Plain Dead (19 page)

“So you want me to ask Abner where he was Saturday night?”

“I think you should also ask him if he and Billingsly spoke recently.”

He leaned back on the couch. “Let me think about it. Maybe interviewing your bishop is a good idea, but I think I should wait until after Sammy's funeral. It seems heavy-handed to question him while they're trying to bury their nephew. You could be on to something, Rache, but you could be mistaken. I need to handle this carefully. Going after a respected religious leader wouldn't win me any fans in this town.”

“Or me. I know it's all just circumstantial, but . . . what if it's all true, Evan?”

“Let me check with the medical examiner's office on Monday. And . . . maybe I will pay Bishop Abner a visit next week.” He stared into the fireplace for a few minutes. “I'm going to talk to Skinner again. I don't have a motive, but if anyone appears capable of committing that kind of murder, I'd put Jake Skinner at the top of my list, certainly ahead of your Amish bishop. Just based on size and physical condition, an older man like Abner would have a hard time getting the best of someone like Billingsly.”

“I hope I'm wrong,” Rachel admitted, drawing her knees up so she could face Evan. “I'd rather Skinner is the perpetrator than Abner.”

Evan crossed his arms over his chest and stared into the fire that was now beginning to die down. “So Abner Chupp had an affair with a non-Amish woman. Unbelievable. More secrets in this town than I suspected.”

“Too many,” Rachel agreed. She exhaled and stared at the flames for a moment before looking at him. “So maybe I should tell you what I've been hiding.”

“I'm listening.” He patted the spot on the sofa beside him. “It might be easier if you'd come over here.”

Gratefully, she moved over to the couch. “It's not pretty, but all I ask is for you to hear me out before you form an opinion.”

He nodded. “All right. I'll give it my best shot.”

She took a deep breath, exhaled, and began. “There was a guy at the firm that I'd been dating. There was a fire at his apartment building. To make a long story short, I let him move in while his place was being renovated. Obviously it wasn't the best decision I ever made, but . . .”

“Were you in love with him?” Evan asked.

She grimaced. “You weren't supposed to ask questions yet.”

“Sorry. But were you?”

“Looking back on it?” She shook her head. “No. No way. The firm was definitely high stress, and I never really got over the feeling that I was an imposter, pretending to be someone or something that I wasn't. I guess I was trying too hard to fit into the mold and I forgot what was really important.”

“So you and this guy were lovers?”

“It wasn't like that, Evan.” She pressed her lips together, determined not to cry. “We were dating, but it hadn't gone that far. I might have been stupid to let him stay at my place, but I wasn't dumb enough to fall into that kind of a relationship. This probably sounds silly in this day and time, but I'm not that kind of girl.” She swallowed. “I don't expect you to believe me, but that's the truth. I knew within a week of him moving in that we didn't have a future together, but I felt bad that he had no place to live. And it would have been so awkward to have broken off things with him right then.”

“Go on.”

“I'd been working seventy, eighty hours a week on this particular merger between two fairly good-sized companies. I'm not making an excuse. What I did was wrong, but it never occurred to me at the time. I mentioned it in passing to him. It was late, and he'd ordered Chinese takeout, and I was too tired to think straight.”

“So you told him about the coming merger?”

She nodded. “I told him about it, but not to give him insider information. We were just talking over dinner, you know? The next day, without telling me, he took out a loan and bought shares in the company being absorbed. Eventually he was investigated by the SEC, the Securities and Exchange Commission, because the purchase went through just days before the merger. When they questioned him, they discovered that we'd been dating at the time. They called me in, and naturally I admitted that I'd discussed the matter briefly with him. But I told them that I'd had no idea that he was going to try and profit from the information.”

“But you didn't make any investment yourself?” Evan asked.

“No, absolutely not.” She made herself look him in the eye. “I felt like such a fool; I knew better. I was guilty. I had given out privileged information. I hired an attorney, and she advised me to plead guilty and pay the fine rather than risk a trial and the loss of my reputation. So, I followed my attorney's advice. I thought maybe it might cost me my job, but my boss just laughed. It never even came up again. I worked for Baker, Crimmin, and Barrel for another three years before I left the firm.”

“And the guy? What happened to him?”

“I have no idea. I believe he moved to another city. We broke up the week he moved back into his apartment, long before I learned about him purchasing that stock.” She shrugged. “So that's it. That's my venture into the dark side. My first mistake was letting him into my home. My second was not guarding my words more carefully, and my third was trying to hide what I'd done from you when I found my way back to Stone Mill.”

He brushed her cheek. “Not exactly a Sopranos-class crime, but you're right. You should have told me.”

“I know.” She looked at her hands in her lap. “But I was ashamed. And I knew how it would hurt my family if they'd known that I'd let a slimeball like that move into my home.” She leaned against his shoulder. “I'm sorry, Evan. What more can I say? I was technically guilty of insider trading, but I didn't kill Billingsly to keep from being found out.”

Evan exhaled. “I still might have to bring you in for questioning.”

“I understand.”

He reached out and covered her hand with his, and they sat there for a couple of minutes in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

Beginning to feel sleepy, Rachel got up. “I can drive myself home in your car. Get it back to you tomorrow.”

“It's not a problem.” He offered a half-smile. “And if I drive you, I won't have to worry about you slipping on the ice and putting my new SUV in a ditch.”

“Okay.” She smiled back at him. “Deal.”

It wasn't a fix, but it was the start of a fix, and she felt a little lighter as she zipped up her parka and followed him out to his vehicle. At least it was off her conscience, and she'd shared her concerns about Abner. Maybe Skinner would turn out to be the killer after all, and everything that had gone wrong in Stone Mill would start to go right again.

She hoped so.

Chapter 18

Friday, when Rachel came downstairs, dressed for her morning barn chores, she found Jake Skinner waiting outside her office. He was wearing his customary fatigues: the faded military jacket and beret. A green canvas duffel leaned against the wainscoting at his feet.

“Good,” he said when he saw her. “I wanted to check out, make sure I wasn't leaving owing you anything.”

“You're leaving now?” she asked. Evan wouldn't be happy about that. She was sure that he hadn't had time to speak to Skinner the previous night. Stalling, she said, “I thought you wanted to extend your visit. I had your room reserved for two more nights. Is there anything I could do to change your mind and keep you from leaving this morning?” As far as she knew, there were no additional charges to his account. Skinner had secured his reservation with a credit card.

“No more reason for me to be here. Cops want me, they've got my location. Your friend Parks seems like a decent enough sort, but . . .” Skinner shrugged. “He's got that cop smell.”

She must have shown a facial reaction because Skinner quickly added, “No offense intended.”

She gave a wave, suggesting it was fine, and then pretended to yawn. “Sorry. I'm pretty useless until I've had my morning caffeine. Do you have time for coffee? There should be fresh-made in the pot. The timer starts it at six thirty.”

“I'd rather have hot tea.”

“Me, too. Do you like Earl Grey?” He nodded, and she hurried to say, “I can brew a pot in five minutes.” She favored him with another smile. “Will you be flying straight back to Colorado?”

“Haven't decided yet. Got a buddy in West Virginia. Lives in a cabin at the back end of nowhere. I was thinking of stopping in to see how he's making out. So I might just keep the rental and drive home.” He raised a bushy eyebrow. “Or Charlie and I might decide to go on walkabout. My plans are kind of loose.”

Rachel wondered if there was any way she could get a text message to Evan without alerting Skinner. She was certain that he'd asked the veteran to remain in town until further notice, and Skinner was definitely planning otherwise. “I think there are some raisin cinnamon buns, or, if you like, I could fix you some breakfast,” she offered.

“Just the tea.” Skinner followed her into the dining room. She took the electric kettle into the kitchen to fill it with fresh water, hoping maybe he would take a seat at the dining table. Instead, he came to the doorway and stood watching her.

“I didn't off Billingsly,” he said. “You don't need to be afraid of me. I'm kind of a John Wayne guy. I never hurt a woman in my life. Not even in 'Nam, and there were some pretty crazy babes there trying to see me blown away.”

“I'm not afraid of you,” she answered, hoping that putting the words out would make it so. “You've been a gentleman in my home and kind to my staff. And I can't say that about all of my male guests.”

He pulled off his hat and tucked it into a jacket pocket. “Glad that I haven't been any trouble. This is a nice place. And I like you. You're a dame with good sense, and you know how nasty Billingsly was. So I wanted to tell you why I was here. You already figured out that it wasn't for the shoofly pie, although it's pretty darn tasty.”

She returned with the kettle and took a tin of Earl Grey tea leaves from the antique pine corner cabinet. “I wouldn't have wished Billingsly dead,” she said, “but I did wish him far away from my town.”

Skinner grunted an agreement. “Like I said, a sensible dame.” He hesitated, then went on. “I've been thinking about how the killer could be anybody. It's the quiet ones you don't suspect that are usually the ones you need to watch out for. I saw that in combat. The quietest guy, the one you'd think would be frightened of his own shadow, he could be the most lethal, if pushed far enough.”

“So what you're saying is that Billingsly's killer could be someone we don't suspect?” Rachel asked, unable to keep herself from thinking about Bishop Abner.

“Yeah,” Skinner agreed. “Take your cook. Now there's a formidable woman if I ever saw one. Prayer bonnet or not, I wouldn't want to get on her wrong side in a dark alley.”

“Ada?” She chuckled. “You might be right about her. She terrifies me.” Rachel poured the tea. “Would you like to go back to the parlor where you were with Detective Parks? We'd be less likely to be overheard there if what you want to tell me is confidential. Or . . .” She hesitated. “Was it what you just said about Mary Aaron?”

He gave her a long look. “You look like you were on your way out somewhere.”

Rachel glanced down at her jeans, flannel shirt, and goose-down vest. “I was going to feed my dairy goats. Muck out their stalls. And tend to the chickens. It's one of my mornings to tend the animals. It's why I'm down early. But that can wait until we—”

“Naw, don't want to hold you up. I'll come out with you. I grew up on a ranch. Used to milk my pop's cows before school. I like barns. They're peaceful places, mostly.” His gaze challenged her. “If you're being honest about not being afraid of me.”

Rachel shook her head. “I think you're a trustworthy person. I'm not sure why, but I believe you are.”

“My parish priest would be glad to hear that.”

“You're a churchgoing man?”

He raised a shoulder. “Guilty.”

That did surprise her. She offered him a tentative smile. “I've got an extra pitchfork if you're game.”

“That's what I like,” he said, cracking a smile again. “A dame with grit.” He picked up his mug of tea. “Lead on, lady.”

The goats greeted them eagerly as they entered the barn, bleating and crowding around as Rachel measured out the feed. Skinner took one of the forks and began to work through one of the stalls, cleaning out the dirty bedding.

“Before you say anything,” she told him, walking over to turn the water on so she could fill the deep stone trough, “you should know that I know about your argument with Bill Billingsly on the veterans' website. It got pretty heated.”

He lifted one brow.

“I Googled your names,” she explained.

“Ah. Wonders of the Internet.” Skinner leaned against his pitchfork. “That was a bit of a pissing contest, 'scuse my French. Politics. My real beef with him has been going on for a year.”

Rachel watched water pour from a faucet into the stone trough.

“Billingsly's been making himself a name in veterans' circles, publishing stuff on various subjects. And not just for Vietnam vets, all vets: Gulf War, Afghanistan, Iraq, you name it. At the end of his pieces there's always one of those little blurbs about the author.”

She nodded. “Right.”

“Billingsly claimed to have been awarded a Legion of Merit for his service in 'Nam. But it was a lie; he was never awarded a Legion of Merit. I know because I fought with him. That honor went to a friend of mine, a guy by the name of Wally Minner. Wally was one of those guys who came back so fragile that he couldn't put the war in the past. He got tangled up in booze and pills and the wrong people. Died over ten years ago. Cirrhosis of the liver. I guess Billingsly decided to claim the honor, Wally being dead and not needing it.” He stabbed a hunk of dirty straw and tossed it into a wheelbarrow. “I threatened to expose Billingsly for the jerk and liar he was if he didn't remove the award from his credentials and publically apologize to Wally.”

“So you came here to confront Billingsly about his claim?” Rachel asked. “And he was afraid that his own reputation would be ruined?”

“I wasn't carrying a vendetta. Not even against the likes of Billingsly. All I wanted was for Billingsly to admit the truth. And if he'd refused, I'd have exposed him, but I certainly wouldn't have tried to kill him.” He shook his head. “I guess it's a little late for Billingsly to apologize for claiming what was never his. But wherever Billingsly is now, maybe he'll still have a higher court to answer to.”

“We can hope,” Rachel agreed, going to shut off the water.

“You believe me?” Skinner asked. He'd set aside the pitchfork and was now spreading fresh straw.

“I do,” she told him. Skinner was another example of what George O'Day liked to quote: “You can't judge a book by its cover.” Underneath the rough exterior, Jake Skinner seemed a decent man who went out of his way to help others.

“Good.” Skinner pulled his hat out of his pocket and over his head. “I'll be on my way now. You tell your cop friend what you want of this. If he wants to find me, I'll be back at my Colorado address by snowmelt, at latest. I never like to miss opening day of trout season. And tell him that I hope he finds Billingsly's killer.”

A half an hour later Rachel watched from her bedroom window as Jake Skinner's rental car pulled out of her driveway. She picked up her cell phone and texted Evan.

 

Just after noon, Rachel got a text back from Evan telling her that the authorities had released Sammy's body. He didn't mention the text she'd sent him or Skinner. She was attempting to reach him again when her brother Danny arrived at the house.

“
Dat
wants you to come and leave your Jeep at the house. He wants you to come with him and
Mam
in the buggy to Sammy's viewing,” Danny explained. “So
Mam
says you'd best wear this.” He dropped a black bag on the table. “She says you can keep it, and not to forget the head scarf.”

Rachel opened the bag and removed a Lincoln-green dress with a faint pattern of apple blossoms in a lighter green. It had a modest neckline with no collar, three-quarter sleeves, and an A-line skirt that would fall to several inches below her knees. The material was soft against her fingers, and the stitching was fine. Folded carefully on top was a matching green scarf and a pair of high black stockings. “She sewed this dress for me?” Rachel asked.

Danny shrugged. “Guess. I don't know. Can you come right away?
Dat
didn't want to be out late, so we need to go to Bishop Abner's as soon as we can.”

“Sure, I can come now. Wait and you can ride back to the house with me.” She raced upstairs to change into the new dress. Every stitch in the dress had been sewn with thoughtful skill. Her
mam
must have worked on it for days. As she dressed, it occurred to her that she might be caught between the Amish world and the English, but she wasn't trapped so much as cradled. There was good in both worlds, and she was blessed to have the love of her family, her community, and a special man. Somehow, she had to find the balance to walk this uncertain path, because even though she wasn't going back to the old way, she wasn't running so far away that she forgot the strength and faith that had nurtured her and made her the person she was.

Two hours later, Rachel entered the Chupp home with her parents, brothers, and sisters. Sammy's body was already there. Naamah and his mother and sisters had dressed Sammy in funeral white and laid him out on a bier in the parlor. Rachel joined the line of mourners to view the remains and add her prayers to those of the Amish community. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but she was grateful that there appeared to be no outward sign of the trauma that had killed him, or the autopsy. In death, Sammy appeared smaller and younger than he had in life, and once again, Rachel thought how senseless his passing was.

That evening, there was no formal service, no sermon, only quiet words of comfort and support for the survivors. Rachel, her mother, and her sisters soon made themselves useful preparing and serving food and helping with the children. Rachel and her parents remained at the Chupp house until after dark. Rachel's sisters and brothers had left earlier in a separate buggy so that they could do the chores.

Finally, her father found her in the kitchen and whispered that they would be leaving. Gratefully, Rachel made the rounds, saying her good-byes and promising to come tomorrow for the funeral. When they stepped out into the yard, it was bitterly cold and wind whipped sleet and freezing rain around them. Her
dat
had thrown a padded blanket over the driving horse, and brought a woolen lap robe from the back of the buggy for the three of them to put over their legs.

Neither of her parents had much to say when they first got in the buggy, but the whine of the wind and the sharp echo of the horse's hooves striking the road were oddly comforting. Sadness and grief for the community's loss had permeated the Chupp residence, but the sense that death was a natural part of life hovered above the mourning. Everything that could have been done for Sammy had been done. Now they had only to lay his body to rest in the Amish cemetery and go on, accepting God's will.

It was Rachel's father who broke the silence. “We're so glad you came with us today. We've been wanting to talk to you alone.” He glanced at her sitting between him and her mother on the buggy seat. “I don't want you to be upset that we didn't share this with you sooner.”

Rachel looked at one parent and then the other, suddenly apprehensive. She had no idea what he was about to say.

“Your mother and I had an important decision to make,” her father continued. “We had to talk with each other and take advice from our good bishop. But most of all, we had to pray to try to learn God's will in this matter.”

She clasped her gloved hands together under the lap robe. “Yes,
Dat?
”

“It is your mother's health,” her father said. “She's not well.”