The lock on the door was odd. I’ve never seen anyone store rifles and crossbows and arrows with their canned goods, and there was something off about Uri.”
“Uri? Not Olivia?”
“Ya. Olivia was behaving as she always does—rude and indifferent. Notice she didn’t mind us seeing the barn. She didn’t care if we were there or not. We were like a pesky fly to her. But Uri—”
“Thirty extra seconds because you’re making good points. Tell me about Uri Wagler.”
Amber’s enthusiasm was contagious, and it was a relief to be doing something, to be trying to figure out where Mary was, which could lead them to Owen’s killer, which could free Andrew and help Jesse.
“No tan line. He had his shirtsleeves rolled up, which is common, but his arms weren’t tan at all.”
“He might lease his land.”
“Yet every Amish man spends a certain amount of time outdoors. There’s always a tan line on their arms, usually halfway up the lower arm because they roll up their sleeves. Not so with Uri. Also, when he reached to straighten the crossbow, something that didn’t need straightening, I had a good look at his hands. Perfectly clean nails and no calluses.”
“Maybe he’s fastidious about his appearance.”
“Which would be odd for an Amish man.”
“Do you think he knows where Mary is?”
“Nein. But he was surprised that we asked. He flinched slightly.”
Then she told Amber all the details she knew about Uri and Olivia—about the child who had died in infancy, about Uri and Olivia’s estrangement, and about Olivia’s oddities. By the time she was finished, Amber had parked the car in front of Hannah’s home.
“It might be hard for her to be around families.” Something softened Amber’s expression. “Maybe it reminds her of what she can’t have.”
“And then there’s the fact that her husband is away so much. That would cause some people to grow closer to other women, but in her case it appears to have done the reverse. She seems more comfortable when she is by herself.”
“Why is Uri away so much?” Amber angled in the car and studied her in the fading light.
“Something to do with his work. I can’t remember exactly what he does, but he hires a driver every week, and he’s gone for three to four days at a time.”
Amber cocked her head. “I didn’t realize Amish men ever do that—work away from home, I mean.”
“It’s becoming more common as some are employed by factories. I’ve heard that several will rent a home together and live near a factory during the week, then come home on weekends. It’s not a wunderbaar solution, but sometimes it’s the best one available to younger men.” Hannah hesitated before adding, “Jesse’s fortunate that he will have his dat’s land to work. If we . . . well, if we marry, we’ll be able to live there, and his hours working at the Village combined with what he’ll make farming should be enough.”
Hannah wasn’t sure Amber even realized she had just revealed she was thinking about marriage to Jesse.
“But you said Uri is usually gone only a few days a week. What type of job would require that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never asked.”
Amber reached across the car and enfolded her in a hug. “Thank you for going with me. I wouldn’t have wanted to endure that scene alone.”
“You looked ready to run when you said he was watching us.”
“I was ready to run! I could envision him with a bow and arrow pointed at my back.�
�
“I don’t think Uri would do that, Amber. He might be odd, but I don’t see him being violent. It’s not our way.”
“Neither is stockpiling several years’ worth of food, but he’s done that.”
“It is strange. He might know something that he doesn’t want to tell, but information on Owen’s murder? Nein. I don’t see how it’s possible. He barely knew Owen, or Mary for that matter. He had no—”
“Motive? There’s always a motive,” Amber agreed. “Figure out the motive, and we’ll be one step closer to locating the murderer.” Before pulling away, she added, “And, Hannah, I hope you and Jesse do get married. You’re one of the sweetest couples I know, and I think you would be good for one another.”
Before Hannah could respond to that, Amber had put the little car in gear and sped off down the lane.
Forty-Two
Amber found Tate in the west field. He was wearing old jeans, work boots, a T-shirt, and over that a flannel shirt. The day was growing colder as evening approached, but she loved these moments they spent outside together after her workday was finished. Tate was doing maintenance on an interior fence, and he had an audience of two.
“I don’t spend enough time with Trixie and Velvet.”
“I spend too much with them. Those two follow me all over this place, and I don’t doubt for a minute that they are the reason this fence needs fixing.” Tate was wearing work gloves, but that didn’t stop him from shaking a finger at the two donkeys.
Trixie had a white patch between her ears, a place she loved for Amber to scratch.
The second donkey Amber had named Velvet because of his glossy reddish-brown hide.
“They’ve bonded to you,” she explained. “It’s why they follow you around and watch you work. Now you have two friends for life.”
“Do I get a say in this?”
“You did when you bought them.”
“Not my finest decision.”
Amber rubbed Trixie between the ears, on the white patch that in her mind resembled a clover. Trixie could be their lucky donkey. It was possible. Perhaps God had sent them this animal to encourage them. Hadn’t their preacher spoken of Balaam’s donkey last week? Maybe their donkey was special too.
“When you think about it, these two are sort of responsible for our being together.”
“How’s that?” Tate didn’t look up as he spoke. He’d pulled a metal post straight and was tightening the wire attached to it.
“Remember the first night I came over? During the rain and after the . . . the incident on the trail behind your property.”
“Our property now.”
“I would have headed straight home if it hadn’t been for Trixie and Velvet.” She moved to the donkey whose coat had a reddish tint and gave Velvet an affectionate pat. “You’d have never convinced them to follow you into the barn that night.”
“I convince them to do very little.”
“It was probably there that I first started to fall in love with you.”
Now Tate did pause in his work and glance up, a smile sneaking onto his face.
It lasted less than five seconds. The next thing Amber knew, he’d dropped his tools and was shouting, “Get down!”
He threw himself on top of her, and she heard a sound like the wind in the trees at night. It was followed immediately by a plink—something hitting Tate’s ATV.
“Are you all right?”
“I think so.”
He held her face between his hands. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I am, but what—”
Tate frowned over at his all-terrain vehicle. “That’s a new John Deere. Wait until I get my hands on whoever is shooting at us.”
“Shooting?”
Trixie and Velvet were braying at the top of their donkey lungs. Had Tate said someone was shooting at them?
All Amber could hear was “hee-haw, hee-haw” as the donkeys fled to the far side of the pasture, that and the beating of Tate’s heart. His body still covered hers, protected hers.
He raised his head enough to glance around.
“Stay down,” he whispered. “Stay flat.”
His four-wheeler was a few feet to the north of where Amber lay on the ground. It had an area on the back to store his tools, water, and whatever else he might need. Tate crawled to it, reached up, and pulled out his rifle.
“You keep your rifle—”
But he had two fingers on his lips, shushing her.
Still crouching, he kept his body next to the ATV. He raised the rifle, peering through the scope to the north, away from the house and toward his property line.
With a disgusted shake of his head, he stood up.
Holding the rifle in his left hand and pointing the barrel toward the ground, he strode over to her and helped her up.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No, but what happened?”
“I don’t know. I was looking at you, and then I noticed movement, noticed someone to the north. I saw them raise a crossbow.”
“A what?”
“Fortunately, they were too far out for an accurate shot.”
“Did you say crossbow?”
“I want to look around. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” Her heart was still beating faster than a woodpecker determined to attract a mate.
“Help me search the area.”
“What are we looking for?”
“An arrow.”
“What?” Amber felt all the blood drain from her face as the reality of what had happened, of what Tate was suggesting, sank into her addled brain. The world took on a decidedly fuzzy cast as she reached out and placed her hand on Tate’s shoulder to steady herself.
“Hang on there, sweetheart. Are you going to faint on me?”
“No. Why would I do that?” Amber was not the fainting type. At least that was what she wanted to argue as Tate guided her to the ATV. “Is it safe here? Are they still—”
“They’re gone. Whoever it was is a coward. Probably the shot was a warning or they would have come closer and one of us would be dead.”
“Dead?” Amber’s mind still refused to process what had happened. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it, and the sudden humming in her ears was a distraction. She put her head between her knees and took several deep breaths.
“Either that or the man’s an idiot to think he could make a shot from that distance. Wait here.” Tate left her to search the surrounding area.
By the time he returned, her head had cleared. She felt foolish, behaving like a little girl, caving at the first sign of danger. But then she remembered all she’d endured the previous spring, and she decided a little shock was probably normal.
Tate wore a victorious grin. In his right hand he carried his rifle, and in his left he held an arrow. He’d taken off his flannel shirt and wrapped it around the shaft. “Found it!”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Give it to Gordon. He can see if it matches the one that killed Owen. Maybe he can even get a print off it.”
Twenty minutes later Gordon was standing with them in the middle of the field. Cherry had been scouring the area and found an additional arrow to the south of where they stood.
“That must have been the one I heard whir over my head.” Amber had moved past shock and marched straight into angry. “Who does this creep think he is?”
Tate ran his hand over the top of his head. “If he’d wanted us dead, we’d be dead. He could have gotten closer without attracting attention. I was focused on the fence—”
“And I was focused on the donkeys.”
“I still think it was probably a scare tactic.”
“Why? Why would anyone want to scare us?”
“Are you still digging into my homicide?” Gordon frowned at the two arrows Cherry had slipped into large, clear evidence bags.
Amber’s silence gave her away.
“Tell him, honey. It’s best he knows w
hat you’ve found.”
So she told him Mary was missing and about her visit to the Wagler place.
“Why didn’t you call me about Mary?”
“I called the station. They told me a missing person’s report couldn’t be filed so soon and then assured me she probably wasn’t even missing.”
“Who told you that?”
Amber cocked a thumb toward Cherry, who was walking north in search of footprints.
Gordon sighed. “Technically she’s right, but in this instance I would have liked to know that she had left the area. And going to the Waglers’ house was not your responsibility.”
“Mary is my responsibility. She’s my employee, and I’m worried about her.” Amber’s temper nearly peeked through, but she pushed it down. “What about Uri’s place? Doesn’t it sound strange to you? Something is definitely out of whack there.”
“It’s not illegal to be eccentric.”
“I’m telling you, there’s more going on at that farm. He practically threatened us. I could feel his stare searing into my back.”
“I think you have an overactive imagination.”
Amber started to argue, but Tate placed an arm around her waist to dissuade her. “You are imaginative, dear. Remember last week? You were talking to the donkeys and insisted they were talking back.”
“I said they seemed to be talking back.”
“Overactive imagination.” Gordon shook his head as if she were his worst nightmare.
“I didn’t imagine those two arrows!”
Tate stared out over his field and then shrugged as if he were agreeing with her. “In this case, maybe you should check Wagler out.”
“I can’t search his place without a reason, without a warrant. But I can definitely stop by and let him know that he’s on our radar.”
“If he was the person shooting—”
“We don’t know that.” Gordon sighed and cinched up his belt.
“We know it wasn’t Andrew, since you put him in jail.”
“This doesn’t mean Andrew is innocent, Amber. Do you think it makes me happy to place that young man in a cell?” Gordon lowered the volume on the radio on his belt. Someone was reporting a minor accident on Main Street. “It’s possible that the person who did this was working with Andrew. It’s my job to protect these people, all of them. At this point, Andrew might be safer in jail—and no, before you ask, I am not dropping charges. The evidence we have still points to his guilt.”
Murder Tightly Knit Page 25
