By sheer willpower, I waited until Clark went on his lunch hour before approaching Miller about the news story.
The programmer hunched over his computer and tapped away at the keys. He typed code in the command prompt line. I hated to interrupt him, but Clark would be back from the cafeteria soon. I didn’t have much time.
I sat across from him at the conference table in Clark’s usual spot. Miller didn’t even notice me. “Miller?”
Nothing.
“Miller?”
He raised his head and blinked owlish eyes at me.
“Can I talk to you about the newspaper story? About your cousin Leah?”
He gripped his mouse. “How do you know about Leah?”
“Clark told me. One of the girls who had their hair cut was your cousin?”
He tugged at his spiky blond hair. “Why do you want to know about it?”
I was almost certain that Sadie was another victim of the haircutting. “I have a friend.” I paused because that was a stretch. “I know an Amish girl, Sadie Hooley, she’s the bishop’s daughter.”
“I know that.”
“I think her hair was cut too. The article mentioned three other girls.”
“I don’t know about Sadie, but two of them are Leah’s friends.”
“What are their names?”
“I’m still not sure why you want to know,” he said, his face pinched.
Because I want to know if Curt and Brock are behind this, I thought. Instead, I told him, “You know my roommate Becky is Amish, or was. I don’t want something like this to happen to her.”
He licked his lips. “It’s a nightmare.”
“Who are her friends?” I asked again.
“Abby and Debbie. I don’t know their last names.”
“That’s all right.” I wondered if I should tell him about Curt and Brock. “Did the girls see their attacker?”
He shook his head. “No. Each time he came up from behind, covered their head with a burlap bag, ripped off their bonnets, and cut off their hair. Each girl was alone when it happened.”
“He?” I picked up Clark’s pencil and tapped the eraser on the tabletop.
“They said they thought it was a man. Who else would be strong enough to do that?”
Good question. I shivered. “Other than their hair, were they hurt?” I was afraid to hear the answer.
Miller turned slightly green. “No. Thank goodness.”
“What did he use to cut their hair?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Leah said it all happened in a matter of seconds. She doesn’t know either. The guy was behind her.”
I dropped the pencil into a utensil cup. “There was only one man?”
“Leah thought so.”
Maybe it wasn’t Curt and Brock after all. They typically worked as a team. If they were the ones cutting off Leah’s hair, I couldn’t imagine they were quiet enough for her not to notice a second culprit.
He frowned. “I hope the police do something. Leah could have been seriously hurt or worse. Whatever the guy used to cut their hair had to be sharp. Leah’s hair is like rope. The person could have slipped and . . .”
“I’m sure Chief Rose is doing everything she can to find out who did this. She called it a hate crime in the article.”
“It doesn’t do any good if the Amish won’t talk to her about it.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why don’t they ask for help when they need it?”
It was a question I’d asked myself many times since moving to Knox County.
Clark ambled into the office carrying a half-eaten corn dog. “Corn dogs in the caf today. You two better hustle if you have any hope of snagging one. I just saw a freshman walk out with ten. He said they were for his classmates in his economics class, but I’m suspicious. What do corn dogs have to do with economics, anyway?”
A small smile played on Miller’s face. “Supply and demand.”
Clark grinned and gave Miller a high five.
I let Clark have his chair. “I’ll pass.” Corn dogs were not on my diet plan.
Later that afternoon, I was on my way out of the office when my cell phone rang. “Chloe,” Becky said. “The chain on my bike broke. Is there any chance you can pick me up from work tonight? I’m off at seven. Timothy’s here working in the pavilion, but he said he’s not leaving until nine or ten. I don’t want to be stuck here that long.”
I repressed a sigh. Carting Becky around town was getting old. “Sure. I’ll be there.”
As I walked up the driveway toward my house, I sensed something was off. I couldn’t place it. The house looked like it had in the morning when I left. I stepped back from the house and took it in. Then, I saw what was bothering me. The light was on in my bedroom. I had turned it off when I left the room that morning. Would Becky have gone in there and left the light on? It was possible.
A shadow moved crossed the window. Someone was in my room, and it wasn’t Gigabyte. I pulled my cell phone from my coat pocket and called Chief Rose.
She was there within two minutes. The village police station was tucked into a corner of the town hall on the square. She climbed out of her cruiser and found me standing on the sidewalk watching the house. “You have a prowler.”
“Maybe.” I was beginning to have my doubts. I hadn’t seen the shadow a second time. “I think someone’s in my bedroom.” I pointed at the window. “See, the lights on. I know I turned it off this morning.”
“Becky may have turned the light on and forgot.”
I bit my lip. “It’s possible, but . . .”
“I know, I know, with Curt and Brock running around we can never be too careful.” She pulled her gun from her utility belt. It was the first time I’d seen her handle it. “I’m surprised you called me instead of Timothy.”
“Timothy is working on a project at Young’s Flea Market today. I figured you’d get here faster.”
She nodded. “You figured right. Is the door locked?”
“It should be. Becky wouldn’t forget to do that.”
“I’ll need your key, then. I don’t think you want me to break it down.”
I handed her my computer mouse-shaped keychain. She didn’t comment on the keychain and kept her gun pointed downward. “Stay here, and I will check it out.” She moved up the walk.
“Don’t shoot my cat!” I called after her.
She rolled her eyes at me.
As the cold seeped into the fabric of my thick coat, I hopped from foot to foot on the sidewalk. I must have resembled Miller as I moved back and forth.
Five minutes later—which felt more like five years—the front door opened. Chief Rose walked a man out of my house, holding him at gunpoint. His hands were up, and his eyes were the size of duck eggs.
“Dylan?”