Where Shadows Meet by Colleen Coble (12)

The murmur of voices in the other room settled, and Hannah heard the soft clink of spoon against cup. Maybe the bishop would go to the front door and not enter through the kitchen. He didn’t have to know she was here. While she’d always liked the man, she knew he would gently urge her to reconcile with God and come back to her Amish faith.

She saw the wide brim of his hat pass the kitchen window and head to the front door. Her hands shook as she took a sip of her sweet tea. The confrontation would come sooner or later, but she’d put it off as long as possible. She set her tea on the table as Angie came back from listening at the doorway.

“They’re calmer now,” she said. “Some guy showed up.”

“The bishop,” Hannah murmured. Her hands itched to work on her quilt. The activity always soothed her.

“He’s the head of the church?”

“This division, yes. Does my aunt know I’m here?”

Angie shook her head. “Sarah didn’t say a peep about it. I think she’s waiting for a better time to mention it.”

“Did anyone see you?”

“No.”

Angie glanced at the children. “Is the tea good?” They looked up at her with blank faces and went back to sipping their tea.

“They only know German until they go to school,” Hannah said. The cell phone inside Hannah’s purse rang. She grabbed it before it could disturb anyone in the other room. The number flashed across the front, but she didn’t recognize it. “Hello,” she said.

Reece’s gravelly voice sounded in her ear. “Hang on,” he said. “You can hear our little girl’s voice.”

Seconds later, a child’s voice called out, “You can’t catch me!” Hannah’s heart leaped at the childish voice. She gasped and pressed the phone tighter to her ear. The child laughed and chattered to someone, and the voice imprinted itself on her soul. Was this her child? Or a horrible joke?

Reece’s voice came back on the line. “Doesn’t she sound sweet, Hannah? She misses you. I miss you. We can be a real family, hon. It’s all up to you.”

She struggled to speak past the invisible band around her throat. “Leave me alone, Reece. You killed our baby.”

“She’s not dead, Hannah. You just heard her voice. Come home and you’ll see. I’ll give her back to you. We can put the past behind us, start fresh. Your running off nearly killed me. I need you. Your daughter needs you. I even converted to the Amish faith too. We can be everything you always wanted.”

“You’re lying.” She shuddered with the desire to get in the car and drive to where he was. To see if he really had the child. But it wasn’t possible. Her daughter was dead. She still didn’t know who the child was, but she knew Reece. He would never willingly care for a child. “Were you baptized?”

“Not yet, but soon. I’ll send you a picture. I joined a community in Shipshewana.”

“You don’t even know German!”

“It’s all in who you know. Some teenagers were harassing the bishop’s son, and I stopped to help. He’s been tutoring me in German and helping me learn all the rules. This can work, Hannah. I’ll even switch to your old district. Just come home.”

Reece the protector. He was always rushing in to help and then expected eternal gratitude. She hardened her heart to resist the plea in his voice. He had to be lying. He’d sworn he’d never become Amish. “How’d you get this number?” she asked.

“I still have friends,” he said.

And he did. His background in law enforcement was one reason she’d resisted getting a phone for so long. Then when the book hit big, she’d had no choice, but she had an unlisted number. That hadn’t slowed him down long. Saying nothing at all, she quietly closed her cell phone, then pressed the button to shut it off.

Aware that Angie and the children were staring at her, she managed a smile. “Anyone want a cookie?” Her aunt always kept cookies in the jar on top of the refrigerator. She didn’t wait for an answer, since the girls wouldn’t have understood, but reached up and pulled down the jar. The girls each accepted a cookie, and Hannah turned to pour them some milk. Once she set the glasses on the table, she moved to the sink to stare out the window.

Angie’s vanilla scent told her that her friend had moved closer. “Was that Reece?” she asked.

“Yes. He says he has our daughter. That he’s raising her Amish in a district in Shipshewana.”

“But she wasn’t dressed Amish.”

“I know.” Hannah glanced into Angie’s worried face. “He’d taped a little girl laughing and talking. He said it was our daughter. I think he’s toying with me, but I can’t get it out of my head, Angie. What if he’s not lying? What if this little girl really is my baby? Maybe he converted after the picture.” Hannah couldn’t let it go. Everything in her longed to hold that little girl, to smell her hair, to hug her close and kiss that soft, round cheek. Maybe she was losing her mind. Life with Reece might have driven her over the edge.

Angie sighed. “Find her, then. I bet she’s here somewhere. Reece doesn’t have her. He probably saw this girl and realized she looked a lot like you. He’s playing games, trying to get you back. He couldn’t have had her all this time. You said he wanted nothing to do with fatherhood.”

“I know. He told me to come home if I wanted to see her.” Hannah inhaled as a thought struck her. “You don’t think he’s already taken her from her home, do you? What if he kidnapped her? I can’t let her fall into his hands!”

Angie grabbed her forearm. “Think, Hannah. He’s not going to risk jail. He’s just trying to lure you home.”

Hannah’s panic calmed as she recalled that the girl’s voice had mingled with other children’s. “You’re right—I know you’re right.” Shuddering, she leaned against the counter. “I thought this was all behind me.”

“It will be if you let it.”

Hannah glanced at her then. “Could you just walk away, Angie? Look that little girl in the face and walk away without knowing?”

Her friend hesitated, then sighed. “Probably not. But there’s no way I’d go back to the guy who beat me.”

“I’m not going to.” But would she? If Reece had her daughter, she would have no choice but to go back long enough to grab the little girl and flee. “Maybe I’ll go talk to the sheriff. He might know something about the child.”

A woman’s voice Hannah recognized as her aunt’s raised in a sharp protest, though she couldn’t make out any words. Angie exchanged a long glance with her. “I wonder if Sarah told her I’m here,” Hannah said.

Footsteps sounded on the wooden floor, then her aunt burst through the doorway, followed by Sarah. Tears marked Aunt Nora’s eyes with puffiness, and she swiped a hand at her wet cheeks but only succeeded in smearing dirt on them. Her bonnet was askew, but her dark blue dress and white apron were neat and pressed. She had to be fifty now, but she looked older.

Hannah took a step toward her, arms open. Aunt Nora rushed into them. She hugged Hannah with a desperate grip, and a keening cry burst from her lips.

“I know,” Hannah whispered, rocking the older woman a little. “I know.” Tears rolled down her cheeks too.

How well she remembered the grief, anguish, and disbelief. The emotions had never left her. The horror of that night colored everything she’d done since. Every time she thought of the monster who’d destroyed her baby, her anger and hatred grew. If she was right and it was Reece who had killed her parents too, she’d spit in his face, rake at his eyes with her nails. No punishment would be great enough for all he’d done.

Every time she thought of her hate, the insistent voice of conviction came. Forgive. A voice she’d gotten good at ignoring. She knew her hate hollowed out her insides and drove nails into her compassion. She should pull it out by its roots, but the thought of justice was the only thing that kept the tears at bay. If she suffered for it in the end, then so be it.

If that man was Reece, he’d killed her parents to get to her. And his plan had worked. Was it her bitterness that made her want to believe he was guilty? Or could she be on the heels of truth? What if he’d struck again, killing Moe this time? A tremor ran through her, and she tightened her hold on Aunt Nora until the older woman managed to choke back her sobs.

Her aunt pulled away and dabbed at her face. “Thank you for coming, Hannah. I know it wasn’t easy for you.” She straightened her shoulders. “I know my Moe is in God’s hands. I must accept God’s will. I shouldn’t have meddled.” Fresh moisture flooded her eyes.

“Meddled?”

“I was warned to stay quiet, stay out of it. But I saw the child.” She bit her lip. “I knew then the sins of the past would come out.”

“You saw my child?” Hannah tried to keep her emotions in check. This was no time to push her aunt.

“Later,” Aunt Nora whispered. “Oh, why didn’t I listen?” She wiped her cheeks with her apron.

Rebellion stirred in Hannah’s heart. Why had God allowed this? He could have kept Moe and her own family safe, but he didn’t. If this was his will, it wasn’t fair. She didn’t understand how her cousin and now her aunt had been able to just shrug and accept it. She was never going to forgive the man who had done this.

Who had warned her aunt to stay quiet? And about what? It seemed impossible that Aunt Nora knew something, but maybe Hannah’s mother had confided something in her sister-in-law. Mamm had no close family of her own, and Datt’s family had taken her under their wing.

Nora tugged on Hannah’s hand. “Come say hello to Bishop Kirchhofer.”

Hannah hung back. “I—I don’t think I’m ready.” She knew what was waiting for her, and the thought of a lecture at a terrible time like this made her want to run. But her aunt pulled harder and led Hannah to the living room.

More than ten years had slipped away since she’d been in this room she used to love. She and her mother had come over every week for tea and quilting, fellowship and belonging. The same hand-crocheted runners topped the end tables. The overstuffed sofa was looking a little threadbare. Everything was spotless, just like always.

The last time Hannah had been here, her mother and father were still alive. Her mother sat in the rocker by the window so she could see to stitch the quilt block she worked on. The light gilded her blond hair and made her look angelic.

It had been two days before she went to join the heavenly choir.

Hannah tore her gaze from the scarred wooden rocker to face the bishop. The last time she’d seen him, he’d ordered her to repent of her unforgiveness toward Cyrus Long.

He was looking at her again with the same loving sternness. Her entire life had trained her to submit to authority, and the need to do it was like an itch she couldn’t reach. Her knees weakened with the desire to fall to them and confess her sins. She reminded herself it was a trained response. He didn’t know her any longer. She was a different person from the pliable, easily deceived girl who had left here at twenty-two.

“Hannah, you’re well?” he asked in his deep voice.

When Hannah was a child, the tones and cadence of his voice always made her think she was hearing God’s voice. The bishop had always looked as old as the limestone along the creek, and his flowing white beard and weathered face under the broad brim of the hat brought to mind Old Testament prophets.

“Yes,” she said.

“We’ve missed you. Your family needs you.”

She stepped back a pace. “Please. Now isn’t the time to bring pressure. We need to help Aunt Nora get through this.”

“It’s never the wrong time to do right,” he said in a gentle voice.

Hannah didn’t answer. She turned to her aunt. “Have you heard any more from the sheriff’s office?”

“They’ve managed to get the autopsy scheduled for tomorrow, even though it usually takes much longer. Matt is a sweet boy who seems to care.” Aunt Nora wiped her eyes again. “The Lord’s will be done.”

“Indeed,” the bishop said. He turned his gaze on Hannah again, and an uncomfortable silence followed.

“I guess we’d better go,” Hannah said. She couldn’t stand much more silent pressure from him.

Sarah had been standing silently by the table with her children. “Do you have a place to stay?” she asked. “Or are you going back home?”

“I’ll find a motel room somewhere,” Hannah said.

“You’ll stay here,” her aunt said. “You understand I can’t eat with you or accept any favors from you. But I won’t turn you out on the street.”

“I know the requirements,” Hannah said. “Thank you. I’ll bring in our suitcases.” With Angie in tow, she fled the presence of the bishop and Sarah.

“What was that all about?” Angie asked. “Gosh, the tension just vibrated in the air. Did he expect you to say you wanted to come back to the Amish faith?”

“That’s exactly what he wants. And it’s even tempting,” Hannah said. “It will be hard to be here as an outcast.”

“Could you ever go back and give up your life?” Angie shuddered as if it was the worst thing she’d ever heard.

“Family is important,” Hannah said. “We try to preserve that as much as possible and lock out the world. When I didn’t have the conveniences, I didn’t miss them. Even now, there’s not that much to miss. I don’t watch much TV, and we always had gaslights and propane-powered appliances.”

“So why not go back?” Angie smiled. “You said ‘we.’ Like you are still Amish.”

“It’s too late. Divorce is never accepted—not for any reason. But I’ll always be Amish at heart. Even if I reconciled with Reece, I’d have to forgive the murderer, too, and I’ll never do that. Never.” She thought about her aunt’s words. Who could have warned her? And about what?

THURSDAY MORNING, TWO days after the murder, and he was already getting an autopsy. It paid to have friends in the right places. The cold in the coroner’s lab penetrated Matt’s bones. The rank smell nearly made him gag, but he stood his ground near the door. Ajax whined and pawed at his nose. Matt rubbed his dog’s ears. “It’s okay.”

Whit Grout had done him a favor and pushed the autopsy to the top of his list, so Matt decided to meet him here in the basement of the hospital, though it was never a pleasant experience. The coroner came through the door peeling off his rubber gloves. Matt didn’t want to speculate what the stains were on the man’s lab coat. Whit shucked it, too, revealing khaki shorts and a T-shirt that read “Greenhouse Gas Coming Through—Hold Your Nose.” About forty, he was so thin the only thing that cast a shadow was his blond hair, bushy as a porcupine. In spite of Whit’s appearance, Matt had never met a smarter person. Whit noticed things. Important things.

Matt and Ajax fell into step beside him as they went to Whit’s office. “What’d you find out?”

Whit didn’t answer, plowing on ahead through the door and straight to the coffeepot. It smelled burned and stale, but he smacked his lips as he gulped half a cup. “Ah, that hits the spot. Want some?”

“No thanks. You figure out what killed Moe? Was it strychnine?”

“He had enough poison in his system to kill ten people his size.” Whit dropped into his chair, a wooden piano stool that let him twist in any direction.

Matt took the more comfortable wooden folding chair, and Ajax curled up at his feet. The coroner had a big enough budget to get some decent furniture but seemed to relish putting guests at a disadvantage. When he came in here, Matt felt like a bug under the microscope, and he suspected Whit was always analyzing how people reacted to his environment.

“He inhaled it. Check any flowers at the house.”

“We did. They were loaded with poison. They were sent to his mother. He was the one who put them in water and must have gotten enough of a whiff to kill him.”

Matt had hoped for something easier to track down, but the flowers didn’t seem to have come from any local florist. And Moe was dead and couldn’t tell them who delivered the box of roses. Nora had no idea either. He rose and moved to the door. “Thanks, Whit.”

“Got a Jane Doe that you might be interested in. About the right age. Drowned, natural causes looks like.”

Matt’s fingers tightened on the door handle. “Hair color?”

“Light red with gray.”

The right hair color. “Can I see her?”

“Sure.” Whit drained his coffee cup and rose.

Matt followed him down the hall to a room that held the cadavers in cold storage. When Whit pulled out a drawer, Matt drew in a deep breath. The rasp of the zipper sliding open on the body bag sounded loud in the cavernous room. He focused on a spot on the wall, probably the spray from a soda can.

“Well?” Whit prodded him on the arm.

Matt looked down into the woman’s face. His gaze took in the sharp nose, the narrow-set eyes, the wide forehead. “It’s not her.” Relief and disappointment did a two-step. Why did he even think it might be? Only Whit knew of his secret search. “Thanks, my friend.”

“No problem.” Whit zipped the bag closed before shoving the drawer back into place.

Back outside, Matt drew in a lungful of clean air. But the taint of death stayed with him. His cell phone rang at his belt, and he grabbed it. He noticed he’d missed several calls while he was in the dungeon. “Beitler.”

Blake’s voice came over the phone. “Where you at, partner? I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“Talking to the coroner. My cell doesn’t work in the basement.”

“Your grandma called. She said she saw something the night Moe Honegger died.”

“I’ll meet you in front of headquarters.” Trudy probably was one of his missed calls. He put Ajax into the backseat, then drove to the sheriff’s office, where he slowed down long enough to allow Blake to jump into the passenger seat.

“She say what she saw?” Matt asked Blake.

Blake shrugged. “Someone cut through her corn patch, knocked down some stalks.”

“Might be kids.”

“Maybe. She seemed adamant she had to talk to you.”

She was always adamant. Matt drove west out of Rockville. When he passed the road toward Nora’s house and the other Amish farmlands, he wondered if Hannah had stayed in the community or gone home. And why had she come? She’d never explained.

Blake ran his window down. “How’s Gina?”

“Fine. You two need to work it out.”

“I’m working on it.”

Matt’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Is it true, Blake?”

His partner didn’t look at him. “Is what true?”

“You having an affair?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Matt closed his mouth. He wanted to ask where Blake had gotten the money for the ring, but he feared to hear the answer. If Gina’s suspicion wasn’t true, wouldn’t Blake deny the charge?

He turned down his grandmother’s road. Trudy’s house was the only one on this narrow way. She came to the door before Blake’s raised fist could fall on the door.

“Don’t just stand there—come in,” she said, standing aside so they could enter. “Not the dog.” She pointed her finger at Ajax. “Stay.”

Ajax’s tail drooped, but he settled down with his head on his paws and a mournful look in his eyes. “I’ll be right back, boy.” Matt pressed his lips together but didn’t say anything. This was an old disagreement, and one he wasn’t going to win. Trudy’s ways were set by seventy-two years of footsteps encased in concrete.

She wore her gray hair loose on her shoulders. Even at seventy-two, her skin held a pink bloom. Tiny wrinkles crouched at her eyes and around her mouth, but she didn’t look her age. The flowing red caftan gave her frame an elegance that matched the proud tilt to her head.

Matt followed her past stacks of old newspapers and magazines. He’d tried to clear out the clutter for years before finally giving up. Trudy was who she was. There was no changing her. She settled in a worn chenille rocker. He and Blake took the matching sofa. The crocheted doilies on the arms and the back of the sofa were starched and spotless.

“You’ve been neglecting me, Matthew,” she said, fixing her blue gaze on him. “It’s been three weeks and four days since you were here last.”

Sheesh, did she keep a calendar? “I’ve been working a lot of overtime. You know how it is when there’s been a murder. It will calm down soon.” The guilt was a familiar companion. His job demanded so much of him. There were only so many hours in the day.

He took out his pen and notebook. “So you said someone trampled your garden?”

“More than trampled. Destroyed it.” She began to rock. “And there’s white powder on the ground.”

He and Blake exchanged alarmed glances. “Don’t smell it. Moe died from inhaling strychnine. Hang on.” He called headquarters, and his boss promised to send out a car. “We’ll get it checked and cleaned up,” he told his grandmother. “In the meantime, stay away from it.”

The coils of the chair seat screeched with Trudy’s every movement. He could still hear that sound in his dreams. He would never forget the nights she locked him in his room and sat outside his door, rocking and rocking.

He took out his notepad and began to write. “Footprints?”

“Plenty of them. All one man, I think. You can check them for yourself. They lead across the field toward Nora Honegger’s house.”

“Did you see anyone?” Blake put in.

“If I’d recognized someone, don’t you think I would have said that right off? But I saw his truck parked down the way under the old sycamore tree by the river. Just before the covered bridge.”

“Make and model?” Matt asked.

“Tan. That’s all I know.”

Gina had said the man who followed her and Caitlin home drove a tan truck. “Anything else?”

She stopped rocking a minute. “I heard him whistling.” She pursed her lips again and blew out a tune. “Like that.”

Matt recognized the tune. “‘Bad Moon Rising.’”

“If you say so.”

Blake wouldn’t know it, but Reece was a big Creedence Clearwater Revival fan. “Thanks for your help, Trudy. I’ll go take a look at the footprints and the powder.” He stood and started after Blake, who was already heading to the door.

Trudy caught his hand. “You found her yet?”

“No.”

“And you won’t,” his grandmother said. “A woman like that can just disappear. She was never worthy of David. It was good riddance when she disappeared.”

“Not for me.” Wrong thing to say, and he knew it.

“She could wrap men around her finger like yarn. You’re just as stupid as your father.” She waved her hand. “Go ahead, get out of here. You’re dying to escape.”

Matt’s guilt wouldn’t let him just walk away. He brushed a kiss across her hair and inhaled her Suave hair spray. The scent reminded him of a time when he was lost and afraid. He wasn’t that little boy anymore.