Upon A Winter's Night (24 page)

“Loud and clear,” he said, but he saw how this man operated. Get cozy, friendly, supportive, then toss in another foursquare hit to the head, hoping to spring some sort of confession loose.

“Ray-Lynn and I will take Lydia home and tell her mother we stopped by and volunteered. Say, one more thing. Why wasn’t your right-hand man, Hank, with you at church tonight instead of that other guy?”

“A family birthday. Hank’s oldest boy. You don’t think he—”

“Just covering all the bases. I would have liked to document those snow angels you two were talking about, too. Now don’t you wash that paint job off or repaint your wall till I send my desk gal, Peggy, out to get a good photo of it from all angles tomorrow morning.”

“Fine, but then I want to get rid of it.”

“Now, Josh,” the sheriff said, in his best small-town voice that Josh knew he put on sometimes, “getting rid of something or someone is not gonna help things at all. You want to say goodbye to Lydia, you make it quick now.” He walked away to stare up at the horrible paintwork again.

For one second, Josh couldn’t decide whether to keep what he knew from the sheriff or not, but he figured he’d better tell him that much. “Sheriff, I do have something else to show you.”

One hand on his holster, he turned back toward Josh. “Like what?”

“As you probably overhead when you were eavesdropping,” he said, trying to control the bite in his voice, “those snow angels out back had a pitchfork drawn between them, too. Carrots on the head for horns and a pitchfork where we held hands. But—and Lydia doesn’t know this—a real pitchfork was stuck in each of the chests.”

“And you’ve got the pitchforks?”

“
Ya,
here in the barn with my tools. I pulled them out and brushed over the snow so Lydia wouldn’t get more upset than she already was. It was the same day someone evidently followed her to Amity where she met with an elderly man who used to know her father. She found out that Sandra had been there to interview him first. While Lydia was in his house, someone unhitched her horse and put a camel saddle on it, a heavy saddle that had been stolen from the back of my barn that morning. It’s one we used in the pageant tonight. Lydia brought it back from Amity.”

“And the reason no one told me any of this before? No, never mind. Don’t trust the local law or the feds.”

“I’m telling you now—everything. She didn’t want her parents to know she was pursuing information about her birth parents. And,
ya,
you’re right. Like I said, we Amish don’t on the whole trust law enforcement officers. They’re the ones who dragged our forefathers off to prison, torture and death.”

“Well, get this straight, Josh,” he said, walking closer and putting an index finger on his chest. “This is America, times are different, and law officers like me are here to protect and defend, to help. Unless someone Amish has committed a crime and deserves imprisonment and even death, I’m on your side. Got that?”

Josh nodded and stood his ground, meeting the sheriff’s piercing gaze. Now, why had the man mentioned imprisonment and death, as if he was still thinking Josh had murdered Sandra?

“Let me show you the pitchforks,” Josh said. “I’ve got extras. Over here with my other tools. My prints will be on them, but maybe you can find a trace of someone else. Or you can use DNA or whatever that new stuff is.”

“You volunteering to get printed, despite the fact it’s against Amish ways? How about a simple swab of your inner cheek in case DNA ever helps us solve Sandra’s death or this defacing of your property?”

“
Ya,
if that’s what you need. I’ll have to tell Bishop Esh, though, hopefully not get shunned for all that. But I want to stop this, Sheriff, find out who’s trying to hurt Lydia and me and why. But most of all, I want to get whoever killed Sandra. The thing is, I suppose most people around here own a pitchfork, so this may not be much help. And can you take them both out the back door and put them in your trunk so Lydia doesn’t see them and get more upset if I have to explain?”

“But the thing is, who, except local farmers—and I don’t have a one of them on my list of suspects—would own two pitchforks?” he repeated, shaking his head.

“I’d say the hardware store in town, but these two look well used. You know,” Josh said, drawing out his words, “I’m not sure if this will still be true, but one of them had dead pine needles stuck with sap on a couple of the prongs.”

“That right?” the sheriff said, pursing his lips. “Well, let’s have a look.”

He squeezed Josh’s shoulder as they walked toward his stash of tools in the corner of the barn. Their working together was a start, Josh thought, because the other option was worse. He had to keep calm. Still, when he passed the bloodred angels and the word
KILLER
again, he felt like ripping the obscenity down bare-handed, board by board.

24

L
ydia heard distant screeches and hoots outside. It was barely light the morning after the horror in the barn. So far, she had not told her anxious parents about that, even when Ray-Lynn and the sheriff brought her home.
Mamm,
who waited up, seemed relieved to see her in any vehicle that wasn’t Josh’s buggy.

Now Lydia pressed her face to the cold windowpane above the kitchen sink to see who was making that noise. Down on the road, she could see a car hit its brakes and swerve. Was there ice on the road? But who was shouting and squealing? Despite the cold morning—new snow had fallen last night—she opened the window over the kitchen sink and stuck her head out a few inches. The horse and buggy that came along after the car went on its way with no problem.

But then another car braked and swerved, and this time she saw why. Two boys were hiding behind the first row of Christmas trees edging the road and throwing snowballs at passing cars. A third car hit its brakes, then sped on. Hoots and hollers filled the air.

Ya,
it was Connor’s twins. Now, what were their names again? Bradley and Blaine, something like that, so worldly. Although they were obviously unsupervised this morning and doing something that could cause great danger—their grandmother would be appalled—they suddenly made her remember Sammy. He had died when he was five and these boys were seven, but Sammy had loved to throw snowballs. He’d made a snow fort once with
Daad
and always begged her to play fox and geese in the snow.

Lydia’s parents were both still in bed, but she had to stop Connor’s kids before they caused a wreck. Besides, a few years ago, Amish boys throwing tomatoes at cars had been shot at by an angry motorist. She closed the window with a bang.

Jamming her feet into boots, she yanked on her coat and tied her bonnet as she went out and down the driveway. You might know the boys had chosen the corner of the Stark land that abutted the Brand driveway. She took such huge strides she was almost out of breath when she got within their earshot.

“Boys! Stop that! You’re going to cause a wreck!” she shouted. “Your father will be upset and your grandmother, too!”

As they turned toward her, snowballs in hand, she marveled again at how much they looked alike. Blaine? Bradley? She had no idea who was who. For one minute, she thought they would throw snowballs at her or run, but they probably figured she’d just tell on them. Reminding her so much of their father, they stood their ground defiantly.

“We’re just having fun. It’s only snow,” the boy in the blue coat said. She saw they were dressed for school and had made a mess of their jeans and jackets, as if they’d been pelting each other first.

The boy in the orange jacket said, “We don’t care if you tell our dad.”

“Why don’t you care? You know what you’re doing is wrong. You could hurt someone. Won’t he punish you?”

“If he does, at least he’ll have to talk to us. He’s gone a lot and Mom’s mad at him, too.”

“I see. Well, he’s mayor now and he’s trying to buy more land for trees, you know, so all that keeps him busy.”

“Too busy. Mom argues with him and Gran did, too—real loud. We can’t fight with him, so if he hears about this, he’ll have to talk to us.”

Lydia was astounded. Evidently desperate to get their father’s attention, the young boys had laid this plan, one they knew could get them in trouble. And here she wanted to talk to her own father about things, but couldn’t because she didn’t want to hurt him or cause him to strain his heart.

“So, you gonna tell him?” the boy in the blue coat challenged.

“I think we need to march right up the hill to your house, and you can tell him what you did and why. It may be that one of those cars you hit just went up your driveway to tell your parents, anyway. It doesn’t look good for the mayor’s sons to be throwing things at cars, does it?” she asked as the three of them started to trudge up the hill toward the house.

“Boy, if someone drives in to tell him, he might get mad at them, too,” the twin in blue said. “But it’s that bad story in the newspaper about him that really got him mad.”

Lydia’s head jerked around. She’d seen the local weekly paper, so what were they talking about? It did have a short article about her father’s heart attack and that he was home again. It was only then she realized her parents might find her missing and be panicked.

“Listen, you two,” she said. “I have to go back and get my buggy and head for work. But on the way, I’m going to stop in to check with your parents that you told them the truth about all this. So I expect you to get back to your house right now. Besides, aren’t you supposed to catch your school bus?”

“Not for a while. They think we went to our room to study.”

“Oh, that’s a good one. You just go on up to the house now, and I’ll be there soon. But what about a bad story in the newspaper?”

“There you are!” a voice boomed. Connor came half walking, half running down the hill, kicking snow ahead of him. For once, he seemed dressed for the cold weather. “What are you two doing out here? You’re supposed to tell your mother when you’re going outside. Lydia?”

“I saw them doing something they shouldn’t have and came out to talk to them,” she said, edging away. Connor looked furious, unless it was the chill wind and his exertion that made him so red in the face.

The boy in the orange coat said, “We were throwing snowballs at cars, but not buggies, ’cause we didn’t want to hurt any horses.”

“Get back to the house, right now!” Connor yelled at his sons. “After what happened to your great-aunt Victoria, we don’t need anyone just disappearing out of the house into the snow. I had to follow your tracks. Get going now!”

The twins looked at each other as if to say, “Mission accomplished,”
 
but Lydia could tell they were shaky, too. Thinking Connor would follow them, she started away.

“And you’re guilty as hell, too, aren’t you, though not for throwing snowballs at cars?” Connor demanded, and came after her. He grabbed her arm and swung her back to face him. “Caught just like kids with snow on your hands!”

“What are you talking about? Let me go!” she shouted back. She was suddenly very afraid of him. Connor could well be the intruder in her house and Josh’s barn.

He gave her arm another shake. “That story in the
Cleveland Plain Dealer
could ruin this tree farm and hurt my mother,” he said as she pulled free of his grip and almost went off balance. “You didn’t think of that, did you—hurt your friend Bess?”

“I said, what are you talking about? The boys mentioned a newspaper article, but—”

“That reporter Manning wouldn’t even have been around here if it wasn’t for you and your boyfriend getting mixed up in Sandra Myerson’s death.”

“Roy Manning’s been bothering me, but why should he be after you?”

“Oh, yeah, play the little Amish innocent! Manning’s the second person you’ve sicced on me. You’re his source, you have to be. You figured out I was spraying diseased trees to sell them fast this season, didn’t you? Gave him that story to get him off your and Yoder’s backs. I believe you that you don’t get the Cleveland paper on your doorstep every morning, but you gave him the info!”

“No! I suspected what you were doing, but we didn’t even talk about you, except he mentioned you’d talked to Sandra.”

“Nothing like a little diversion, right? Get him after me, so he’ll let up on you and Yoder as suspects. That woman was running wild, anyway. Did you make a deal with Manning? Forget Sandra’s death, but here—Senator Stark’s son is committing fraud on Christmas shoppers. It’s true the trees were sprayed with green paint and you’re the only one—”

“Connor, I didn’t say one word to him about you or your trees. I should have talked to you about it, just like I did to your kids when they did something wrong, but I didn’t. But I repeat, I gave Roy Manning no information on you or your trees. And don’t you ever even hint that Josh or I had anything to do with Sandra’s death. Now I have to go to work.”

“I don’t believe you!” he shouted as she started down the hill toward her house at a good clip. “You’ve always tried to horn in here!”

She blinked tears onto her cheeks, then brushed them away with a gloved hand. More than once over the years, Connor had shouted at her as she ran from his land. But who indeed had given that story to Roy Manning and the paper? Or, had he been lurking in the Christmas trees while he watched her house, seen the trees and figured it out himself?

* * *

Peggy Fencer, the hardware store manager’s wife, who worked in the sheriff’s office, took photos of the bloodred mess painted inside Josh’s barn. The minute she left, he got up on the ladder with a can of gray paint and covered it completely, as if that could end his problems. A cover-up never worked and he knew it, but he had to get rid of the offensive message. Being this close, seeing the quick, angry strokes of crimson hurt and infuriated him. The person who had done this was someone desperate, in a rage—just like he felt right now.

Josh realized he could have left the horrible graffiti for Hank to see, but why? It was bad enough that Lydia had seen it, suffered for it. He yearned to make peace with her parents and to propose to her. But her mother especially detested him. Josh was pretty sure Gid Reich was just playing nice guy so she’d marry him, with the pressure from her parents and all. Josh wanted her in his bed for good, and, here, someone else was dumping honey on her sheets. But so far she’d stuck with him, as his
daad
used to say, through thick and thin.

But, really, what was best for Lydia? Whoever she married, the furniture store would be in her future and running that was way out of his realm. Still, if she insisted on knowing who her real parents were, Sol Brand could be deeply offended and disinherit her. Lydia had been hesitant to hurt her parents before. Now she was terrified she’d trigger another heart attack if she asked Sol about her birth parents, and her mother would probably blow sky-high.

He was almost tempted to take that burden on himself, to ask the Brands about Lydia’s birth parents and why they would not tell her the truth. What were they hiding or afraid of?

And then a new thought hit him with stunning force. His father had once told him that his mother, Bethany—called Bessie by her parents, because she couldn’t say her name when she was little—had been a close friend of Sol’s before they went their separate ways and Bessie married his
daad.
What if Lydia’s mother hated Josh because he was the child of an early rival for Sol’s affections? Could it be she feared Lydia and he would wed and that would remind her that she could have lost Sol to another woman years ago?

* * *

Though Lydia was already late for work, she pulled Flower up the long driveway toward the Stark house. Despite the fact she feared running into Connor again, she’d told his twins that she would stop in to be sure they’d told the truth. Telling the truth...she vowed to face
Daad
down about that today. He was healing, was stronger. Even if he said he’d have to clear telling her about her birth parents with Bishop Esh first, today had to be the day. Because if someone was trying to stop or hurt her, she didn’t want to end up like Sandra. She had to know what she was facing in her search and be sure no one had the chance to shove her off a loft or anything else.

To her great relief, even though she hated to hurt Bess’s feelings, it was Bess who came to the back door when Lydia knocked.

“I was waiting for someone else, but come in,” she insisted. “I heard what the boys did. Thanks for stopping them before they hurt someone or got hurt themselves. They are
really
in trouble with their father, and rightfully so. We don’t need headlines about those two causing a wreck on the road on top of the attack on Connor for spraying trees.”

“Bess, I can make this quick. I promised the boys I’d stop, that’s all, and I like to keep my promises.”

“Don’t we all? Come in here, I said. It’s cold. Connor drove Blair and Brad to school, but I need to talk to you for a few minutes.”

Oh, that’s right, Lydia thought: his name is Blair, not Blaine. She went in, expecting at least the boys’ mother, Heather, to be there, but the big kitchen—two ovens and two refrigerators!—was empty. “I need to get to the furniture store,” Lydia told her, realizing she was repeating herself, “but I told the boys I was going to stop here to be sure they confessed.”

“They did, apparently happily so, and sadly, just to have Connor’s attention,” she explained, grabbing a carafe of coffee and two cups as she led Lydia down a hall and into an office where she clicked on a light. The outer wall of drapes was still drawn against the cold in the large room. “He’s been so busy and burdened. I do wish you two could get along. Now, I’ll get you on your way soon,” she rushed on, “but I just need to ask you something. Sit, sit. Just a quick warm-up of coffee and a quicker question.”

Lydia expected it would be something else about her grandsons’ dangerous prank. A prominent picture of them was on her cluttered walnut desk. This must be Bess’s away-from-the-senate office. Family photos and business ones covered the three walls that didn’t have windows, cluttered bookcases and filing cabinets. She saw a photo of Bess with the governor. Oh! Bess with a former president!

“I had to have that one taken,” she said when she saw Lydia gawking at it. “Respect the office, if not the man, right? I mean like you and Connor getting along like oil and water all these years,” she added, handing her a cup of coffee.

“He blamed me for the bad newspaper article.”

“That’s my question, and, unlike him, I will believe you. You say you didn’t tell that
Plain Dealer
reporter, but did you tell anyone else who might have told him? Josh or Ray-Lynn Freeman, for example?”

“No, Bess, I did not. I thought Connor might be doing something wrong when I saw him spraying paint on the trees and using a couple of pitchforks to shake needles loose, but I told no one.”

“Okay, so that’s out of the way between us. I believe you. The thing is, it not only hurts Connor locally but me statewide, maybe nationally,” she said with a sigh as she sat in the chair beside her and sipped her coffee. “Actually, I’m waiting for someone to help me lay out a campaign for governor.”