Death of a Winter Shaker (10 page)

Shakers do not kill. Rose pulled her list toward her. Fourteen Believers remained to be questioned. She eliminated seven Believers who were too elderly or ill even to leave their retiring rooms. Another two were traveling from town to town in northern Kentucky, selling Shaker products. That left Eldress Agatha and the four names that popped up over and over. Those four she planned to question this morning.

Nearly everyone she had questioned so far knew who Johann was, and most swore that they'd avoided contact with him. But several had witnessed extended, sometimes angry, interchanges between the dead man and Albert Preston, Elder Wilhelm Lundel, and Sister Elsa Pike. Because of the special look they'd exchanged at the Union Meeting, Rose added Sister Charity McDonald's name to the list. Off to the side, she wrote Seth Pike, with a question mark. He'd said they were friends, yet no one had ever seen them together. Had they had a falling-out? Beneath Seth's name, she added a question about the girl Johann had met in town and her connection with Grady.

The sooner she questioned all of the people on her list, the better for North Homage. Any moment, Sheriff Brock might reappear and begin his own brand of interrogation, designed to find a Shaker killer. And the angry outsiders—she wanted to believe it was outsiders—who had destroyed their barn might strike again and again, until the killer was found and brought
to justice. If the killer were a Believer, what would be the world's reaction then? She wouldn't think too much about that. Justice was their only chance.

The large dining room held two clusters of empty tables and benches, one for the sisters and the other for the brethren, separated by a wide expanse of open floor. The sweet, spicy smell of baking apple pies drifted in from the kitchen.

Charity McDonald slid onto one of the sisters' benches and shifted her knees under the table, her wide eyes fixed on Rose's face. Charity's normally fair skin was almost colorless. Rose gave her a reassuring smile and circled the table to sit opposite her.

“Charity, there is no need to be frightened, truly,” Rose said firmly—and, she hoped, accurately. Charity seemed to bring out protective feelings in all the sisters—except Elsa, that is. Perhaps it was those doelike eyes. That, and an emotional frailty made her seem unable to thrive on her own, without the strength of the Society. As long as her position was secure within the community, she was able to contribute her part, even performing adequately as kitchen deaconess. But Rose imagined that any fear of being cast out might result in Charity's disintegration.

“You're here to ask about that man, aren't you? I did not know him, not really,” Charity said in a soft, little-girl voice. “We only greeted one another a few times on the road outside the Meeting House and when I served him during meals, but . . .” Charity shifted her gaze away from Rose and to her own lap, where she intertwined her fingers so tightly that the knuckles whitened.

Rose noted the clenched hands and averted gaze and sensed Charity was hiding something, perhaps even lying. In her dealings with the world's merchants, Rose had found that careful silence and a steady gaze often flustered those who were trying to cheat her. More
often than not, they backed down and, in the end, treated her fairly. So she let the silence weigh on Charity's conscience. It took only a few seconds.

“We only talked about the weather and the apple harvests, that's all, truly,” Charity said. But her face puckered and her breath grew ragged.

“Charity, no one accuses you, but you must see how important this is. Someone has taken the life of another human being. That is terrible enough to any Believer, but the police are eager to blame one of us. So we have to search for Johann's killer on our own, and to do that, we must know him, what he was like, how he treated you as well as others. We must have the whole truth from everyone.”

Charity nodded faintly and pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve to dab at the tears spilling from her eyes. She took a deep, jerky breath.

“I didn't mean for it to happen,” she said in a hushed voice. “It was after dinner one night a few days before Johann was . . . before he disappeared. I was cleaning up in the kitchen and splashed a pan full of water down the front of my dress.” She glanced ruefully down at the neckerchief crossed over her bodice, which showed sticky drips of apple pie filling. “I was soaked clear through, so I told Elsa to keep cleaning while I went to my retiring room to change into dry clothing. It was dusk and no one was about and . . . Johann just seemed to appear out of nowhere. He was holding a pink rose, and he handed it to me. He said I should wear it in my hair.” Charity's cheeks reddened, and Rose wondered again if she were telling everything. “I gave the flower right back to him, I assure you. I told him that we Believers do not adorn ourselves with flowers.” Her pride steadied her voice.

“And what did he say to that?” Rose prompted.

“Oh, not much.” Charity shrugged, and stared over Rose's shoulder out the dining-room window.

“What exactly did he say and do?”

“I've told you all there is. He just left.”

Could Johann have frightened her so that she feared him even after his death?
Nay,
Rose thought,
more likely she fears losing her place in the Society.
The best course would be to let it go for now and talk to her again later, reassure her that her transgression can be forgiven and forgotten. Unless it was murder, of course.

Sister Elsa Pike marched into the dining room on sturdy, determined legs. She faced Rose with flour-covered hands on her broad hips, her mouth hardened into a grim line.

“I got work to do,” she said.

“And you'll be back to it soon enough.”

“If it's about that Johann, all I can say is, he got what he deserved, and I don't care who knows it, but him and me had nothing to do with each other. Anybody says anything else is a liar.” Her eyes narrowed to pencil-thin lines to match her mouth.

Rose felt her own jaw tighten for a fight. “You may want to believe that, Elsa, but the fact is that no fewer than four Believers told me that they saw you—”

The west door of the dining room slammed behind her. She twisted on her bench to find Brock and Grady bearing down on her.

“Well now, that's mighty interesting,” Brock said, grinning. “You want to tell us what four Shakers saw Elsa Pike doing, Miss Callahan? Write this down, Grady.”

So much for her private interrogations, Rose thought. Elsa, however, saved her from the need to respond instantly.

“Harry Brock, you ought to be ashamed of yerself!” Elsa bellowed. “I mean, thee,” she added, at a lower decibel level. Brock grinned at her.

“Wipe that grin off thy face. I knowed thee since you was a kid, Harry Brock, and you got no call to accuse me of killin' a man. Heck, if I didn't kill that no-good husband of mine when I had the chance, I sure wouldn't kill nobody now I'm a Believer.” She thrust out a plump, defiant chin. “I got a good life here. I got a religion.”

“Yeah, well, if you've known me, then remember, I've known you, too. I know a whole lot about you, Elsa Pike. So stop yammering and tell me what you know about Johann Fredericks.”

Elsa plunked herself down on a dining-room bench, brushing bits of flour and dough from her dress.

“All right, all right. I know'd a lot about Mr. Johann Fredericks,” she said, with a mixture of scorn and relish. “I'm more worldly than most Shaker gals, ya know. So I know his type.” She gave a satisfied nod. “He was after the girls, I could see that a mile off. Even went after that one, that Sister Charity.” She jerked her head toward the kitchen. “Don't ask me why, skinny little thing, no spunk.” She patted her own ample stomach and smiled.

“You got that name, Grady?” Brock asked.

“It was wise of you to want to protect the sisters,” Rose said quickly. “Did you by any chance try to speak to Johann about his behavior?”

“You bet I did!” For the moment, Elsa gave up her attempt to transform her vernacular into gentle Shaker language. “I gave that boy what-for, ‘specially when I caught him going after the young'uns, like that Molly, though I can't say as how she didn't give him ideas. She's the type needs watchin'. Saw 'em talkin' together in the apple orchard. I'd gone there to pray after supper,” Elsa said, with a pious tilt of her head.

“What's this Molly's full name, Elsa?” Brock asked.

“Ferguson, Molly Ferguson, no more'n seventeen and wild as they come.”

Rose's heart sank. She should have moved much
more quickly. Brock would have his Shaker villain in no time. She mentally added Molly's name to her list.

“When was this that you saw the deceased and this girl together?” Brock asked.

“That Thursday night, the night he disappeared. I remember thinkin' I had to git back for the Union Meetin'. Couldn't hear what they was sayin',” Elsa said, with evident regret. “But they was arguin', clear enough. I know what arguin' is, sure did it enough with that no-good husband of mine.”

“And you spoke with Johann after this incident?” Rose asked.

“Yup! I mean, yea, I did. Molly run off toward the Meetin' House, so I went and told Johann to leave her and the other girls alone. I put the fear of God in that boy by the time I was done with him!”

Elsa could certainly reduce Charity to tears, but not a man like Johann. Rose suspected he would merely have laughed at Elsa.

“Did you discuss anything else?”

Was it her imagination, or did Elsa seem hesitant? Unlike Charity, Elsa showed no outward signs of nervousness. But she gave her answer a few moments' thought, which was rare for her.

“Wouldn't have no cause to discuss the weather after all that, would I now?”

Rose silently studied her, as she had Charity, but Elsa was woven from tougher thread. She met Rose's inquiring gaze with steady eyes and complete silence.

“What about Molly? Did you speak to her about her meeting with Johann?” Rose asked.

“Yup, found her right before the Meetin'. I pulled her round back of the Meetin' House and give her a talkin'-to she won't soon forgit. She'd of been my child, she'd still be too sore to set down.”

“You didn't strike her, did you?”

“'Course not! I know better'n that, now I'm a Believer. Besides,” she added with a snort, “never did
no good for my own boys. They always did just what they wanted, 'specially that Seth, bringin' that no-good Johann back with him.”

This was a direction Rose did not wish to take, not now, in front of Brock and Grady. She had hoped to talk to Elsa privately about her eldest son and how well he had gotten along with Johann. But if she didn't ask now, the sheriff would.

“Elsa, about Seth,” Rose began. “We know that he and Johann rode the rails together and that Seth brought him to your . . . his father's farm. And we think there was a falling-out of some sort just before Johann moved in here with us. What can you tell us about that?”

As Rose spoke, Elsa's body stiffened, her face tightening into a grim mask.

“You got no call to accuse my son of nothing. You of all people. Oh, I know all about you, Sister High an' Mighty, don't think I don't. I had eyes in my head, and—”

“Elsa,” Rose interrupted sharply, “we must know about everyone who knew Johann. Everyone. That includes Seth.” Rose felt the sheriff's eyes on her, but she focused on Elsa's face, schooling herself to notice the slightest twitch or blush. And there were many, as every weatherworn line seemed in perpetual motion.

“Seth's had some hard times, but he's a good boy at heart. He
is
.” Elsa's normally flat features twisted into fierce mother love. “He's got a load of anger in him and maybe it shows too much, but he ain't no killer. Why, when he was maybe fourteen, we had a workhorse get sick, and his pa wanted him to shoot it, and Seth couldn't do it. Couldn't even shoot a sick horse. His pa give him a swat with his belt, buckle an' all, but Seth, he just walked away. Stayed mad at his pa for weeks and weeks, but he never did shoot that horse. He ain't no killer. His pa, now there's a killer.” Elsa's face brightened at the idea of blaming her husband for
Johann's murder. “Shot that horse without a second thought. Always went around sayin' he was gonna shoot the neighbors' horses if they stepped on our land, and maybe the neighbors, too.”

Brock jumped in. “You suggesting he got hisself over here at night and killed a strapping young man like Johann? Poor Billy's a cripple, you know that, Elsa.”

“Poor Billy? Ha! It's God's judgment on him, him bein' lame, you can bet on that. The way he run around. Always cheatin' on me with any woman from fifty miles around. Makes sense, don't it, that God took away his legs?”

“Well, now, Elsa,” Brock said in that easygoing tone that Rose had learned to fear. “That's not quite how I heared it. The way I heared it, Billy ain't the only one was cheatin' in your family.”

Elsa gripped the edge of the table and stiffened as though waiting for a blow.

“So tell me, Elsa,” Brock said. “Just who is Seth's pappy?”

The ruddiness in Elsa's face drained away, leaving only her fierce hazel eyes for color. For once, she had nothing to say.

“W
E'LL TALK TO THOSE TWO GIRLS
, C
HARITY AND
Molly, later,” Sheriff Brock grumbled after allowing a grim and unresponsive Elsa to return to her kitchen duties. “But first, we got some questions for you and this Wilhelm Lundel.”

Brock and Grady now sat in Rose's office, where she should have felt more in command, but even in these cozy surroundings, the sheriff kept her off-balance.

“Why me?”

“Seems like this Johann was quite a ladies' man. I know how y'all feel about that sort of thing. Now, you claim you never spoke to him, but I was wondering, you sure you wasn't one of the sisters the deceased got too fresh with, Miss Callahan?”