A Plain Disappearance (9 page)

“I can’t go back to being Amish now that I know what the
Englisch
world has to offer. I care about him, but I can’t be what he needs me to be. I can’t be Amish.”

“Did Aaron ask you to be Amish again?” I tried to keep my voice casual.

“No.” She blinked tears from her eyes. “He would never do that.”

“Have you told Aaron how you feel about being Amish?” I poked the spoon with my index finger. It didn’t even budge. “It may be best if you told him now before he becomes too attached.”

She scooped up another handful of candied pearls. “I’m sure he knows.”

I gave up on the chocolate. “He needs to hear it from you. You may think that he knows, but you need to be sure. It’s only fair.” I swallowed. “If he leaves the church for you, he’ll be shunned. It won’t be like how it’s been for you and Timothy.”

“
You
don’t have to tell me how the Amish world works, Chloe. I’m the one from there. You’re not.”

Her words were like a slap across my face. The sting lingered in the air between us for a few seconds. “You’re right.” I pointed at the stove. “By the way, I ruined your chocolate. Sorry.”

There was a solid ten seconds of tense silence followed by the front door opening and slamming shut.

“Hello!” Timothy called from the living room. He carried a huge basket into the kitchen.

“What’s that?” I asked.

He removed his stocking cap. “I was at Young’s this morning just to check if the guys closed up the jobsite right for the next couple of days. Ellie was there and forced this on me. It’s stuffed with cookies and treats from the bakery.” He smiled at his sister. “I told her Becky was making enough food to feed the entire district, but she insisted.”

“How is Ellie?” I asked. One of Ellie’s thirty-year-old twin sons died just before Thanksgiving. The first Christmas without a loved one was the hardest. I wished I could tell her it got better, but it took many years for things to improve after the loss of my mother.

“She seemed cheerful, but I imagine she doesn’t feel that way when she is alone. She is professional, always on the job.” He sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”

“The chocolate,” Becky yelped.

I stepped out of the way while she charged the stove. “I told you I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Becky lifted the boiler off the stovetop and moved it to a cool burner.

Timothy chuckled. “Where should I put this?” Every flat surface in the room was covered with food in varying stages of preparation.

I pulled out one of the chairs sitting around the kitchen table. “Right here will work.”

Timothy set the basket on the chair, then looked over at his sister. “How many people are you expecting?”

Becky was back to piping. “Thirty or so. I invited a lot of people from church and work.” She frowned. “I wish that our family would be here.”

Timothy shook his head. “It’s better this way.
Daed
would not be comfortable at an
Englischer
party. We will see them today at the Christmas program and then again tomorrow.”

Becky sighed and cleaned the tip of her piping bag. “At least the party isn’t until tomorrow. I might need to go back to the market later today for more chocolate.”

The smell of burnt chocolate hung in the air. “I can buy it. I’m the one that burned it,” I said.

“No, it’s okay.” She walked across the room and gave me a hug. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. It was mean.” She lowered her voice. “I got mad because I know you’re right, and I don’t want you to be.”

I hugged her back. “No worries, Becky. Sisters fight.”

She smiled and went back to her piping.

Timothy gave me a quizzical look, but I just shook my head.

He shrugged. “I have some more stuff in my truck.” He turned toward the kitchen door.

“I’ll help you,” I said as he was stepping out the door. I was better at carrying stuff than at cooking. When I caught up with Timothy outside, Mabel was in the Quills’ front yard eating snow.

Timothy removed a basket of fresh-baked rolls from the truck.

“How much stuff did Ellie give you?”

“You know Ellie,” he said with a laugh. “Why give someone one pie when you can give them three?”

I cleared my throat. “I need to tell you something.”

He frowned. “Does this have anything to do with what you and Becky were just talking about?”

I waved that idea away. “No. That was just girl stuff.”

He waited.

I took a deep breath. “I saw Curt Fanning today.”

Timothy dropped the basket and the rolls bounced into the snow. Mabel loped over and ate one whole.

T
imothy’s breath caught. “What happened? Are you okay? Did he try to hurt you?” His questions came at me rapidly, his voice sharp.

I squatted to pick up the rolls. “Do you think Mabel will become sick from eating these? I think she ate seven of them.”

Timothy held out a hand to help me up. He gripped my fingers tightly. “Chloe, did he hurt you?”

“No. He wanted to tell me he saw Billy leave the auto shop in a hurry late Sunday afternoon in a brown station wagon. He knew about Billy’s connection to Katie Lambright’s death.” I didn’t add that Curt had broken into my car. It would only distract Timothy.

He let go of my hand. “How could he know that? Greta told us not to tell anyone.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t even tell Becky.”

“Neither did I.”

“He could have heard it from someone else that was at the scene.”

Timothy touched his chin. “Maybe. Or he could be making it up to cover his own tracks. I can’t think of a better suspect for Katie’s murder than Curt Fanning.”

Mabel finished off the remainder of the rolls and rolled back and forth in the snow.

“I don’t think he did it,” I said.

Timothy’s brow shot up. “Why’s that? Did he say something to make you think that? Does he have an alibi?”

I frowned. “I didn’t ask him about an alibi.”

“I’m sure you will have another chance since he seems dead set on seeking you out all of the time,” he said bitterly. “Was Brock with him?”

“No. Curt was alone.”

“That’s new. I thought Tweedledee always needed Tweedledumb.”

I laughed. “What do you know about Tweedledee and Tweedledumb? You can’t tell me you read
Alice in Wonderland
as an Amish kid.”

He gave me a small smile, but it didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “I saw the movie after I left.” He paused. “With Hannah.”

“Oh.” I knelt to pet Mabel, who was on a carbohydrate high. I scratched her belly. Hannah was Timothy’s Mennonite ex-girlfriend. They broke up long before I moved to Appleseed Creek, but it was still painful to know he might have any good memories of their time together. Hannah was less than pleased when I came to town and Timothy showed interest in me. As far as she was concerned, she and Timothy were meant to be together. I was only a temporary nuisance.

I straightened up. “Whatever Curt’s motive may have been to tell me, he gave us a valuable clue. If we knew when Katie died, maybe we could have a sequence of events.”

“Chief Rose would know the timing of Katie’s death. If she doesn’t know yet, she should soon.”

As if on cue, my cell phone rang, the readout declaring,
Chief Rose
.

“Humphrey,” the police chief barked in my ear. “Where do you get off leaving me a voice mail that Fanning told you something about the Lambright case?”

“I thought that you would want to know.”

“Yes, I want to know, but you could have called me back or left a text telling me it was important.” She took a deep breath. “Never mind. It’s good info to have. It fits in with my timetable.”

“Your timetable?”

“Yep. I forgot to mention to you and Troyer that the coroner said Katie died twenty-four to forty-eight hours before you stumbled upon her. She was still in fairly good shape because she was packed in snow.”

I tried not to gag. “Did the Lambrights mention when you visited them that Katie was missing?” I asked, raising my brows at Timothy.

He shook his head.

In my ear, the police chief continued, “No. They hardly spoke to us at all. That’s why I asked for your help, remember? Now, get out there and talk to some Amish.” She ended the call.

I slipped the cell phone back into my pocket.

Timothy wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “I’m sorry that I got upset. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Nothing will,” I promised.

“That’s what you said last time.”

He had a point. I removed his arm from my shoulder and held his hand. “Come with me. I want to give you your Christmas gift.”

He pulled back on my hand. “I thought we were going to exchange gifts in front of my family tomorrow.”

“You already broke that rule, remember?” I said as I touched the chain around my neck.

He grinned. “Oh, all right. But is this a bribe to forget about Curt and Brock?”

“Um.”

His blue eyes sparkled. “Because I’m not saying that I won’t be bribed.”

I rolled my eyes. “Come on.” Still holding his hand, I led him to the garage, while Mabel galloped behind us.

“My gift is in the garage?” His voice teased.

I entered the code into the keypad and the automatic door went up. The gift was wrapped in silver paper and sitting on Mr. Quills’ workbench. I led Timothy by the hand to the bench. “Open it.”

“Are you sure you want me to open it now?”

“Yes.” I clenched my hands.
Would he like it?

He sat on the stool and began removing the paper. As he realized what it was, he ripped at the paper more quickly, then he rested a hand on the box and didn’t say anything.

I was right. It was an unromantic gift. “I can return it and find something else,” I said quickly. “I know it’s a strange first Christmas gift.”

He turned around and faced me and held out his hands. I grasped them.

“Chloe,” he whispered. “I love it. It’s the perfect gift.”

The worry circling like a storm cloud around my heart evaporated. “It is?”

“How did you know I wanted a ratchet set just like this?” He stood with a wide grin on his face. “It has ninety-four pieces and more sockets than I know what to do with.”

My shoulders relaxed. “Last time we were at Billy’s . . . before,” I paused, “before he disappeared, you were admiring his set and wishing for your own.”

Timothy flinched at the mention of his friend—a friend who was missing—an escaped convict who was potentially wrapped up with the murder of an innocent Amish girl.

I cleared my throat. “Later, I went back and he told me where to buy one just like it. He was excited to help because he cares about you.”

Timothy ignored my commentary on Billy’s feelings about the gift. “I didn’t even know you were paying attention to what we were saying.”

“I’m always paying attention to you,” I whispered.

He pulled me close and whispered. “And I’m always paying attention to you.”

The Amish district’s one-room
schoolhouse was thirty minutes by foot from the Troyer farm, ten minutes by buggy, and two minutes by car. Timothy, Becky, and I arrived at the schoolhouse before the rest of their family.

As Timothy parked his truck a little way from the line of Amish buggies tethered to the hitching post, I was instantly charmed. The schoolhouse looked like it had been dropped right out of a giant postcard. A white-washed rail fence surrounded the schoolhouse, swing set, teeter-totter, and outbuildings, all covered with a thin layer of snow. Child-sized boot prints ran every which way across the schoolyard. Mothers in heavy winter caps and bonnets stood next to their husbands in their thick wool coats and black stocking caps. The children’s coats were more colorful—blue to purple to maroon. They were dots of color in a sea of black and white. A boy chased a classmate with a snowball, and his father reached out and grabbed him by the collar. The child squealed and then melted into laughter until his father released him.

I wished I could take a photograph of the scene, but I stopped myself from reaching inside my purse for my cell phone to snap a picture. Any photography would insult the Old Order district.

“This is where you went to school?” I asked Becky and Timothy.

“Yep,” Becky said and hopped out of the truck.

“It’s so darling,” I told Timothy.

Timothy laughed and squeezed my hand across the seat. “Trust me, I didn’t think that when I was a student here. All I wanted to do was finish school so that I could go to work as a carpenter.”

The Amish only attend school through the eighth grade. With two master’s degrees behind me, this was difficult for me to fathom. School had been my escape. “You didn’t want to go on to high school or even college?”

He shook his head. “School’s not for me. I did pass the GRE because it would be easier from a business standpoint. I took a couple of business classes at the community college too, but never earned a degree. I couldn’t stand to sit there and listen to an instructor talk about how to do something. I’d rather do it and learn for myself.”

I twisted my mouth. I had loved school. I cried when I graduated from my last program and even considered applying for my doctorate so I could stay another four years at the university. The fact that my student loans hung over my head like the sword of Damocles stopped me. After I paid them down, it was likely I would go back to school. What would Timothy think about that decision? Would he believe it a waste of time?

Sparky clomped onto the schoolyard pulling the Troyer’s largest buggy behind him as Timothy and I slipped out of the pickup. Grandfather Zook and Mr. Troyer sat in the front seat, and most likely, Timothy’s mother and the three younger Troyer children were in the back of the buggy.

Grandfather Zook parked Sparky next to Timothy’s truck. Timothy tethered the horse to a tree and rubbed the white star in the middle of his forehead. Thomas leaped out of the buggy wearing a striped nightshirt and a cloth over his clothing and a band on his head. The seven-year-old spun in place, so that we could appreciate the full effect of his outfit.