Becky stood in the ER waiting room—a room I was a little too familiar with having only lived in Knox County for four months. She held up my coat, and her eyes fell to my hand interlaced with Timothy’s.
I took the coat with my free hand, reluctant to release myself from Timothy’s grasp. It was as if holding onto his hand made the kiss more real, and less a figment of my imagination. Timothy squeezed my hand reassuringly, as if he understood my hesitation.
I was about to let go when someone from behind me cleared his throat.
Becky took a step back. Timothy and I turned around and came face to face with Curt Fanning, the last person I wanted to see when so happy. He was the sewing needle to my happiness balloon.
His eyes fell on my hands intertwined with Timothy’s, and his lip curled. Timothy held my hand a little more tightly.
Curt fondled the dog tag hanging from his neck. “I want to talk to you.”
“Why?” the question popped out of my mouth.
“This isn’t easy for me to say,” he said, his voice barely above a growl. “But thank you.”
My mouth fell open. Curt might as well have tap danced in the middle of the waiting room.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “If it hadn’t been for you, Brock would have died. I can hardly stand him most of the time, but he’s my best friend. I don’t know what I would do if I’d lost him.”
My mouth felt dry. “You’re welcome,” I managed.
“There’s something else,” he said, sounding more like himself.
Of course there was. Who was I to think that Curt would say thank you and let that be the end of it?
He sucked on his teeth. “I think I know why that Amish girl, the one you were with in the woods, wanted to talk to you.”
I went very still. “Why?”
“To confess.”
“To what?”
“The haircutting.”
I took in a sharp of breath. “What are you talking about?”
“Two weeks ago, Brock and I got back into town from . . . being away.” He gave me a level stare when he said this. “It was late, like four in the morning.”
A light went off. Was Curt and Brock’s green truck the vehicle Sadie had heard that morning?
“Don’t you mean early then?” Becky asked.
His eyes cut in her direction. “It would if we’d gone to sleep that night.”
Becky inched toward her brother. “Oh.”
“What did you see?” I asked.
“I took a shortcut down the alley behind the bakery. That Amish girl that works in the bakery, not the cute one, but the one with glasses, she was being held on the ground by another Amish girl wearing men’s clothes. A potato bag was over her face. A third girl used some type of old fashioned scissors to cut off her hair.”
“There were only three girls there?” Timothy asked.
Curt cracked his knuckles. “No, there was a fourth. She was watching the alley.”
“Other than Sadie, who works at the bakery, what did the girls look like?”
He squinted at me. “I don’t know. They were Amish.”
“Why would an Amish girl cut off another Amish girl’s hair? I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Becky argued.
“I don’t know,” Curt growled. “I just know what Brock and I saw.”
“Why didn’t you stop them?” Becky pressed.
Curt’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not my job to interfere with the Amish.”
Timothy jaw twitched. “That must be a new policy for you.”
“So what if it is, buggy rider?” Curt’s lips curled back. “You don’t believe me?”
“It’s hard to believe,” Timothy said.
“Brock and I saw them. They cut off that girl’s hair.”
“You can’t be serious,” Becky blurted out. “Maybe you are the ones who did it, and you’re making up this story.”
He glared at her. “I’m telling the truth.”
“It would be the first time.” Timothy gripped my hand so tightly my knuckles hurt.
I pulled my hand from Timothy’s grasp. “Curt, I believe you.”
Timothy’s face was incredulous, but I did believe Curt. “The chief is going to want to talk to you,” I said.
His expression became hooded again. “I’m not talking to the cops.”
The receptionist leaned over the counter. “Mr. Fanning? The doctor said Mr. Buckley has been moved to his room on the third floor. You can visit him there now. Visiting hours end at seven.”
Mr. Fanning? Mr. Buckley? The receptionist’s formal address of Curt and Brock didn’t fit them.
He turned to go.
“Curt,” I called.
He pivoted on the linoleum floor, the rubber soles of his boots squeaking.
“Thank you for telling me this.”
“You’re welcome.” He said the words as if they caused a strange taste in his mouth, then continued down the hallway.
Timothy was gaping at me. “You believe him?”
“Yes, I think this is what Abby wanted to tell me today, and she lost her nerve.” I ignored the No Cell Phone sign and called the chief. The receptionist glared at me but didn’t tell me to put the phone away.
“What is it, Humphrey? I told you I would see you later,” Chief Rose said in my ear.
“Something new has come up.” I repeated Curt’s story.
“Huh.”
“Huh? You don’t sounds too surprised.”
“I’m not. There was something about those girls’ story that didn’t sit well with me. I need to talk to Curt.”
“I told him that. He’s not eager to talk to you.”
She chuckled. “I’m not surprised. Typically we start a conversation with me Mirandarizing him. Is he still there?”
“As far as I know. The hospital is keeping Brock overnight. Curt was just told he could go up and see his friend.”
“All right.” She clicked her tongue. “I’ll head to the hospital.”
“Do you want us to wait for you?”
“Nah. I’ll swing by your house after I talk to Curt. Do not talk to the girls. I don’t want them to get spooked that we know something.”
I hung up.
“Where do we go now?” Becky asked.
“Home,” I said.
I just prayed Dylan wouldn’t be there.