Plain Dead (18 page)

“Not much worse than having to relay news like that,” he agreed. “I've had to do it more times than I care to admit and it never gets easier.”

She rolled down the window, hoping that a breath of fresh air would clear her head. She felt awful, and in another minute or two, she'd be in tears, and she didn't want to do that. “Were you able to meet with Blade?” she asked, changing the subject. “He did get back, didn't he?”

“He's not. And his calls are still going to voicemail. I don't like it. I know the Finches are friends of yours, but Skinner is still in town and Blade isn't. I don't know how long I can wait before I take it to the next step.”

“Just hold off as long as you can,” she begged him. “Give him just a little more time. I've got a feeling about this.”

“No promises, Rache. Got to go. Call me later.”

“I will. Just trust me on this, Evan. Blade didn't do this. I know he didn't.”

“Hope you're right.” The line went dead.

Rachel sat there for a minute or two, attempting to get her thoughts in order, then left the Jeep and entered the grocery. She'd offered to make a pot of soup to take to Naamah and Abner's. The female trooper had assured Sammy's family that the autopsy wouldn't take long. It was simply a routine procedure after an accident. Once the body was released, it would be laid out in the Chupps' parlor. Mourners would view the deceased and join the family in prayer, so there would be many people needing to be fed. After a day and a night, Sammy would be carried by horse and wagon to the Amish cemetery and there interred with a simple wooden marker to mark the spot.

Among the Amish, death was accepted as natural. Sammy, an innocent and a member of the faith, would go home to be with the Lord. Once he was buried, community life would go on. He would be remembered by those who loved him, but there would be little mention of his passing. This earthly experience was simply a forerunner to the greater life in heaven.

Rachel took a basket from the stack by the door. She wasn't much of a cook, but she could put together a hearty soup. And she wanted to do something to ease Naamah and Abner's burden. She kept thinking about Sammy's tearstained face the last time she'd seen him. His death seemed so senseless—an overgrown child looking for his pet. If the world were just, Sammy's cat would have come running and he would be helping Abner with the chores rather than lying on a slab in the morgue. It was so unfair.

What would she need for her soup? The pantry at Stone Mill House was enormous and well stocked, but she wanted quick-cooking barley and celery. On second thought, she traded her basket for a small grocery cart. She always thought that she could get by with the basket and ended up filling it so full that it was difficult to carry. She found purple cabbage and was just leaving the produce area when she spotted Sandy Millman at the lunch-meat counter. Eddie's mother.

“If you could make up a cheese tray and then one of ham, salami, and roast beef. Your largest size trays, please,” she was telling the girl behind the counter. “Hulda asked that it be delivered to Abner Chupp's home as soon as possible. She said you'd just put it on her tab.”

“Sandy!” Rachel pushed her cart toward her.

Sandy Millman, a hearty fiftyish woman dressed more like a lumberjack than the manager of a store, turned away from the counter and came toward her. “I just heard about poor Sammy Zook,” she said, making no attempt to keep her husky voice down. “Tragic, isn't it?” Sandy's graying hair was drawn back into a severe ponytail, and her broad, freckled face was windburned. “My heart goes out to the Chupps. And the Zooks as well. I don't know them as well as I do Naamah and Abner, but I understand they're lovely people.”

“It's so awful.” Rachel shook her head. “It's hard to believe. To think that something like this can happen so quickly.”

“I know, I know.” Sandy motioned toward the deli. “I was just ordering some lunch-meat trays for the wake for Hulda from all of us at Russell's. You know . . . just to let the families know we were thinking of them.”

Rachel ran a hand along the top of her cart. “I feel the same way. I was thinking of making a pot of soup.” She hesitated, then said, “I wondered . . . Do you have a minute? To talk?”

Sandy's pleasant face creased with obvious curiosity. “Sure. I don't have long. I'm on my break. I just walked over to order the platter. I'll be happy to help you if I can. You've always been so nice to Eddie. Buying all those greeting cards and popcorn from the scouts. Not everybody is so kind.”

“I'm glad to help in any way I can,” Rachel said.

They stepped out of the way of another shopper pushing a cart. “Eddie's not throwing your paper in the bushes again, is he?” Sandy asked.

“No, no, Eddie's great. He's a fine boy. Best paperboy I've ever had.” In fact, Eddie was the only paperboy she'd ever had. But what she had to ask Sandy had nothing to do with the newspaper delivery.

“I'm glad. You've been so nice to him, especially Sunday. Calling me and all when Eddie . . . Letting him wait in the house until I could come for him. It was such a shock, what happened to Mr. Billingsly. Not something any mother wants her child to see.” She shook her head. “I can't believe it. Months go by without a death in Stone Mill, and then, this week, two tragedies in a matter of days.” She waved. “I'm sorry. I'm babbling. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I don't mean to intrude on your privacy, but I'd like to ask you something personal.”

“Sure, Rachel. Anything.”

Rachel glanced around; she knew most of the people in the store, shoppers and employees, which meant Sandy did, too. “Maybe we could step outside?”

“This sounds serious.”

“How about my Jeep? Where it will be warmer? I can give you a ride back to Russell's, if you like.”

“What about your groceries?”

Rachel gave the cart a little push. “I'll leave it right here and come back for it. This will only take a minute.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

The big woman zipped up her coat and pulled mittens out of her pockets. “Lead the way.”

Feeling somewhat self-conscious, Rachel walked out of the store and to her Jeep and motioned for Sandy to get in. “You may have heard that I've been talking to people around town.” Rachel started the engine and blasted the heat. “Since Billingsly's . . .”

“Murder. Yes.” Sandy nodded. “But I don't understand why you would want to ask me anything. I didn't really know him.”

Her bulk filled the front seat of the Jeep in a way that Mary Aaron's petite form never did. No one could ever have called Sandy Millman pretty, but there was a cheerful kindness about her that radiated goodwill.

“There's no nice way to ask this, so I'll just come out with it,” Rachel said. She held her hands out to a heating vent blowing warm air. “I understand that you and Abner Chupp knew each other well at one time.”

Sandy's cheeks flushed a pale rose. “It's not much of a secret. If you're asking me, you probably already know that we . . .” She hesitated. “That we were
involved
.” She licked her bottom lip nervously. “But that was a long time ago.”

“How long?” Rachel pressed.

A hurt expression flooded over her face. “Abner and Naamah have been married for ten years. I'd never . . . He'd never . . . Did someone say I was playing footsies with Abner? Because if they did, they lied to you.”

“I'm sorry for prying into your private life.” Rachel dropped her hands to her lap. “Believe me, I wouldn't if it wasn't important.”

Sandy's gray eyes glistened with moisture. “Hulda thinks of you like a daughter. I know you wouldn't ask me about Abner without good reason.” She sighed. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Can you tell me a little bit about you and him?”

Sandy huddled in her parka, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “It was a bad time for me. My husband had walked out on me. I had nothing. No car, no money, not even firewood to heat the cottage. The rent was two months overdue, and the utilities had been shut off. I didn't know where to turn.” She looked up. “I never knew who my own father was, and I wasn't good about picking men. I married Leon to get out of my uncle's house. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Those old sayings, there's a lot to them. I didn't expect much from Leon, and I didn't get much.”

“He was a bad husband?” Rachel suggested.

Sandy raised two fingers to stroke the crooked bump in her nose. “He had a bad temper, and when he was angry, he lashed out. He used his fists on me, and sometimes his boots. Believe me when I tell you that Abner Chupp saved my life. He gave me hope when I didn't have any, and he taught me that not all men are brutal. Abner showed me that I had more strength inside than I knew.”

“I imagine he was lonely, too,” Rachel said. “He'd lost a wife that he loved.”

“We were both hurting. I'm not proud of what we did, but I'm not ashamed either. He would have married me if it wasn't for Leon. But Abner's church doesn't recognize divorce.”

“And would you have become Amish? If you were free to choose?”

Sandy's mouth twisted into a wry smile. “In a heartbeat. But it was impossible. So, long story short, when I got pregnant, Hulda helped me out. We told people I was trying to reconcile with my husband and I left town for a year. When I came back, everyone assumed Eddie was my husband's and that things just hadn't worked out. Abner and I . . . we never saw each other intimately after I left.”

“But Abner knew about Eddie?”

“Yes. Abner knew. We agreed to end it and that it was time for us both to move on. He made his peace with his church. I urged him to. If we couldn't be together, then I wanted him to be happy. We had to let it go. . . .” She swallowed.

“Does Eddie know that Abner is his father?”

Sandy shook her head. “No, he thinks his father is dead. Leon wrapped himself around a tree when Eddie was in kindergarten. I know only because Leon's cousin contacted me, wanting me to pay for the funeral. Eddie only knows Abner as a family friend. I'll have to tell him sometime, I suppose, but not yet. I hate to do it, you know. What if he hates me? He's all I've got.”

“I saw them together at the ice rink, Abner and Eddie. I think the bishop must be proud of him, the fine young man he's become. You've done a wonderful job with him.”

“I've tried my best,” Sandy said with a shy smile. “But I still don't understand. What does any of this have to do with why you're asking me questions now? I haven't been alone with Abner since Eddie was born.”

“You know that column of Billingsly's, ‘Over the Back Fence'? He was causing a lot of trouble for people in this town with his malicious gossip, digging up old heartbreaks, creating scandals.”

“What's that have to do with us?”

“Is it possible that Billingsly could have threatened Abner? That he intended to expose the secret about Eddie's birth? You can imagine what that would do to Abner's reputation. And to the Amish in this valley. Are you certain that Abner never hinted that Billingsly might do such a thing?”

“You think he threatened Abner? And that Abner killed him to keep him quiet?” Sandy scoffed. “Not possible. Not the man I knew and loved. I don't know who killed Billingsly. Whoever it was, it wasn't Abner Chupp. I'd bet my life on it.”

Chapter 17

It was after eight that evening when Rachel reached Evan's house. After buying groceries and going home to make soup, she'd spent what remained of the day with the Chupps, and she was exhausted. She hadn't taken the time to change her clothing when she'd arrived home, but she'd elected to walk to Evan's place rather than drive. She needed to clear her head and try to shake the bad feeling that her dear friend Abner had done something terribly wrong. Evan had reached her by cell and invited her over for grilled cheese on rye and canned tomato soup, his standard go-to supper when he'd had a hard day at work. She'd been so tired that she'd thought of begging off, just going home and crawling into bed. But she couldn't. She needed to talk to Evan, to ease the distance between them, and she had to share her fear about Sammy's death.

The front door was unlocked and she went inside. She slipped off her boots and padded in her thick wool socks through the small ranch house and into the kitchen. Evan was stirring honey into two cups of tea. He put a mug into her hand and brushed her forehead with a tender kiss. “I get that you needed some air, but I'm driving you home. I don't like the idea of you walking around town at night. Not when we still don't have Billingsly's killer.”

“Fine.” She warmed her hands on the thick cup. “Have you heard from Blade?”

“No. I hate to do it, but I may put an APB out for him tomorrow if he doesn't show up.” He returned to the stove and stirred the tomato soup. “How were things at the Chupps'? Was it as bad as you expected?” Evan asked.

“Worse.” Sammy's body hadn't been released yet, but that hadn't prevented buggy after buggy of neighbors and friends from calling at the house. Rachel had lost count of the number of families who'd come to pay their respects and offer condolences. She took a long sip of the hot tea, letting the sweet liquid soothe the edges off the ragged day. “You'd think I'd be used to Plain mourning, but the older I get, the more it seems to affect me. And Sammy's death . . . it's just so sad.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I didn't know him, but he was too young to have something like that happen.” His dark eyes radiated compassion. “Your dinner is ready. Want to eat in here or in front of the fireplace in the living room?”

“Fireplace.”

He nodded. “I agree. It's a fireplace kind of night. Crackers? I've got those little oyster crackers you like.”

“Mmm,” she said, even though she wasn't very hungry. “That would be nice. Let me get the sandwiches.”

“With a dill pickle,” he said in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. “The jar's in the refrigerator. I spare no expense when feeding my girl.”

She stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. “Am I?” she asked. “Still your girl?”

“Hope so.”

In the living room, Rachel forced herself to eat the bowl of tomato soup and a handful of crackers. The grilled cheese was more of a challenge. She hadn't eaten all day, but just serving and handling all the food at Naamah and Abner's house had deadened her appetite.

Evan finished his sandwich and half of hers. “You may as well say what's on your mind,” he nudged. “I can see it about to bubble over.”

She looked up at him. “Will you listen before you start telling me why I'm wrong?”

Looking contrite, he nodded.

She gazed into the fireplace and watched the flames for a moment. “I can't stop wondering why Sammy climbed up in that barn loft.”

“I heard he went up looking for a cat.”

She shook her head. “It doesn't make sense, Evan.”

“Do accidents ever make sense? Farms can be dangerous places; things that shouldn't happen do. Remember, last summer, when that Peachey boy—”

“This is different.” She turned to him and met his gaze. “I'd like you to have someone double-check the autopsy report. Maybe . . . talk to the medical examiner? Everyone assumes that Sammy's death was an accident. A mentally challenged young man fell out of the loft and broke his neck. The authorities assume that's what happened because that's what they were told. That's what it looked like. But what if that's not what happened? What if Sammy witnessed Billingsly's murder and the killer had to keep him from telling? Isn't it possible that he died of a broken neck, but didn't get it from falling out of the loft?”

“That might be difficult to prove,” he said thoughtfully.

“Or,” she suggested, “if Sammy did die in the fall, maybe someone lured him up into the loft so that they could push him out.”

“That's a pretty far reach, Rache. And you base this theory on what? Your intuition? Not that I'm discounting it. You've got some pretty good instincts when it comes to solving—” Evan broke off as a vehicle pulled into his driveway, the headlights coming through his closed curtains in the living room.

“Were you expecting company?” she asked.

“No.” He went to the front door and opened it.

Two minutes later Rachel tried not to show her surprise as Blade, Coyote, and Reverend Hayes, the Methodist minister, filed into Evan's living room. “Sorry for coming without calling,” Coyote was saying as she came in the door. “But Blade wanted to straighten out what appears to be a misunderstanding. And we wanted to keep it as private as possible.”

“Didn't know you'd have anybody here.” Blade looked at Rachel. He, his wife, and the minister stood in a line just inside the door. No one had removed his or her coat. He glanced at the minister. “Would you rather—”

“I can leave.” Rachel rose off the couch.

“Take my car.” Evan reached into his pocket for his keys. “I'll get it tomorrow. I've got the police car to get to work.”

“No need,” Reverend Hayes said, looking from Rachel to Evan. “It's been six years. Maybe it's time this was all out in the open. My wife and I were just considering whether or not it was time to open up to the community.”

Rachel and Evan just stood there, looking at them.

“You were right,” Blade said to Rachel. “I did lie to you about being at the book club on Saturday night. And I lied to Coyote, too.” He looked uncomfortable, but he reached out and grabbed Coyote's hand. “It wasn't my place to tell where I was.”

“Don't you want to sit down?” Evan asked. “Let me take your coats?”

“No, thanks,” Coyote said. “We can't stay. We need to get home to the kids. We've got a sitter, but she has school in the morning.”

“I'm not sure where to start,” Blade said, “but . . .” He shrugged. “It shouldn't be any secret that I'm carrying a lot of baggage from my life before I met Coyote. I served my time and I broke my chain of addiction. I've been clean for ten years, four months, and three weeks. But Narcotics Anonymous helps. I should have shared that with my wife, but I didn't want to worry her, have her think I needed the program to stay straight.”

“So you're saying you were at an NA meeting Saturday night?” Rachel asked.

“Not exactly.” Blade glanced at Reverend Hayes.

“My sponsor was out of town,” the cleric said. “I was having a bad day Saturday, and I needed to talk to someone. I called Blade. We've been attending the same meeting in State College, on and off, for the last year.” He threaded his fingers together almost as if in prayer. “Seven years ago, this week, I was involved in an automobile accident. Someone that I cared deeply about died, and I spent three weeks in intensive care. To make a long story short, I was in a lot of pain. Over the course of the next few months, I developed an addiction to prescription painkillers. It nearly cost me my career. I realized that I had to make changes, so I got the help I needed, and then took this position at the church here in Stone Mill. I've been sober for almost seven years, but I know I still need NA.”

“Blade was with Reverend Hayes at Junior's Diner Saturday night,” Coyote explained. “He couldn't tell me or you because it's just not something you do.”

“Can you verify the time frame, Reverend?” Evan asked.

“I picked Blade up, down the street from his house, around seven thirty,” Reverend Hayes continued. “We went directly to Junior's Diner out on the interstate and stayed there until ten thirty. I drove him back into town and dropped him off near Wagler's.”

“And you walked straight home?” Evan asked.

“Blade came in at about eleven,” Coyote said. “I noticed the time because he was usually home earlier than that, and I was concerned about the storm. Remi was having one of his bad nights. He suffers from asthma, and we were up with him until three a.m. And then we went to bed. Blade didn't go out again until late Sunday morning.”

“And that crosses Blade Finch off my list,” Evan told Rachel as he closed the door behind his surprise visitors a few minutes later.

“Aren't you glad you waited to put out that APB?” Rachel asked, sitting down in relief.

“Sure am.” He dead-bolted the door and turned to her. “You were right. I'll concede. Your intuition was dead-on. He wasn't telling the truth, but for an entirely different reason than I suspected.”

“Which leaves us with—”

“Skinner,” Evan finished for her, gathering up the dirty dishes.

“And me.” She met his gaze. “And maybe Bishop Abner.”

“Abner Chupp? Why Abner?”

She grabbed the tea mugs and followed him into the kitchen. “Abner's been acting strange all week. There's something up with him; I get that impression every time I talk to him. I told you that Blade saw an Amish buggy, a top-hack, in Wagler's Grocery parking lot late Saturday evening. Abner has one. I checked. No one else in the valley had theirs out that night.”

“Doesn't make him a murderer.”

“Oh, there's more. I asked Bishop Abner if he was home all Saturday evening. He said he was, but then I found out that that wasn't true. He was seen on the road that night. When I confronted him with the evidence, he admitted he'd been out, but he wouldn't tell me where he'd been.”

Evan stacked the dishes in the sink and began to run hot water over them. “People lie to me all the time. Sometimes it has nothing to do with a case. Blade is proof of that.”

“Amish bishops don't lie. To a man like Abner Chupp, lying is a sin.” She set the mugs on the stove. “It would trouble his conscience. And that's not the only untruth he told me. I told you about the hat I saw in the snow at Billingsly's house, the morning we found the body. I've been asking around among the Amish and—” She reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “I know you didn't want me involved in this investigation. But from the first, I've had a hunch that there was an Amish connection to this crime. And you know how difficult it is for an Englisher to learn anything about what goes on in the community. Like it or not, I'm still accepted among my family's people in a way you never will be. And I have a good reason for wanting to solve this crime, if I'm one of your main suspects. I need to clear my name.”

He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. “What were you going to say about the hat?”

“I asked the Chupps if they knew of any Amish man who'd lost a black hat. Abner said he didn't, but that was a falsehood. The hat in the snow belonged to Sammy. My brother Levi picked it up at the murder scene. It had Sammy's name sewn into it. And Levi told me that he returned the hat to the Chupps' farm the same day. Abner must have known.”

Evan leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, thinking. “What you're suggesting . . .” He was quiet for a moment and then went on. “If the bishop had something to do with Billingsly's death, he'd have to have a motive. People don't commit this kind of murder without a motive.”

She took a deep breath. He was listening. Not only was Evan listening to her, but he was considering what she was telling him, too. “Abner may have had a reason to want Billingsly silenced. When you were going through his files, did you find anything about an old scandal involving an Amish preacher and an English woman?”

Evan's mouth firmed. “Abner's a bishop, isn't he? Not a preacher.”

“But he wasn't a bishop a dozen years ago when the affair took place; he was a preacher. He was chosen as bishop later, after he and Naamah wed. She's his second wife, but there was a relationship with another woman after his first wife died, before he met Naamah. A relationship that resulted in a child.” She studied Evan's face. She had his attention. “Can you imagine the headlines that a scandal like that would make? Abner's position, his current marriage, and the life of the other woman would be drastically harmed. Not to mention what it would do to Abner's son. He's at such a vulnerable age. Is it possible that Abner killed Billingsly to protect his son?”

Evan rubbed his temples as if he was getting a headache. “It might be a motive, but . . .” He frowned. “Until you just shared that information, I had no knowledge of any of this. Spoken or written.”

“So you found no reference to that affair in Billingsly's files?”

He shook his head and walked around her and back into the living room. “I can't say.”

She followed him. “But not finding a column or notes doesn't prove anything, Evan. It doesn't prove that Billingsly hadn't threatened Abner in the same way he threatened me. What if Billingsly and Abner had an argument? What if the bishop was just smarter than me and made sure it wasn't public?

“All conjecture.” He sank onto the couch.

She sat on the edge of the recliner. “But you have to admit that it's a possibility. And trying to solve a crime is a process of checking out possibilities and eliminating them, one by one. Right?”