As I expected, Timothy knew the location of the Zug Sheep Farm. Mabel barked in the backseat of his pickup as the vehicle jostled onto the Zug’s private road. Timothy stared straight ahead and concentrated on driving because over the past week the snow and ice had added more ruts and dips to the road.
“So,” he said as the truck leveled out on a fairly even piece of froze ground. “You think James Zug murdered his brother-in-law so that he could take over the Young family business.”
“It’s a possibility,” I said, defensively.
Woof! Mabel agreed from the backseat. I scratched her under the chin to thank her for the support.
“If that’s the case, why kill one twin? Why not kill them both? There’s no guarantee that Uri’s not up to the task of operating the business.”
“Maybe he feels he knows Uri well enough to know he won’t be able to handle all the responsibility.”
“I’m not arguing with you.” Timothy lightened his tone. “We have to check out every lead. I just wanted to warn you that this might not turn into anything. Besides, if I were a sheep farmer, I sure wouldn’t use sheep shears to kill someone.”
Grudgingly, I admitted to myself that he had a point.
Riding along the Zug’s driveway, even more rut-covered than the road, felt like an amusement park ride as Timothy’s pickup bumped and hopped up the incline. Fencing lined with chicken wire protected either side of the drive and more sheep than I could count. The sheep wore thick, off-white winter coats, their limbs and faces black. I didn’t see any lambs, only adults and yearlings. A yearling leaped over a larger sheep sleeping just on the other side of the fence. He landed in white powder and rolled onto his back, as if making a sheep’s version of a snow angel.
“They’re cute.”
Timothy gave me a sideways glance. “They’re not super bright.”
“What does brightness matter when compared to cute?”
He rolled his eyes and parked the truck about twenty yards from a large red sheep barn. Farther down the road, stood a one-story ranch-style home. “Most likely they are in the barn since Ellie said they left to care for the sheep. I imagine they will do everything they need to here, then head back to Young’s.”
Timothy and I hopped out of the truck, and Mabel jumped out too. Her tail went into overdrive when she saw the sheep.
Timothy eyed her. “Mabel, sit.”
She sat by the truck. Her tail swept back and forth across the frozen ground like a broom, but her eyes never left the sheep.
An Amish man in muddy work boots and a black overcoat came out of the barn. His beard was sandy blond, and he wore a black stocking cap on his head.
“Timothy,” the Amish man said. “What can I do for you?” He shot a curious glance in my direction.
Timothy stuck his hands in his jeans pockets. “We’ve just come from Ellie’s and shared our condolences.”
A strange look crossed James’s face. “Danki. It’s been a hard time for my wife and her family.” He half turned and shouted something in Pennsylvania Dutch into the barn.
A woman and girl stepped out of the barn, their skirts mud-encrusted at the hemlines. The girl was sixteen or seventeen and had round cheeks, bright pink from the cold, and dark hair tucked under a bonnet. The woman was an older version of her daughter.
“This is my wife, Bridget, and my daughter Abby.”
Abby Zug. She was one of Leah’s two friends. Would James attack his own child like that? Why hadn’t Ellie mentioned her granddaughter was one of the girls attacked?
I cleared my throat. “Nice to meet you.”
Abby wouldn’t meet my eyes.
James placed a hand on his wife’s arm. “Timothy and . . .” He looked at me questioningly.
“Chloe,” I supplied.
He nodded. “ . . . Chloe are here to pay condolences for your brother.”
“We are so sorry for your loss,” Timothy said. “Ezekiel was a smart man, a great business man.”
“Danki.” Bridget lowered her head and removed a white handkerchief from her black apron pocket. As she pulled her hand from the pocket, I saw a flash of metal, shaped like a circle.
“Business is all Ezekiel Young cared about,” James muttered.
“James,” Bridget said. “My bruder was a fine man.”
James snorted. “A fine man. His twin bruder could barely tolerate him.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry for the family’s loss. Ellie’s been gut to us. I don’t wish any of them any ill will, but let’s not pretend that Ezekiel was a saint just because he is gone.”
I stared at the circle of metal sticking out of her pocket. “Are those sheep shears?”
Bridget removed the shears from her pocket. “Yes. We were trimming some of the yearlings just now. They won’t really be sheared until spring, but Abby and I were cutting out the burrs and knots from their coats.”
The seven-inch long shears were like two butcher knives facing each other, welded together by a compressed circle of metal. They had a medieval appearance. If I were a sheep, I certainly wouldn’t want to see those prehistoric scissors coming at me. The tips were sharpened to a fine point.
James turned to his wife and daughter, speaking to them in their language. They nodded and went back to the barn. When they were inside the barn, he glared at Timothy and me. “What is this really about? You could have paid my wife condolences the next time we were at Young’s. I know you are working for them, Timothy.”
Timothy shifted from foot to foot. “Do you know why anyone would want to hurt your brother-in-law?”
His eyes narrowed. “Nee.”
“Where were you the night your brother-in-law was killed?” I asked. It was a simple question but held so much weight.
James turned his hazel eyes on mine for the first time. “I was at the auction house, bedding down my sheep for the night. I sold them next day. Do you doubt this?”
I swallowed. “No.”
“Because if you do, you can talk to any number of livestock owners who were there.” He turned to Timothy. “Do you think I killed my brother-in-law?”
“We heard you want to run Young’s,” Timothy said.
James’s jaw twitched. “I’ve made no secret of that. Why shouldn’t I be included in the business? It is part of my wife’s heritage. I could contribute to it.”
“Uri and Ezekiel didn’t want your help.”
“Of course, they don’t. They want to keep all of it, including the money. Let’s make no mistake, theirs is one of the wealthiest, Amish or Englisch, families in the county.” James’s face turned red. “I will not let you insult me on my land. Please leave.”
I shook my head. “We didn’t mean . . .
“I know exactly what you meant. Please, go. I see now why the bishop advised us to stay away from the Troyers.”
Timothy’s jaw twitched. “We are sorry to have offended you.” He turned to me. “Let’s go, Chloe.”
Inside the truck, I stopped just short of punching Timothy in the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me Abby Zug was Ellie’s granddaughter?”
He shrugged. “I guess I forgot.”
“You forgot? How could you forget that?”
“Chloe, everyone in the Amish community is related to someone else in some way either by marriage or blood or both. Half the folks in the county are related to me. It’s hard enough for me to keep all my own relatives straight.”
I sat back. “It changes things.”
“You’re right about that. Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you to meet with the girls?”
“I’m sure.”
It was too narrow to turn around in the Zug’s driveway, so Timothy backed all the way out. As he did, James, his sheep, and his barn, grew smaller and smaller. Halfway down the drive, a face, pale and still, peeked out of the barn, and watched us go. It could have been either of the women standing there, but I was betting on Abby.