On the way to Young’s, I called Chief Rose’s cell phone number, the one she’d given me during the summer. The chief answered on the second ring. “Humphrey, what’s going on?”
“Two things.”
“I’m listening.”
“I saw Curt and Brock.”
She was silent.
“Nothing much happened. I bumped into them on the square. They left me when I headed to the police station.”
“I didn’t see you come into the station, and no one told me you were there.”
“I didn’t make it in. I ran into Sadie leaving the department and spoke with her.”
“Uh-huh.” She sighed. “What was the second thing?”
“What kind of shears were used on Ezekiel Young?”
There was a long pause, and I thought she wasn’t going to answer my question. The chief took in a deep breath. “What do you mean exactly?”
“The ones he was stabbed with . . . what are they normally used to cut? Hair? Boxes? Rope? The type of shears wasn’t in the paper.”
“That’s because I wouldn’t let the press know. I have to keep some of the facts hidden.”
“Will you tell me?”
She sighed. “Wool.”
“Wool?”
“Yes. Wool shears used to shear sheep.”
“Oh.” I paused. “I have another question.”
She sighed. “I think you are up to three things now.”
“In the pavilion when I saw Ezekiel, I remember a toolbox on the floor.” I moved the phone to my other ear. “Was there any sign of struggle? Did he fight back?”
The chief waited a few beats before answering. “Not much. We think that the killer snuck up on Ezekiel when he was working. Ezekiel didn’t hear his approach over the sound of the nail gun’s motor. The person stabbed Ezekiel in the back. The person either knew anatomy or got lucky, because the shears got him in the heart.”
I shuddered.
“He didn’t die immediately. It took a couple of minutes. We think as he was struggling, he knocked the box off of the workbench. There wasn’t much blood because his coat absorbed a lot of it. There was a mark on the floor that indicated the killer flipped him over onto his stomach. The county crime lab thinks Ezekiel crumbled to the floor on his left side. While on his side, the killer cut off his beard.” She paused. “Ezekiel may have even been alive while his beard was cut. He was in too much pain to fight back.”
Bile gathered in my throat. “What about fingerprints, shoe prints, anything like that?”
“I can tell you’ve been watching television.” She cleared her throat. “There weren’t any fingerprints other than the workers who would have been in the pavilion. Timothy’s were all over the place.”
“You’re not suggesting he—”
“I’m not. As for shoe prints, the killer was careful. It looks like he used a pine branch to wipe his prints in the sawdust as he left. We found one outside the pavilion covered in sawdust. Before you ask, there were no fingerprints on the branch.” A tapping sound, like the chief’s pencil against her desk, resounded through the phone. “My turn for questions. Why are you so interested?”
“I think Timothy and I can help you find out who did this.”
She sighed again. “I won’t bother to tell you to stop, but if you find out anything I might think is important, you tell me.”
“Deal.” I ended the call and turned into Young’s massive parking lot. The restaurant part of the lot was filled with cars and buses as usual, and the hitching post had more horses and buggies than it normally did. The Buckeye Country Tour bus was one of the buses waiting at the back of the lot. I planned to avoid the lady with the cane.
I stepped inside the building. The pie and gift shops buzzed with happy activity as visitors made their selections. There was no indication of the tragedy that happened in the pavilion two days ago. Typically, Ellie stood at the hostess stand seating guests or telling the young Amish girls who worked for her how to do it properly. Instead Aaron Sutter, Timothy’s best friend, was at the hostess station. From his wheelchair, he collected names from guests yet to be seated and handed menus to an Amish girl to lead the parties to their tables.
He shot me a grin, and his coal black hair fell over mischievous hazel eyes.
My shin ached when I saw his next customer—the lady with the cane.
“How long is the wait?” she croaked.
“Only twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes? I can’t wait that long. I’m hypoglycemic and need to eat now.”
Aaron frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that, but the wait is twenty minutes. We have lots of treats in the pie shop you can purchase if you are hungry now.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re trying to get me to spend more money.”
“No ma’am.” The corners of Aaron’s mouth twitched as he held back a chuckle.
“Do you want me to spoil my dinner?”
“Absolutely not. Young’s has the best food in the county. I want you to enjoy it.”
The lady with the cane cocked her head as if surprised by his friendly response. I suspect his was much different than the typical reaction to her disagreeable temperament. Finally, she hobbled in the direction of the pie shop.
There were no more customers waiting to give Aaron their names, so I walked up to his chair.
“One for lunch?” Aaron asked with a small smile.
“I’m afraid not, but it smells great. I’m looking for Ellie. Do you know where I can find her?”
“She’s at home today because . . . well . . . you know why.”
I nodded. “Are you working here now?”
He shook his head. “I’m helping out while the Young family makes arrangements. The bishop asked for volunteers, so here I am.”
“That was nice of you.”
Becky walked by with a tray holding at least a dozen huge glasses of pop and water. It was a wonder she didn’t drop the tray on the floor. I know I would have. Aaron turned his head and blushed when he saw Becky. I suspected that Becky working in the restaurant was the deciding factor for Aaron to help out at Young’s.
I stopped short of snapping my fingers to regain his attention. “Where’s Uri?”
“The whole Young family is in Ellie’s house, behind the pavilions, preparing for Ezekiel’s funeral.”
“When will the funeral be?”
“Typically, it would be tomorrow since that’s three days after Ezekiel’s death, but the police haven’t released his body yet, so I don’t know.”
The restaurant’s front door opened letting in a burst of cold air. A large group of people stepped inside, and behind them, I could see even more stepping off of the tour bus.
“I’ll get out of your way,” I said.
Aaron winked at me and greeted his next guest. Aaron had said that Ellie’s house was behind the pavilion. In past visits, I had noticed a two-story home at the edge of the property and never thought much of it. I couldn’t go there now and interrupt her grief. I left the restaurant through a side door and walked around the building toward the pavilions. Maybe as a team, Timothy and I could think of what to do next.
I followed the sound of power tools. As I rounded the first pavilion, I saw two Amish men, one I had never seen before, speaking in their language. The man had a brown and gray beard and silvery hair sticking out from underneath his black felt hat. His face was drawn and he wore glasses over small eyes. The second man I knew right away—Deacon Sutter. The deacon was a tall man with a black beard and hair, and a perpetual scowl on his face. I’d never seen Deacon Sutter smile.
I took a step back. The last person I wanted to run into, aside from Curt and Brock, was the deacon. I slipped on some loose gravel, and the deacon turned. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m looking for Timothy.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “You are still bothering the Troyer family.” His lip curled. “I’ve warned the family about you.” Deacon Sutter turned back to his companion. “This is the Englischer I told you about, Bishop. She is the one who found Ezekiel Young. She tempted Rebecca and Timothy Troyer from the Amish way.”
Bishop? That made the other man, Bishop Hooley, Sadie’s father.
The bishop’s gaze met mine, his expression the same as Sadie’s this morning—sad, afraid, and weary.
I held my ground. “Both Timothy and Becky had left the Amish before I met them.”
The deacon swung back around, and his dark eyes narrowed. “But you insist on visiting the Troyers who are still Amish. You’re trying to lead them all from the Amish way.”
“No, I would never do that.” I glared back at him. “The Troyers are my friends.”
Deacon Sutter looked dubious. “Bishop Hooley made the right decision when he advised the district to keep their distance from the Troyers.”
“You’re shunning them.”
His jaw twitched. “What would you know about shunning? What you read in a book? You know nothing.”
My eyes flicked to the bishop. He didn’t say a word. He looked everywhere but at my face, as if he were afraid to make eye contact.
Deacon Sutter continued to speak for the bishop. “The Troyers are not shunned. The bishop has only advised district members to limit their contact. However, if they continue to disobey the rules of the district, the bishop will have no choice but to turn them out from the People.”
“Don’t you mean your rules, Deacon Sutter?” I asked.
“It may be fine to speak to your elders like that in the Englisch world, but it’s not in the Amish. If the Troyers are your friends, you would leave them alone. Instead you have chosen to be the reason they are alienated from the district.”
His words felt like a slap across the face. Maybe I shouldn’t go to the Troyers for Thanksgiving? Maybe it would push the bishop and deacon too far?
Deacon Sutter said something to the bishop in their language before the pair walked past me, gazes straight ahead, in the direction of the restaurant.
I stood there for a moment collecting myself. The Troyers were right. The deacon was in charge of the district now. The bishop had been too terrified to speak.
Now, I knew the truth. Becky thought she was the reason why her family was being ostracized. She wasn’t.
It was me.