Chapter 6
Charlotte and Deputy Little disappeared back inside the church, and I found myself studying Deacon Clapp and Sol Weaver. The deacon looked defiantly at Aiden while Sol fidgeted with the brim of his felt hat in his calloused hands. What had caused these men to be so harsh? There had to be a reason.
“You owe me an explanation, Deputy,” Clapp said. “You have no power over that girl. Her father and I are the ones who should be directing her where to go and what to do.”
His statement immediately put my teeth on edge, and I was grateful for the hundredth time since I’d moved to Holmes County that I wasn’t Amish. As much as I loved and respected my grandmother and the peace that her community gave her, I could never live under so much restriction. I would have felt strangled. I had a feeling that was how Charlotte felt right now.
Aiden glanced at me. “Bailey, we need some privacy.”
I blinked. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry.”
He nodded and turned to the two men. “Let’s talk by your buggy, where we won’t be overheard.”
Without a backward glance at me, the three men walked to the far side of the polished black buggy out of my line of sight.
A horn honked and shook me out of my daze. I turned and found the front end of a hearse just a few feet away from me. I stumbled out of the way in the direction of the buggy. Beside the hearse, an ambulance pulled up in front of the church, forcing me closer to the buggy. Three EMTs hopped out of the ambulance and jogged up the church steps into the building with military precision.
A third vehicle came, and this was another Sheriff’s Department car. SHERIFF was emblazoned on the side of the vehicle. Without a thought in my head, I ran around the side of the buggy. The last person on earth that I wanted to see again was Sheriff Jack Marshall. He and I had not gotten off on the right foot when I’d met him in September.
The sheriff climbed out of his SUV and readjusted his belt as he surveyed the parking lot.
I ducked behind the buggy to avoid being seen.
“What is this all about?” Clapp was asking in a sharp voice on the other side of the buggy.
I peeked around the side and spied Aiden, the deacon, and Charlotte’s father standing in a tight circle at the edge of the parking lot about twelve feet from where I was hiding from the sheriff. I grimaced. I knew that I should not be overhearing this conversation. I looked over my shoulder. Sheriff Marshall was still standing by his SUV. I was stuck unless I wanted to reveal my location to one of them, which I did not.
Aiden looked from the deacon to Sol and back again. “I’m sorry to tell you, but the body of an Amish woman was discovered in the church earlier today.”
“Someone has died?” Sol asked.
Aiden nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“Who?” Sol’s voice was hoarse.
“It is your sister-in-law, Josephine Weaver,” Aiden said. “I’m very sorry.”
Sol’s face grew even paler. I didn’t know how that was possible. The man was already as white as bleached coral.
“Sol, are you all right?” Aiden asked, leaning toward the other man.
“How did she die?” Sol asked. “What happened?”
“We aren’t certain yet. The coroner will have to make that determination,” Aiden said and then turned to the deacon. “When was the last time you saw Josephine Weaver?”
The deacon scowled. “Why are you asking me this? What does it matter when the last time I saw her was?”
Aiden hooked one thumb over his duty belt, and the gun holstered there shifted ever so slightly. I don’t know if he did that on purpose, but to me, it felt intentional.
Aiden nodded at Deacon Clapp. “You’re the deacon of her district, are you not? Just as you like to know where Charlotte Weaver is, I assume that you keep tabs on her aunt and all the members of your church?”
The deacon straightened his shoulders. “I do, but I can’t tell you the last time I saw Josephine. My best guess would be that I saw her two weeks ago at our last Sunday morning service. She is always there.”
“Did you speak to her that day?” Aiden asked.
“Nee,” Clapp said as if he was biting down on something hard.
Aiden turned to Sol. “And when was the last time you saw your sister-in-law?”
He frowned. “She stopped by the buggy shop yesterday afternoon.”
Aiden’s eyebrows went up. “The buggy shop?”
“Weaver Buggy Company. It is on State Route 39. It is my family business. Josephine stops in often to talk to me.”
Aiden’s eyebrows went even higher. “And why is that?”
Sol clenched his jaw. “Because I’m the head of the family, and if she has concerns, she must discuss them with me. That is our way.”
“Did Josephine have concerns?” Aiden asked.
“Josephine always had concerns,” Sol said. “She liked to have her hand in many things. Some of which had nothing to do with her.”
“And did she express any concerns this last visit?”
Sol winced as if he regretted telling Aiden about the concerns part. He didn’t answer.
Aiden shifted his hand on his belt again. “Sol, please answer my question.”
Sol glanced at the deacon, and the deacon gave him a slight nod as if granting some type of permission. “She was concerned about Charlotte. She felt, as the rest of the family does, that Charlotte should not play the organ in the Englisch church.”
“Did Josephine feel more strongly about this than the rest of you?”
“We have all been upset about it, but ya, my sister-in-law has been the most outspoken of all.”
“And how did she seem yesterday afternoon?” Aiden asked.
“Seem? What do you mean?” Sol’s red eyebrows came together.
“Was she upset?” Aiden rephrased his question.
Sol nodded. “She was upset. My sister-in-law was always upset. It was her way.”
“Josephine Weaver is a busybody,” Clapp interjected. “She always has been. She had no place addressing Charlotte’s behavior. It’s up to Sol and me to deal with Charlotte, not her aunt.”
Aiden shifted his weight. “Can you give me another example of how she may have been a busybody? Was she upset by the behavior of others in your district besides Charlotte?”
“She wasn’t happy that an Englischer was participating in the Amish Confectionery Competition,” Sol said. “She also complained to me about that and said she planned to get the Englischer removed.”
I winced. I knew that Josephine had been talking about me, and I was certain that Aiden knew it too. There went all my hopes of not being a suspect in this murder investigation.
Aiden turned to the deacon. “As her deacon, did Josephine speak to you about Charlotte or anyone else?”
“Nee.” The deacon folded his arms. “I don’t have anything else to say. Of course, I am sorry that Josephine is dead. We mourn when any person in our community passes. We mourn when any of Gotte’s children are lost. The funeral will give use closure.”
“I understand that, but I have an investigation to conduct.” Aiden folded his arms.
“Why? What investigation?” the deacon snapped.
Aiden shaded his eyes from the sun, which was now high in the sky. “Deacon Clapp, Josephine’s body was discovered inside the organ of this church. It is impossible for me to believe that she died inside the organ by her own choice.”
Sol gasped, but the deacon gave no visible sign of surprise. He simply shook his head. “I never expected Charlotte to take her determination to play the organ so far.”
It was my turn to gasp. I was surprised that the deacon was ready to name one of his own as a possible killer. He might as well have put her head on a silver platter for Aiden with a sign proclaiming her guilt.
“Deacon,” Sol began, “I cannot believe that my daughter would do such a thing.”
“Then who else would? Who else could have been in that church with her?” the deacon wanted to know.
Sol clamped his mouth shut, and despite the October chill in the air, beads of sweat popped up on his forehead.
Aiden cocked his head. “And how would a girl of Charlotte’s size put her aunt inside the organ?”
Clapp pulled on his beard. “She had help then. It could have been from any number of the Englischers that she was fraternizing with here.”
“You seem to be surprisingly eager to pin Josephine’s death on a member of your own church district,” Aiden said.
“Charlotte is barely a member of my district any longer. All signs point to her leaving the church. It is always easy to pick out those on rumspringa who are tempted by the world and cannot follow the Amish way. She has been one of those from the start.”
“Deacon,” Sol wiped at his sweaty face with a handkerchief, “I told you my daughter is confused, but I’m certain that she will make the right decision and stay with the Amish.”
Clapp snorted. “She is rebellious. That is your fault, Sol.”
The other man jerked back as if the deacon had slapped him.
Charlotte’s sweet face came to mind. She didn’t strike me as the rebellious type. Or the murdering type, for that matter.
Aiden opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something in return, but he was stopped when someone called out his name.
I spun around in my hiding spot. Deputy Little skipped down the church steps holding a small plastic bag in his hand. The sheriff was nowhere to be seen, but his SUV was still there.
“Deputy Brody! Deputy Brody!” He waved the bag over his head. There was something inside, but whatever it was, the object was far too small for me to identify from where I hid behind the buggy. I wanted to know what was in that baggie.
Aiden hurried over to the younger officer and gently reprimanded him. “Little, let’s not wave the evidence out in the open for all to see, okay?’
The younger deputy’s face fell. “I—I’m sorry. I thought you’d want to know right away.”
Aiden patted him on the shoulder. “And I do, but I’m in the middle of an interview. Next time, call me on the radio to ask me to come inside to review the evidence.”
Little looked from the deacon to Aiden and back again. “Oh, right. I’m sorry, sir.” He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his brow. I expected to see this gesture in Sol, an Amish man, but I was surprised to see Little use a handkerchief. It seemed like such an old-fashioned accessory for someone so young. He shoved the handkerchief back into the hip pocket of his uniform.
“Why would you be calling licorice evidence?” the deacon asked.
Licorice? My ears immediately perked up at the word.
“Little, take the evidence back inside the church,” Aiden directed.
“There is no use hiding it now,” the deacon huffed. “I saw the licorice in that bag as plain as day. Is that what killed Josephine?”
Aiden’s head snapped around. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because everyone in the district knew that Josephine was allergic to licorice, more specifically anise. She made a point of letting everyone know, so that they wouldn’t include anise in their baking recipes. She was very particular. At times, she refused to eat desserts that were offered because she was afraid they might include the smallest drop of anise. She offended many ladies in our church by refusing their desserts. There is no greater insult to an Amish woman than someone refusing to eat the food that she has prepared.”
“Then how can she be in the competition?” Aiden asked, sounding as confused as I felt. “I thought licorice was one of the categories.”
“You mean for the confectionery competition? Her shop assistant must have made the licorice; perhaps her assistant even made it at home. I don’t think she would allow anise in her building. She was that allergic to it.”
“And who is her shop assistant?” Aiden asked.
I was grateful that he was asking all the questions that were coming to my mind.
“Lindy Beiler,” the deacon said. “She and Charlotte were friends, but she has already joined the church and married. She’s followed the path that we like to see all our young members take.”
“Where did you find that?” Clapp pointed at Little, who was still holding the bag of licorice out for all to see.
Little rocked back and forth on his heels and looked to Aiden for guidance.
Aiden sighed. “Where did you find the licorice, Deputy Little?”
He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “It was in her apron pocket, sir.”
“That’s impossible. She would never carry licorice in her pocket,” Sol said. “She absolutely would never do that.”
Clapp nodded. “As I just told you, she was deathly allergic to it.”
Deathly allergic. Had the licorice killed Josephine, and if it did, was it possible that this wasn’t a murder at all but a tragic and accidental allergic reaction? I suspected that was just wishful thinking on my part, especially when the image of Josephine lying on the platform inside the organ came to mind. I remembered how red, swollen, and cracked her lips were. They’d reminded me of the lips of someone with a serious fever.
Suddenly, the wheel of the buggy that I was hiding behind shifted. The horse pulled the buggy away from me. As my presence was revealed to everyone, I found Aiden staring at me with his hands on his hips but, if I wasn’t completely mistaken, with a twinkle in his eye.