“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll only take a moment.”
The line hisses as the deputy passes the phone to the bishop. “Hello?”
Bishop Smucker has an old man’s voice with a strong Pennsylvania Dutch inflection. Quickly, I identify myself and get right to my question. “How well did you know Abel Slabaugh?” I begin.
“I’ve known Abel since the day he was born. I was very sad to hear of his passing. He is with God now, and I know he will find peace in the arms of the Lord.”
“Do you know why he drove to Painters Mill, Ohio?”
The bishop sighs in a way that tells me he wasn’t happy about Abel driving a motor vehicle. “Driving is against the Ordnung. Of course, Abel asked for my blessing.” Another sigh. “He said Painters Mill was too far to travel by buggy. If it hadn’t been for the problem with the boy, I would not have agreed to it. In the end, I did.”
“What boy?” I ask.
“His nephew, I believe.”
“Moses?”
“Yes, I believe that was his name.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and I sense the bishop clamming up. “Was there some kind of problem with Mose?” I ask, pressing.
The old man hesitates. “Abel confided in me, told me there was a family crisis.”
“Bishop Smucker, I’m the chief of police here in Painters Mill. I’m trying to close a case. In order to do that, I need your help.”
“It is a private matter, Chief Burkholder.”
“I understand. But I still have to ask you why Abel drove to Painters Mill.”
“Abel spoke to me in confidence.”
“Abel is dead,” I say. “So is the boy.”
The old man gasps. “The boy, too?”
“Why did Abel drive to Painters Mill?” I repeat.
He is silent for so long, I think he’s not going to answer. I’m about to try a more forceful tactic, but then he says, “Abel told me his nephew was having … confused feelings for his sister there in Painters Mill. Abel’s brother and sister-in-law were concerned. They asked Abel to drive down and bring the boy back here to live.”
Premeditation and motive, I think. Mose murdered his parents because they were going to send him away to live with his uncle in Pennsylvania. “Thank you for speaking with me, Bishop Smucker.”
I clip the phone to my belt. When I look at Tomasetti, he’s staring intently at me. “What do you have?” he asks.
I recap my conversation with the bishop.
Tomasetti nods. “Mose knew his parents were going to send him to Pennsylvania. He didn’t want to leave Salome, so he killed them.”
The coffee goes sour on my tongue, and I set down my cup.
Rising, he goes to the counter and slides two strips of bacon and a piece of toast on a plate. He carries it to the table and places it in front of me.
“Thanks.” I don’t want the bacon, but I pick up a piece and take a bite.
His cell phone rings. He glances down at it, then sends the call to voice mail. “That was Rasmussen. I’ve got to go.”
The words send a hard rush of panic through me. I know where he’s going—to speak to the kids. Get their final statements. I hate the thought of not being there.
“I want to talk to Salome,” I say.
“Kate…”
“I mean it, John. I need to see her.”
“I don’t have to remind you that you’re on leave.”
“I know it,” I snap. “Damn it, I want to see her. It doesn’t have to be in an official capacity.”
Muttering beneath his breath, he picks up his laptop case and starts toward the living room. “You know that’s not a good idea, don’t you?” he says over his shoulder.
“Since when has that stopped me from anything?”
“Good point.”
“If you don’t take me with you, I’ll go on my own.”
“I know you will.” He growls the words as he goes to the closet, yanks out his trench coat.
“I just want to talk to her, make sure she’s okay.”
“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” he says, but he hands me my coat.
“All the guys tell me that,” I respond, and we go out the door.
I don’t want to be nervous about seeing Salome, but I am. This will be the first time I’ve spoken with her since Mose’s death. I have no idea how she will respond to me. She witnessed the shooting, after all; she watched me gun down her lover. Though I’m sure she realizes I was defending myself and probably saved her life in the process, hearts are rarely as logical as our intellect. I can’t help but wonder if she blames me.
But I won’t apologize for what I did. If faced with the same choice, I’d do the same thing a second time. I am, however, sorry Mose is dead. I’m sorry I was the one who killed him. More than anything, I want her to know that. I want her to know I care about her and her two young siblings, that I’m here for them. But then, life is full of wishes, most of which are left ungranted.
I’ll never admit it to anyone, but I wish there was a place in my life for these kids. I’d like to watch them grow up. Keep an eye on them. Make sure they don’t get into trouble during their rumspringas. The thought makes me smile. But I know all of it’s a fantasy. The truth of the matter is, there’s no room in my life for children right now. Just an empty spot that might once have been filled.
“Are you ready for this?”
I glance over at the sound of Tomasetti’s voice, realize we’re pulling into Adam Slabaugh’s lane. Ahead I see the old white house with its green roof and shutters, like an aging patriarch looking out over his legacy of plowed fields and pastures.
“I’m ready.” My words come too quickly, and I see his mouth tighten. “Do the boys know what happened to Mose?”
“I’m sure they probably know Mose is dead. I don’t know if they were told how it happened.”
I nod, thinking about that. “What if they hate me?”
His gaze lingers on mine. “You saved their lives, Kate. If it wasn’t for you, those two boys wouldn’t be here.” He shrugs.
He’s being logical, of course. But it’s not helping. By the time we park in the gravel area between the barn and the house, my heart is pounding and my palms are wet with sweat.
“Chief Katie!”
Tomasetti and I turn simultaneously and see Ike and Samuel bound from the house, a Border collie and an obese yellow Lab on their heels.
Ike doesn’t slow down before running into me and throwing his arms around my legs. “Daisy’s going to have puppies!” he shouts.
“I was going to tell her!” Samuel complains.
This is not at all what I expected, and several thoughts strike me at once. First and foremost, despite losing their parents and brother in the last days, and nearly dying in that pit themselves, they’re not broken up or crying or even moping around. The next thing that registers is that the boys are genuinely pleased to see me; they don’t hate me. The realization moves me, shakes me up just a little bit.
They no longer look like Amish farm boys. Both are wearing newish-looking jeans, sweatshirts, and coats, and I realize their uncle probably took them shopping at the Walmart in Millersburg.
I set my hand on Ike’s skinny shoulder. “Hey, kiddo.”
He looks up at me and grins. Only then do I see the remnants of grief on his sweet face. He looks fragile and sad, but he realizes neither. “Hi.”
When I look down at the two dogs, I’m shocked to find my vision blurred with tears. “Which one is Daisy?” I ask.
“Daisy’s the black-and-white one.” Samuel motions toward the Border collie. “The other one’s a boy dog, and boy dogs can’t have puppies.”