The next morning, I woke up at six as I normally would on a work day. When I remembered the events of the last few days, I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I lay in bed and listened to Becky dress for work. She had a long day ahead of her in the Young’s pie shop. She said there were over six hundred pie orders for Thanksgiving Day.
Even though the Young family was devastated by Ezekiel’s murder, the restaurant and shop had to stay open this week for Thanksgiving, one of the busiest weeks of the year for them. I wondered if Ellie would be at the restaurant. If it were me, I would stay at home and let the staff handle the preparations. Becky poked her head into my room to say goodbye. Her bike was out of commission, but she was getting a ride from a friend that morning.
I propped myself up on my pillows. Her prayer cap, which was part of her uniform, sat lopsided on her head. “Hey, before you go. What do you know about Leah Miller?”
“Leah?” She straightened her cap. “Why do you want to know about her?”
“I’m going to talk to her today. She’s one of the girls who got her hair cut off.”
“Really?”
“Why is that so surprising?”
“Well, Leah is about the last Amish girl I’d expect that to happen to. She was a couple of years behind me in school, but I remember she was bossy. She always wanted to be the leader in everything. If she didn’t have her family’s store to manage, I always thought she’d make a great Amish teacher. She’d certainly keep the students in line. She wouldn’t spare the rod either.”
“Even with a tough exterior, if someone came up behind her, that person could have overpowered her.”
Becky twisted her mouth as if considering this. “I guess.”
“What about her friends Debbie and Abby?”
“You must mean Debbie Stutzman and Abby Zug. They were always Leah’s sidekicks, not the friendliest girls in the world, but more so than Leah. They were always together. So much in fact, our teacher called them the triplets.”
Beep! Beep!
“That’s my ride. Gotta go!”
I swung my legs over the bed. It was time to meet the triplets.
The leaves had long since fallen from the large oak trees in the middle of the square, and I could look out over the grounds right into the Amish Bread Bakery. Inside, Sadie placed pie in the display window. I hoped I would have a chance to talk to her.
The Apple Core was on the opposite side of the square and catered to English visitors touring Amish Country. In the summer, it wasn’t unusual to have three or four tour buses in town on a weekend day. At ten in the morning, a bus idled in front of the store, Buckeye Country Tours, etched on the side of it. Two men sat outside the store on a park bench. One wore a gray ivy cap. The other wore earmuffs, his bald head red from the cold.
“You think I should go in there and see what damage my wife is doing to my credit card?” Earmuffs asked his companions.
“Nah,” Ivy Cap said. “It’s too painful to watch.” He wiggled his bushy eyebrows at me. “Hi there, little lady. You from around here?”
Was I from around there? No, definitely not. “I live in town.”
“Can you tell us where two old dodgers can get a cup of joe?” He hooked a thumb at the gift shop. “The women are in there blowing our Social Security checks. We’d like a warm cup of coffee before we climb on the bus to hear about all the wonderful Amish-made doilies they bought.”
“I hate doilies,” Earmuffs piped up. “I used one as a coaster once, and the wife went ballistic.”
I suppressed a chuckle. “There is a bakery across the square. They have lots of good treats to eat and a small coffee counter.”
Earmuffs smacked his lips. “Do they have cinnamon rolls? I heart those.”
“Heart? What are you talking about, you nut?”
“That’s what my granddaughter says. She hearts everything. I’m trying out the lingo, so I can connect with the young folks. I figure she’s less likely to stick me in a home that way.”
“You’re cracked.” Ivy Cap smiled at me. “Thanks for the tip, toots.” The pair shuffled away.
Through The Apple Core’s front window I watched ladies ooh and ah over a display of hand-painted Amish figures. Quilted placemats, Christmas ornaments, and even doilies filled their plastic shopping baskets. The men were right—their Social Security checks were toast.
The apple-shaped bell rang when I stepped into the store. At least twenty ladies crowded the shop.
One held up a faceless Amish doll that reminded me of Naomi’s favorite toy. “Should I get this for my granddaughter?” she asked a friend.
Her friend scrunched up her face. “I thought she asked for a Barbie Princess.”
“She did, but this is close enough.”
“Your granddaughter might not agree.”
A counter with a cash register was on the right side of the room. An Amish girl I suspected was Leah Miller stood behind the counter. She was petite with brown hair and a prayer cap on the top of her head. Her features were sharp and looked much like her cousin’s. I stepped around a blue-haired woman in polyester pants and winter coat three sizes too large who examined a magnet display with such concentration that I doubted she would be able to make up her mind before Christmas.
I smiled at the young woman behind the counter. “Leah?”
The Amish girl nodded.
“I’m, Ch—”
The blue-haired woman knocked me in the shin with her cane.
I jumped back. “Ouch!”
“There’s a line, missy, and you better get to the end of it.”
Her cronies agreed in angry whispers.
Leah gave me a tiny smile and accepted the two dollars from the woman for a magnet shaped like an Amish buggy.
As Leah placed the money into the cash register, a strand of hair fell from beneath her prayer cap. The lock’s jagged edge dangled behind her ear. It was clear it had been cut.
The English woman squinted at her and pointed a bent finger. “Is your hair cut? Amish women don’t cut their hair. I saw a special about it on public television.” She turned back to a friend. “Her hair is cut. She’s not Amish. She’s an imposter.” She slapped the magnet back onto the counter. “I don’t want to buy an Amish magnet from a fake Amish girl.”
Leah clenched her jaw.
I stepped up to the counter. “She is Amish.”
The woman looked me up and down. “How would you know? You aren’t Amish.”
“I live in Appleseed Creek.”
She sniffed. “I don’t believe you. Amish women don’t cut their hair. I saw it on television.” She spun around, whacking me in the shin again with her cane and stomp-hobbled out of the door.
A middle-aged woman hurried to the counter. “I’m so-so sorry. Maureen takes her television programs very seriously.” She lowered her voice. “She thinks the TV talks to her.” Her face reddened as she grabbed two handfuls of Amish magnets. “Here, I’ll take these.”
The remainder of the women purchased their items and left the store. The bell jangled after the last one.
Leah pulled a bobby pin from her apron pocket and tucked the offending lock of hair back into place.
“I feel like I have to apologize for that.” I adjusted my purse strap on my shoulder.
“Why?”
I smiled. “I guess because they are English from the city and I am too.”
She shook her head. “I’ve heard worse. Unfortunately, I have to bite my tongue. Senior tour buses keep the shop open.” A small smile formed on her lips. “No one from Appleseed Creek would buy that many magnets.”
“I’m—”
“I know who you are. Darren said you would stop by the store today.”
It sounded odd to hear Miller called by his first name.
“I’m sorry about your hair.”
The tears flooded her green eyes, giving them a swampy appearance.
“Did Mill—Darren say why I wanted to talk to you?”
“He said you found Ezekiel Young’s body.”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry to hear that. What a horrible thing.”
The memory came back to me—the cut beard and the shears sticking out of his back. “It was.”
She smiled as if she appreciated the honest answer.
“His beard was cut off.”
“Darren told me. I still don’t know what that has to do with me.”
I removed my scarf. “I can’t help but think it’s connected to what happened to you and your friends.”
“It could be.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
She squinted at me. “Why should I? Darren already made me talk to the police, which my parents didn’t like, and he told the Englisch newspaper about it.”
“I know, but I thought I could help too.”
She touched her prayer cap as if to make sure it was still in place, and arched an eyebrow at me. “Because you found a dead person?”
“Something else has happened.”
She moved down the counter and began putting the magnet display back together. “What has happened?”
“Grandfather Zook was attacked last night. Someone cut off his beard.”
She dropped the plow magnet she held, and it clattered on to the glass counter top. “How is that possible?”
I shook my head.
“Why would anyone do that to a sick old man?”
I grimaced slightly, knowing Grandfather Zook would have hated to be described in those terms. “You can see why I’m sure curious about what happened to you now.”
“I know you have an interest in the Troyer family. I know you and Timothy are courting.”
She did? We were?
She returned to tinkering with the display. “Grandfather Zook is one of the nicest men in the district. I can’t believe someone would do that to him. Ezekiel Young is another story. He was an old grouch. I’m sure there are many people who aren’t shedding a tear over his death.”
“Like who?”
She slid back to her place behind the cash register. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was wrong. Gott forgive me.”
“Do you know someone who may want to see Ezekiel dead?”
“I can’t speak of it. It’s wrong. I don’t know anything for sure.”
“But—”
“I said I won’t speak of it,” she snapped.
I stepped back. “Okay, I’m sorry.” I paused. “Can you tell me about your attack? And the ones on your friends?”
She licked her lips. “I will because Darren asked me too, and I trust my cousin even though he is an Englischer.”
“Thank you,” I murmured. “Grandfather Zook believes his attacker was a man. Do you think so?”
She watched the front door as if she were pleading with a tour bus to arrive. “Yes. It was definitely a man.”
“How do you know? Did you see him?”
“No.”
“Did you hear him?”
Irritation flicked across her face. “No, but I know it was a man. I could tell.”
I decided to let that line of question go for now. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“What did Grandfather Zook say?” She stepped around the counter and began to straighten pamphlets that sat in a wire rack by the glass front door.
“He said someone came up from behind him, pushed him against his buggy, threw a bag over his head, and cut off his beard.”
Her hands moved quickly through the pamphlet rack. It was a wonder she didn’t get a paper cut. “Yes, that’s similar to what happened to me. I was stopped on the side of the road. The chain on my bicycle fell off of the gears, and I was fixing it. I guess I was concentrating so hard I didn’t hear the man come up behind me.”
“Were you wearing a bonnet?”
“Yes.”
“He put a bag over your head? It must have been large to fit over your bonnet.”
She walked back behind the counter. “It was. It was a burlap potato bag that held thirty to forty potatoes.”
“Where is it?”
“The bag?”
I nodded.
“I threw it away. I don’t want something around to remind me of what happened.”
That couldn’t have made Chief Rose very happy. She would have wanted the bag for evidence.
“Is there anything that you remember about the man?”
She shook her head. “It happened so fast.”
“I would like to talk to Debbie and Abby too. When will they be here at the store?”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t think they will talk to you.” She pulled a feather duster out from under the counter and began dusting around the cash register and displays. “I can talk to them for you.”
“I think I should talk to them myself.”
“Fine.” She examined my face. “They’ll be in after five helping me display the Christmas stock. You can talk to them while we work. There’s much to be done, so I hope you won’t take up too much of our time.”
“Thank you.” I nodded. “Have you spoken to Sadie Hooley?”
Her nose wrinkled. “What about Sadie?”
“She was also attacked. Maybe she can be here too for our talk?”
A strange look crossed Leah’s face. “Sadie is not a close friend of mine. If you want to talk to her, you will have to do that yourself.”
“You don’t know her?”
“I know Sadie, of course. We were in school together but are not friends.”
“Who are Sadie’s friends?”
“Sometimes I would see her with Becky Troyer before she left the district. Mostly, she’s by herself.” She pursed her lips. “Her father is the bishop.”
“Has Bishop Hooley spoken to you since the attack?”
Her mouth drew into a thin line. “Yes—to ask me not to talk about it. I guess I broke that rule. Just another of the dozens he’s set on the district since being chosen bishop. My father says Gott chose him, but why would Gott choose such a weak man to lead? Everyone knows Deacon Sutter is telling the bishop what to do. Finally, the deacon got the power he wanted.” She blushed. “I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn. I shouldn’t speak that way about the bishop or the deacon, especially to an Englischer.”
“I know much in the district has changed since Bishop Glick’s death.”
“Too much.” She looked at the analog clock on the wall. “I must get back to work. Come back at five if you would like to talk to my friends.”
“I’ll be here,” I said, hoping that she would keep her promise.