As we were about to leave, Becky hugged Thomas good-bye so tightly the boy yelped. “Becky, you will see me tomorrow. It will be Christmas Eve.” He lowered his voice. “Did you bring me a gift?”
She tousled his towhead. “Maybe.”
His mouth fell open.
I frowned. How would the Lambrights’ Christmas be this year? The first Christmas after my mother died was the worst of my life. It was also the time when my father introduced me to his new girlfriend Sabrina. The memory tumbled inside my mind, so I said my good-byes to the Troyer family and went outside, needing to be alone.
After a few minutes, the door of the farmhouse’s screened-in front porch slapped back against its wooden frame. Timothy removed his black stocking cap from his coat pocket and pulled it onto his head. “Are you okay?”
I nodded even though I wasn’t sure that was true. “Why did you make a face when your mother asked about Sally Lambright’s reaction?”
Timothy frowned. “Because it wasn’t good.”
I dug my gloves out of my pockets. “She cried?”
Mabel barked and galloped down the driveway from the barn. She must have been snoozing inside of Grandfather Zook’s sleigh until she heard Timothy’s voice. Mrs. Troyer didn’t allow animals into her house. Even though Mabel was a big, shaggy dog, the size of a golden retriever or collie, she leaped into Timothy’s arms. He caught her and hugged her before landing on all four paws on the ground.
“Timothy?” I asked. “What did Sally do?”
“It’s not what she did. It’s what she said.”
“What was that?”
He sighed. “She said that Katie had this coming. That she brought this on herself.”
My stomach tightened. “What did she mean?”
“Not sure, exactly. Greta asked her to explain, but that was all she would say. The chief believes that Anna will be the easiest to talk to, to find out what Katie was up to in her final days. She couldn’t ask her then because Jeb kicked us off his property. Besides, Anna was hysterical at the moment. We could hear her wailing all the way from her bedroom on the second floor.” Timothy stood there in the silence. Then he glanced back at the house. “It always takes Becky so long to say good-bye to the family.”
“You know it’s hard for her to leave.”
“She could go back to the Amish and stay forever,” Timothy said.
I frowned, but decided not to argue with Timothy. I knew he secretly wished his sister would return to the Amish and marry his best friend, Aaron, who was Timothy’s age, but obviously in love with Becky, eight years his junior. “You can’t even guess why Sally would say something so awful about Katie.”
He shook his head. “That was the one and only thing she said the entire time. I did get an earful from Jeb. I think it was a mistake for me to be there when Greta told them. It only made it worse.”
“Why?”
“Jeb said that it was runaway Amish like me that lead to these kinds of tragedies. If I hadn’t left the Amish way, others wouldn’t follow. He said that I was the example and the reason Becky left.”
I touched his sleeve. “That’s not true.”
He shook his head. “It is to some extent. My sister would never have been brave enough to leave home if I hadn’t already done it myself and turned out all right. Most of the Amish in our district stay Amish. Before she left home, she didn’t know of any other fallen away Amish except for me.”
“Becky left for herself.”
“But I gave her the idea.” His voice was thick with emotion.
I turned the conversation back to Katie. “Jeb thinks Katie left the Amish?”
“That was the impression I got. He didn’t elaborate and completely ignored Greta’s questions. I thought she was going to spit nails, she was so mad.”
The police chief didn’t like to be ignored. I knew that. “But Katie was in Amish dress. There was nothing about her that indicated she left the Amish way of life.”
“Maybe she had just left before she died.”
“Had she been missing? Did the family notice that she was gone?”
“Jeb wouldn’t say.”
I sighed. “Someone has to know.”
“Do you plan to find out whom that someone is?” Timothy asked as Becky stepped into the yard.
She held a tin of caramel corn. I wasn’t surprised. Rarely, did we leave the Troyer farm without a care package.
I looked him straight in the eye. “Yes. And you will help me.”
The drive to the house Becky and I lived in was quiet as each of us, Mabel included, was preoccupied with our own thoughts. Most likely, Mabel contemplated when she would have an opportunity for her next nap. Timothy, Becky, and my own thoughts were much darker.
Temporarily, Becky and I rented the home of the Quills, an elderly couple who wintered in Florida. Unlike the Troyer house, which had been in the family for several generations and sat a quarter-mile back from the road, the Quills’ two-story, brick home was only two car-lengths from the county road. Beneath the snow, perfectly manicured bushes sat shaped into spirals and balls. The Christmas tree that Timothy, Becky, and I chose from the farm in town was framed by the front window, its lights blinking on and off.
The home was similar to the house I grew up in Shaker Heights before my mother died, except that house had another floor and more square footage. It also had the same artificial perfection of the Quills’ place. I liked the Troyer farmhouse better. Becky, however, did not. She loved everything about our rental—from the remote control that operated the gas fireplace to the professional kitchen appliances. If I heard her pontificate one more time about how wonderful the six-burner gas stove was, I might choke.
Becky’s lawyer, Tyler Hart, had helped us find this new place to live when circumstances forced Becky and me into an unexpected move. With little time to find another place, and with few rentals available in the town of Appleseed Creek, the Quills’ offer was the best option we had. When the Quills returned in April, Becky and I would have to find yet another new home, and I hoped for something more permanent that would suit us both. I was tired of moving. Still, even though the Quills’ house was three miles from my job at the college, it was closer to Becky’s. In good weather she could walk or ride her bike to Young’s Family Kitchen where she waitressed.
Timothy parked his pickup behind my VW Bug in the Quills’ driveway. Several extra inches of snow had accumulated on the Bug since we had left early that morning for the Troyer farm. Would we ever see green grass again? After Christmas, I would be ready for spring and summer to return; however, I’d lived in Ohio my entire life and knew we hadn’t even entered the deepest part of winter.
Becky hopped out of the truck. “I didn’t know it was so late. Carol will be here to pick me up for work in five minutes.”
Carol, a middle-aged woman, worked in Young’s pie shop. She was one of the few English people who worked at Young’s on a permanent basis. Owner Ellie Young claimed she couldn’t turn Carol away because she had some of the best pie recipes in the county—if not in the entire state of Ohio—trapped in her head.
Becky flew through the front door of the house just as Carol pulled into our driveway. I stepped out of the truck at a much slower pace as Carol powered down her window.
I waved. “Becky’s run—”
Before I finished my sentence, Becky ran back outside with her Amish uniform—a dress and apron—slung over her arm, and jumped into Carol’s car.
Timothy laughed. “I think that lecture Ellie gave Becky about being late for work scared her straight.”
As we entered the house, my yowling Siamese cat, Gigabyte, greeted us. I removed my coat and scratched Gig under the chin, but he was not appeased and batted my hand away.
Because he was headed to work at Young’s as well, Timothy didn’t remove his coat. In addition to the restaurant, with its small Amish gift shop and bakery, the Young’s owned a flea market consisting of three open-air pavilions behind the main building. Timothy was the head contractor on a project to enclose those pavilions so the flea market could be open all year round.
“Do you have to go straight to Young’s?” I asked. It seemed odd that I didn’t have to go to work myself. The college was closed for winter break, with only a skeleton crew on campus. I stopped by the campus occasionally during break to check on the systems and servers, but beyond that, had no commitments.
A small smiled played on the corners of Timothy’s lips. “No.”
I steadied my gaze on him. “I’d like to go to Uncle Billy’s. Will you go with me?”
Timothy grinned at me. “I was just waiting for you ask.”
I laughed. “How did you know that I would?”
“I think I know you pretty well by now, Chloe Humphrey. I know you won’t rest until you talk to Billy.” He helped me back into my winter coat. “And neither will I.”