“There was something else he wanted to tell me. Something he was pretty naerfich about. But his sister walked into the barn, and he had to hang up before he could say more.”
“No hint at all?”
“He managed four words—Amish man and South Bend. I had no idea what he was talking about.”
Adalyn clicked her pen twice. “So what happened the morning you arrived in town?”
“I’d caught a ride, hitchhiked. I don’t know the name of the driver. It was an old Ford truck—black color. The guy let me off outside of town, and I walked the rest of the way. I was supposed to meet Owen on the trail that morning, which is why I turned down Nathan’s offer of a ride. Talking to him slowed me down a few minutes too. By the time I reached the spot on the trail where we were supposed to meet, the area was swarming with police. I melted into the crowd that was growing, then I hiked back to town and called my editor. After that I walked on to my parents’.”
Adalyn sat back and studied him. Finally she picked up the copied pages of the notebook. “And these are your notes for your assignment?”
“Ya.”
“What is your boss’s name at the paper?”
He told her.
“If you’ve written for them before, the police should already have found that.”
“Nein. I wrote under my initials. A. M. Miller—Andrew Mark.”
Jesse had a question.
“Is that who you met with the night you snuck out? Was it your editor?”
“Yes. He told me to keep a low profile. He said we could get the story and the killer. He said if I knew anything about Owen’s death I would need to tell the police, but I didn’t. I still don’t.”
“And the men you were talking to at the viewing?”
“They were some of the elders from our community. Apparently they thought I knew something about what had happened, which I didn’t. I suppose they were trying to take care of things without involving the police more than they already were. They thought since Owen and I returned to Middlebury within a few months of each other, there was a connection.”
“All right.” Adalyn stood and stuffed her pad back into the leather bag. “This doesn’t clear you, but it puts you a long way toward reasonable doubt. Maybe the judge will grant bail, and we’ll go from there.”
They were all standing, and Adalyn had knocked on the door to attract the attention of the officer when Jesse thought of the one question Andrew hadn’t answered.
“Why was Roland Shaw’s name in your notes?”
Andrew smiled, the old, confident, young-boy smile. “My editor had a tip that he was here, looking into survivalist groups and trying to find reasons to break them up if possible. He gave me specific instructions to stay clear of him, and up until Owen was murdered, I did that pretty well.”
Jesse had never believed his brother was capable of killing someone, but as they walked out of the interview room, he realized that a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. It was one thing to believe in someone because he was kin, to trust him on faith. It was another thing entirely to be given a glimpse into his secret life. Although he was stunned by all Andrew had revealed, he was also hopeful the information Adalyn had written down would be enough to grant Andrew’s freedom.
Which still left the question, if Andrew didn’t kill Owen, then who did?
Forty-Seven
Amber had planned to go straight to the police department. She wanted to report the threatening call from the previous evening in person, not via telephone. And though Tate had offered to do it for her, she was the one who had answered the phone call, the one who had heard the creep’s voice. She should be the one to report it.
As she finished up her notes on the plumbing mishap, she stopped and stared out her office window. How had they managed to get involved in another murder? Marriage to Tate was supposed to mark the beginning of a new phase in her life. This all felt achingly familiar. Once again, she, Tate, and possibly even Hannah were in danger.
And what of Mary? Where was the young woman?
Worry constricted her heart, and her mood grew as dark as the clouds on the horizon outside. She steeled herself against the knock at her door, prepared to plaster on the expected smile. Then Pam’s friendly face appeared from around the door, and her guard dropped.
“Honey, you look like you lost your new puppy.”
“I don’t have a new puppy.”
“You still look like you lost one.” Pam sat down in a chair across from Amber’s desk. Her usually bright and cheerful expression had vanished, and in its place was a look of real concern. “Was the plumbing problem that bad?”
“No. That’s all resolved.” Amber pressed the fingers of her right hand over her lips, suddenly fighting tears, suddenly afraid she would unload all her problems on this woman she’d known only a few months.
“Go on. It’s plain you want to talk about it.”
Amber shook her head.
“My grammy always said that two can carry a burden more easily than one. I don’t have to report for work for another forty-five minutes, and my boss isn’t that much of a stickler for precise hours anyway.”
“You’re probably wishing you’d never come to work here. I’m beginning to think we’re the most dangerous employer in Indiana.”
Pam handed her the tissue box as the tears began to fall. “That bad?”
Amber told her about the arrows shot at her and Tate and the phone call the night before.
“There’s more than what you’re telling me. You don’t spook easily, even when facing threats. What else?”
They talked about Mary and Hannah and how Amber felt responsible for the employees under her care, especially the Amish employees.
“That’s sweet and all, but the Amish are not children, Amber. I know we tend to think of them as innocent and vulnerable as newborn kittens. Truth is, they’re more like a longhorn my daddy used to keep. Thing was as gentle as a lamb, but he didn’t need us to protect him. In that case his horns could do the job, giant things that stretched more than six feet.” Pam held out her arms, indicating the span of the horns. “Sharp too.”
“The Amish don’t have horns. That’s the problem. They’re so defenseless.”
“Honey, they have their faith. There’s no stronger defense than that.”
Amber wanted to argue, but Pam’s words rang true in her heart. Pam reached forward and grabbed hold of both of Amber’s hands. “What we need to do is pray.”
And they did, right in the middle of Amber’s office, before she left for the police station, and as the rain began to patter against the window. Amber had expected Pam to be from a charismatic background, but that stereotype fell away as Pam’s soft words fell over her, soothing her soul, petitioning their Father on her behalf.
When they were done, Elizabeth peeked into the room.
“Did I hear a prayer circle going on in here?”
Pam and Amber smiled at each other.
“Well, next time invite me to join. For now, I’m here to tell you that Tate called, asking if you were back from the police station.”
“Oops.”
“When I told him you hadn’t left yet, he offered to come over and escort you.”
“Not necessary.” Amber stood and picked up her purse, tablet, and keys.
“I told him that too. Still, I’m thinking it might be better if you’re gone next time he calls. That man worries about you, and I’d say that’s a good thing.”
Twenty minutes later Amber stood in Gordon’s office. She’d told him about the phone call, which elicited a sigh and words of reprimand for not calling him immediately, and now she was studying his whiteboard. “I’ve seen these on television—crime shows, that sort of thing. I didn’t know you actually use them.”
“We do when we need to. Since the judge released our only suspect—”
“Andrew’s free?”
“He left the building ten minutes ago. Jesse picked him up. That lawyer
of his, Adalyn Landt, had her stuff in order. The judge suggested he keep us informed as to his whereabouts, or better yet remain in the area in case we have further questions, but he’s no longer a suspect.”
“Oh, thank the Lord.”
“Yes, but now it looks like we need to begin again. Since I have no clue how to restart my investigation, feel free to take a look. Figure it out and I’ll start calling you Miss Marple.”
She turned to face him. “Did you actually believe Andrew killed Owen? Did you believe he could commit murder?”
Gordon shrugged. “It would surprise you what people are capable of doing.”
She turned back to the board.
In the center was the Pumpkinvine Trail. Lines stretched out in every direction, and written on the lines were the details of the case—dozens, some of which seemed awfully minor to Amber. In capital letters were the major events such as Andrew’s appearance in town, Mary’s disappearance, and the arrows fired at her and Tate. The board was accurate geographically, and each event was numbered and labeled with time, date, and persons involved.
She was surprised to see a line stretching off to the west in the direction of South Bend. She traced the line with her finger.
“Why South Bend?”
“Andrew and Owen spent some time there.”
“I saw something in Andrew’s notebook about South Bend.”
Gordon leaned back in his chair, causing it to squeak. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you know about the notebook.”
“You can thank me later. I told Hannah and Jesse to bring it to you.”
Gordon’s reply was a grunt.
“You have another person’s name here, or initials.”
“Roland Shaw’s contribution. He had a list with the names of members of the ISG who reside in northern Indiana, including South Bend. He’s still running that angle, and it is tangentially related since Andrew was researching the group and Owen was attempting to become a member here. It appears to be another dead end.”
“What does B.E.W. stand for?”
Gordon consulted his notes. She was a little shocked he was humoring her curiosity, but then, as he said, the investigation seemed to have stalled.
“Not sure. He’s listed on his government ID as B. E. Wagler, which is a bit odd. Usually you have full names, but with the Amish you’ll see unusual things like this occasionally. Since they’re often born at home, backtracking their paperwork can be a bit of a challenge.”
Amber had turned and was staring at him, her pulse thundering in her ears. “Did you say Wagler?”
Gordon frowned, instantly understanding her connection.
“Wagler isn’t the most common Amish name, but it’s not unusual either.”
“So we have a B. E. Wagler and a Uri Wagler both connected to this case.”
“We don’t know that Uri is connected.”
“But he might be, and this B. E. Wagler might be.”
“No. This guy lives in South Bend, and we have no solid link between him and Andrew. The single connection was that he was a member of the Indiana Survivalist Group at some point.”
“Must be a lot of members. Why did Shaw focus on him?”
“There was a legal complaint filed against him, and that probably attracted Shaw’s attention.”
“Complaint about what?”
“He didn’t pay his last couple of months’ rent, and the owner was going to have to dispose of his things in another week. The dispute was resolved when the man showed up and paid his back rent plus another month in advance. The girl living there delivered the money—cash, actually. The owner didn’t have any phone number to contact the man on the lease.”
“Girl?”
“Woman. He was married.”
“Can’t be our Uri, then.”
“Nope.”
Amber picked up her things to leave, but something was bothering her. Something was wrong here. She felt it as surely as she’d felt comfort and peace from Pam’s prayers in her office.
“Did you ever go and see our Uri?”
“I tried. He wasn’t home, and his wife, Olivia, said she didn’t know when he’d be back. Apparently he travels most of the week. I have it on my calendar to check again tomorrow.”
Amber sat back down and clutched her purse in front of her. “Do you have a picture of B. E. Wagler?”
“Government IDs don’t include photos for the Amish.”
Amber sighed. It had seemed worth a try.
Gordon was typing on his keyboard as he talked. “Fortunately, this guy may be considering leaving the Amish. Two months ago he applied for an Indiana driver’s license, and we do have access to that database.” He keyed more words into his computer and then turned the screen to face her.
She found herself staring at a photo of Uri Wagler.
Forty-Eight
Two weeks passed before Amber fully recovered from that meeting with Gordon. Seeing Uri’s photo there, realizing he was living a double life and that he was probably the one who had killed Owen in broad daylight, caused her world to tilt and totter.
How could such violence exist in the world?
What could they do to protect themselves against it?
Two weeks and she found her equilibrium, both spiritually and emotionally. She still had the occasional nightmare where Uri Wagler abducted Mary Weaver and dragged her off to some bunker, but those terrible dreams were lessening in length and intensity. She’d met with her pastor, who had given her a list of verses to focus on—verses that proclaimed God’s sovereignty, his love, and his care for his children.
Tate stepped out onto the front porch. “Ready?”
Amber nodded hard enough to cause her ponytail to flop about. In truth, the thought of walking the Pumpkinvine Trail continued to make her somewhat nervous, but she knew there was nothing to fear.
“Do not fear, for I am with you.” She’d read those words earlier that morning.
“I’ve been looking forward to spending time with you all day.” She studied her husband and marveled that she could love him so much though they’d been married less than six months. Already he felt like her other half. When she was with him, the world was balanced, peaceful, and right.
“You could have helped me in the fields instead of giving those donkeys all your attention.”
Amber had spent the morning cleaning out the donkey stalls and brushing Trixie and Velvet. She’d also checked and cleaned their hooves. Caring for the donkeys was a special kind of therapy for her.
She accepted the bottle of water Tate handed her and knelt to retie her tennis shoes. No use in risking a trip or fall. The last thing she needed was an injury. They didn’t jog the trail, but they were fast walkers. The exercise never failed to lift her spirits.
“Gordon called this morning.” She fought to keep her voice neutral.
“Did he want to chat or was this official business?”
“Business, I suppose. He was updating me that there are no updates.” She stood and smiled up at her husband.
Tate pulled her to him, kissed her forehead, and then snagged her hand. They made their way down the porch steps. Amber turned and spotted Leo sitting on the porch rail and blinking at her in the late-afternoon sun. Suddenly she could see the way he looked before, during the other investigation, when he’d saved her life. Who knew? Perhaps God had provided Leo to take care of her then, as he now provided Tate.
The thought was comforting. She let go of Tate’s hand, walked over to Leo, and scratched behind his yellow ears, causing his purr to rumble like a small engine. “We’ll be back in a flash, kit.”
Then she joined Tate.
Saturdays off were still a new thing for her. Before she married, she was in the habit of working Saturday mornings, but she was learning more and more that time was precious, as was family. Moments spent together were never wasted. If it meant all her paperwork wasn’t filed, she could live with that.
“Gordon say anything else?”
“Forensics confirmed Uri Wagler and Ben Wagler are the same person—at least there was a lot of Uri’s DNA at Ben’s place in South Bend. There’s a warrant out for his arrest—”
“For the murder of Owen.”
“Yes. Other members from the survivalist group—”
“Individuals prepared for disaster,” Tate corrected her.
“Yeah, but it’s easier to say survivalists, though I realize folks around here don’t appreciate that term. What made you think of it?”
“There was a feature in the paper on the local group and how they’re helping folks in the Midwest who have lost everything in the recent wildfires. The group here donated an entire semitrailer full of food and supplies.”
“Huh. Gordon said quite a few of the families came forward and spoke with him. They didn’t know anything specific, but they could confirm Uri was a part of their group, and he was at the meeting the night Owen attended. He was also there the night Pam and I attended. He pointed us out to a couple of other Amish men and told them we were there to snoop.”
“Why was Gordon telling you all this?”
Amber shrugged. “I suppose he knows I’m spooked, or rather, I was spooked. Plus, our friendship seems to have solidified since I married you.”
“Wouldn’t hurt Gordon Avery to find a woman and settle down.”
A picture of Pam Coleman popped into Amber’s mind, but she didn’t mention the possibility. She was out of the meddling business, if she’d ever been in it. “As soon as members of the group heard Uri was wanted in a murder investigation and that he had fled the area, they asked how they could help.”
“Not exactly the antigovernment folks they’ve been portrayed as.”
“Nope. Nice people, from what Gordon says. Shaw came in for the interviews and was completely disappointed by the entire lot of them. He claims they’re not real survivalists and his work here is done.”
“Well now, I suppose we could say some good has come out of the situation, then.”
Murder Tightly Knit Page 28
