Plain Dead (20 page)

“
Mam?
” Rachel reached for her mother's hand under the blanket and, finding it, squeezed it.

“A lump,” her mother said, although if she was actually speaking to her, Rachel couldn't have said.

“Where?” she demanded. “Have you seen the doctor? You should see—”

“Of course she's seen a doctor. We are not so backward as that,” her father said gently.

“A lump in my chest. Not large, no bigger than a grain of corn,” her mother said, gripping her hand.

Breast cancer
. Sweat broke out on the nape of Rachel's neck. Her mother's older sister and their mother had died of breast cancer. “Has there been a biopsy? Do you have a treatment plan?”

“Tell your daughter that it isn't as simple as that,” her mother admonished.

Her father sighed. “It's a decision of faith for your mother. She wasn't sure if she should take the English doctor's treatments, or if she should leave it up to God's mercy.”

“He has the power to heal,” her mother pronounced. “I shouldn't have to tell anyone that. If it is His will that I live, why do I need to go to the hospital at all?”

“You see,” Rachel's father went on, “we have two choices. Do as the doctor wishes
and
still pray for the Lord to heal her, or . . .”

“Or accept His plan for me,” her mother said. “Tell your daughter, Samuel. This life is only a pale reflection of what awaits the faithful in heaven. Would you have me prove myself too weak to trust in Him?”

“
Mam,
you have to get the best medical treatment available. God gave the doctors the intelligence and the skill to treat disease. You can't simply do nothing.
Dat,
tell her—”

“That is what Bishop Abner says,” her father soothed. “He believes that God sent these treatments and the knowledge, and that the miracle of doctors' healing is His work.” He smiled grimly. “He's been wonderful. You know how stubborn your mother can be once she sets her mind to something. But she is wise enough to know that only a foolish person ignores the words of a good and pious man like our Abner.”

“Bishop Abner's been counseling you?” Rachel asked.

“
Ya,
” her father said. “Almost every day he comes. Even in the midst of that terrible snowstorm, he was there for us.”

Rachel turned suddenly to her father. “The night of the storm? Saturday night? Bishop Abner came to your house that night?”

“
Ya,
” her father confirmed. “So hard the snow was coming down by the time he was ready to go that I almost convinced him to stay the night with us and go home in the morning. But he feared to leave Naamah and Sammy alone in such weather.”

He pulled back on the reins and the horse stopped. Rachel looked up to see that they were at her parents' back door. She turned to her mother. “Please promise me you're going to do what the doctors say,
Mam
.” She took both her mother's hands in hers.

Esther Mast looked kindly into Rachel's eyes, holding her gaze as she spoke. “Tell your daughter to pray for me, Samuel. But she should not worry. I'll let the doctors put their poison into me and God will see me through this as He sees us through all our trials.”

Chapter 19

Rachel got as far as the end of her parents' lane before she stopped and allowed herself a good cry. How could she have gone so wrong? Not only had she not picked up on the fact that something serious was going on with her mother, but she'd also rushed to judgment, condemning a good man. How many people whom she loved and trusted had begged her not to interfere in Evan's investigation?

Not only had she thought Bishop Abner, her friend and her family's religious adviser, guilty of a horrendous murder, but she also had suspected that he'd been cruel enough to do away with his own innocent nephew to hide his crime. She'd let pride and a belief in her own intellect overrule common sense. Because she'd been able to help find Beth Glick's murderer and aid her uncle in a crisis, she'd thought herself smarter than the police, more competent than Evan. And the result? Her pride and recklessness had nearly done irrevocable damage to her community and Abner's reputation.

No wonder Evan had lost patience with her.

And now she'd have to tell him everything, explain how wrong she'd been, and try to undo the damage she'd caused. Hands trembling, she tried his cell again.
Pick up,
she urged.
Please, Evan, pick up
. She needed him, and she needed his forgiveness.

“Rache?”

At the sound of his voice, she burst into tears again.

“Rachel, what's wrong? Are you hurt?”

Her chin quivered and her breathing came in short gasps. “I need you to take me in to the troop,” she managed.

“What?”

His one word said it all, shocking her back to reason. “No, it's not what you think,” she blurted, realizing that now she must sound crazy to him. “I didn't kill Billingsly. But neither did Skinner. I left you a message. Several messages. And it wasn't Blade. And it wasn't Abner. I'm the only one left, Evan. You've got to take me in for questioning.”

“Where are you?”

“At my parents'.” She fumbled for a tissue, found a napkin from an infrequent stop at a fast-food place, and blew her nose. “In their driveway.” She drew in another shuddering breath and swallowed. “My mother's sick. She has breast cancer. It runs in her family, and she's been contemplating getting medical treatment. Abner's been counseling her and my
dat
. It's where he was Saturday night.”

“It doesn't sound as though you should be driving in this rotten weather. I'm on the turnpike. A bad accident. I got called in to help. I might be here most of the night, but I can send a trooper to drive you home.”

“No, I'll be fine. I've got four-wheel drive, and there's no traffic on the road. I'm sorry to bother you tonight. I was just so sure that . . .” She blew her nose again. “I'm okay,” she said. “Really. Just hearing about my mother threw me for a shock. Her sister died of breast cancer. And my grandmother.”

“Don't think the worst. They're making headway treating breast cancer. But she needs to have it taken care of immediately.”

“Luckily, they've already made that decision. With Abner's help. You know how stubborn my mother can be. But she's agreed to treatment.”

“Good.”

In the background, Rachel could hear hospital noises, the clink of metal, footsteps, the whoosh of a sliding door, and, faintly, the wail of an ambulance. “I don't want to keep you on the phone,” she said. “I don't want to jeopardize your job.”

“You're not
jeopardizing my job
.”

“With the investigation. You've stalled long enough in taking me in for questioning.” Other than the lights from the instrument panels, her Jeep was dark. Wind rattled the windows. The wipers thumped monotonously back and forth, piling the heavy snow and depositing it in ever growing drifts on the hood. She should have felt terribly alone, but she didn't. Evan's strong voice filled the cold void, strengthening her resolve to make right what she'd done wrong.

“I'm certainly not having anyone bring you in tonight. Call the attorney Monday morning. I'll talk to my superior first thing Monday. If he thinks you need to come in, you can bring the attorney with you.”

“It will be fine, Evan. I didn't do it. There's no evidence against me. Just circumstantial. I'm innocent. There can't be any of my fingerprints. No DNA. Because I wasn't inside the house.”

“Maybe you should be the cop instead of me.”

She managed the barest smile. “I'm so sorry about all of this. I'll do exactly what you've said. I'll get an attorney. I have faith in our justice system. There's not enough evidence to even reach a grand jury.”

He chuckled. “Maybe I'm wrong about you being a police officer. Maybe you should consider law school instead of innkeeping.”

“Right now I'm not doing too good of a job with either. I don't feel as though I've given my guests all the attention they should have had this week.”

“Your festival finishes up tomorrow, right?”

“It does. With the cook-off. I don't know how many Amish will take part in that, though, because Sammy's funeral will be tomorrow.”

“I'm off tomorrow. Promised to take my mother to that funeral in Harrisburg. But I never knew my great-aunt. Want me to cancel and come with you to Sammy's funeral?”

“That wouldn't be fair to your mother. I'll be fine. Call me tomorrow night if you can, when you get back from Harrisburg.”

“You're sure? You'll be okay tomorrow?”

“My family will be there. And Mary Aaron.”

“What time is Sammy's funeral?”

“Noon. I don't have to be back at the high school until four. Unless you think I should come in tomorrow to the troop.”

“Monday afternoon if you can get legal representation by then.” He hesitated. “If you do need to come in, you need to think about what your response will be if any reporters get ahold of it. Anyone who does a little digging is going to find your prior.”

“I'm not advertising what I did, but I'm not going to hide it either.” Her wipers groaned and skipped, and she turned up the speed. “Who knows, I might get lucky. It looks like our local paper might be taking a turn for the better.” Her hand found the rolled-up newspaper on the car seat beside her. “I've got the latest edition here. The headline about the murder is in good taste. There's a lot of press on the festival, but then there's other local news, things that are important to local farmers, a good piece on the coming school board election. Billingsly's obituary was on page five, pretty low-key.”

“Good.” She could almost see the crease that appeared between Evan's brows when he was concentrating. “I did get your texts and your messages about Skinner,” he said. “Excellent conclusions. He never looked like that promising a suspect to me to begin with. Too obvious. And information came in on his background. Jake Skinner is quite a powerhouse in his state for veterans' rights. He does a lot of volunteer work with injured soldiers. Raises money to buy power wheelchairs, arranges financing for service dogs, and spends a lot of time with soldiers, one-on-one. Not quite the sour apple he'd like to have us think he is.”

“Another book I judged by the cover, I'm afraid,” she admitted.

“Not your usual B&B guest, for certain. What about the TV thing the other night in the sleigh? Did the reporter say anything about our engagement?” he asked.

“No. Nothing. Ell recorded it for me. She watched it three times. It was short but good publicity for the town.” She hesitated. “I guess that's still up in the air, isn't it? Our engagement?”

“We'll get through this thing with Billingsly and then we'll work things out between us.”

“I want to, Evan. I do.”

“Me, too. Look, I better go.”

“Sure. Of course. My mother wants you to come to supper on Sunday evening. It's a church day, but she asked me to invite you back to the house.”

“I'm off Sunday, but I've got a pile of stuff on my desk. I was thinking that I'd go in, at least for the morning. But I can probably come to dinner with you.” Rachel heard someone call for Detective Parks, and then Evan said, “Text me when you get home so I'll know you got in safe. Don't forget. Or I will send a trooper looking you.”

“I will. Take care.”

“You, too.”

She got out of the Jeep, brushed snow off the front and back windows with a little broom she kept in the backseat, and then got back in and fastened her seat belt. She felt a little better now. She shouldn't have. There was no telling what was going to happen with her mother's diagnosis. She had no idea who had killed Billingsly, and she didn't know whether she'd lost any chance of a happily-forever-after with Evan. Tomorrow was still the funeral of a sweet young man whose life had been cut all too short, and she would have to seek out Abner and tell him how sorry that she was for suspecting him of double murder. And to top it all off, by this time next week, the past she'd tried to hide might be common knowledge.

“God help me,” she murmured. “I am still a work in progress.” She sighed and shifted the Jeep into drive. She would go home, say her prayers, and crawl into bed. And then she would get up in the morning and attempt to set her life back on the right track again.

 

Saturday was cloudy and cold. The sun was high overhead as a preacher from Sammy's district finished the graveside service for Sammy and the mourners began to make their way slowly back to the line of black buggies waiting on the dirt road. The Amish cemetery spread across a gentle hillside and was surrounded by a fieldstone wall and simple wooden gate. In spring, violets and daffodils would spring up over the resting place of so many generations, and even now the cemetery seemed more a peaceful resting place to Rachel than an ominous location.

Among the dark-clad women, Naamah and her sister stood close together, black bonnets almost touching, reddened faces wet with tears. People came to them, singly and in couples, to offer their condolences. Rachel saw Abner, shoulders hunched against the cold wind, surrounded by the older men, talking to the preacher who'd delivered the words of comfort and led the prayers. Small children clustered close to the sides of mothers, aunts, and grandmothers, while older boys and girls walked quietly to the gate and waited for their parents.

Rachel had driven out from Stone Mill House in her Jeep rather than come with her parents. Among the rows of buggies were the vehicles of English and Mennonites, all come to remember Sammy and perhaps take away the preacher's words of hope and resurrection. Many of the attendees were close relatives and friends of Rachel's, including her mother and father, Aunt Hannah and Uncle Aaron, her brothers and sisters, Mary Aaron, and more cousins than she could easily count. Counted among the non-Amish were prominent members of the community: George O'Day, Polly Wagler, Coyote Finch, Hulda Schenfeld with her middle son, and Sandy Millman. Trooper Mars and another officer in uniform were on the road directing traffic and keeping sightseers from disturbing the services.

“Will I see you back at the house?” Mary Aaron's deep purple dress and black coat and bonnet echoed those of many of the matrons, but her freckled face was just as youthful and alert as normal. “At the Chupps'?”

Rachel shook her head. Once again, people had been invited to pay their respects at the Chupps' home, where a meal would be served and those from out of town could be properly welcomed and thanked for their concern. Also, chores for both the Chupp household and that of Sammy's parents would be quietly apportioned out to volunteers for the coming week so that those who mourned him most would be free of responsibilities for rest and prayer. “
Ne
.” Rachel explained. “The festival . . . I've got things that have to be wrapped up and the cook-off—”

“I understand,” Mary Aaron said. “I'll try to get away and come in to see if there's any help I can give you with the cook-off.
Mam
and
Dat
are going back to the Chupps'. I don't think there's any need for me to accompany them. I'll just see the kids are situated at home, and then I'll come to town in the wagon.”

“Thanks,” Rachel said. “I appreciate it.”

Her cousin's beau, Timothy, standing among the younger men near the stone wall, caught Mary Aaron's glance and smiled at her. He reached up and tugged at his hat. She nodded, and he said something to his friends and walked toward her.

“Excuse me,” Rachel said, brushing her cousin's arm as she spotted Abner taking leave of the group of men. “I need to speak to Bishop Abner for a moment.”

“
Ya,
you go on,” Mary Aaron said. “See you later.” She stood waiting as Timothy approached and spoke quietly to her. Rachel wondered if the two were officially walking out together yet. They might be. Mary Aaron could be closemouthed when it came to her relationship with Tim. But he was a good man with a promising future, and if she did choose him for a husband, Rachel was sure that they would get on well together.

The elders were moving away from the grave site now. A few families had already gotten into their buggies, the Englishers were walking to their cars, and soon the cemetery would begin to empty out. Rachel knew that this wasn't the place to try and apologize to Abner, but she couldn't stand it. She had to tell him how wrong she'd been and how sorry she was that she'd misjudged him.

Abner lingered alone by Sammy's grave. Rachel hesitated for a few seconds and then hurried toward him. “Bishop Abner! Could I speak with you? Just for a moment.”

He raised sad eyes to her. “Of course.” The deacon of Abner's church, a tall, angular man with a sweet face, started coming in Abner's direction, but Abner motioned toward the line of buggies and the deacon nodded and turned away. Rachel kept walking until she reached the graveside.