Plain Dead (4 page)

Rachel made eye contact with an Amish woman standing near her. Mary Yoder, a distant cousin of her mother's. She wore a heavy black wool cloak and black bonnet, her Sunday church clothes. She and her husband must have been passing through town on their way to services. There were several Amish church groups in Stone Mill and they had different Sunday schedules; while this week was a visiting Sunday for her parents and Bishop Abner's flock, folks from another church district a mile away might soon be gathering for daylong services.

Rachel nodded and Mary nodded back, but Rachel made no attempt join the group of Amish, even though she knew most of them. They were family friends, cousins, cousins of friends. Some people might have been surprised to see their Amish neighbors there, but Rachel wasn't. They cared as much about what happened in Stone Mill as the Englishers did.

An unmarked car pulled up behind the paramedics' van. Two men got out. One was Evan. He wasn't in uniform this morning. He was wearing dress pants under his parka. As a detective, he didn't wear a uniform.

“Are they taking Billingsly to the hospital?” a bearded Amish man asked her in Deitsch. It was John Glick, Beth Glick's uncle.

“Why would they do that if he's dead?” Mary Yoder asked.

“Who knows what Englishers would do?” commented another man. “But who would do such a thing, even to him? It is a terrible thing to happen here in our valley.”

“I don't understand it either,” Rachel agreed. “It's unbelievable. I wouldn't believe it if I didn't see it with my own eyes.”

“After last summer, you can say that?” Rachel's cousin Ruth asked. “After that poor girl you found drowned in the quarry?” She shook her head sadly. “You live as long as I have, you learn that there is much wickedness in this world.”

“ ‘Whoever diggeth a pit shall fall therein,' ” someone quoted.

Sounds of agreement rippled through the small group dressed in black.

Rachel's throat constricted. It was a quote from Proverbs her mother had always used when Rachel was a child. You get what you deserve was what it meant. But no one deserved this. Her gaze went to Bill's body and then to Evan. Who would do something like this? she thought. Who had a problem with Billingsly? A lot of people, and she was at the top of the list. But who hated him enough to kill him?

She immediately thought of Jake Skinner. He was a stranger in town, a stranger whom Billingsly obviously had a history with, enough history to duck out of the school the previous day through the kitchen to keep from running into him. And then his behavior a few minutes ago, when he'd heard Bill was dead, was even odder. And suspicious. Who, upon hearing of the death of someone he knew, responded by shoveling a stranger's snow?

Rachel walked out onto the street, wove her way around the police cars parked haphazardly and then back onto the sidewalk. When Evan saw her approaching, he said something to the other plainclothes detective and came toward her. She held up her hand. She knew what he was thinking. She shouldn't be here. “I'm going,” she said when he stopped in front of her. “I just wanted you to know that I saw something odd yesterday. You need to contact a man named Jake Skinner staying at my B&B and tell him not to leave town.” She looked up into his eyes. Eyes she had fallen in love with at some point, though when she didn't exactly know. “He shouldn't leave until you talk to him, Evan.”

Chapter 4

“Such a terrible thing,” Bishop Abner said as he took a seat at Rachel's parents' kitchen table that evening, “to have another murder here in our Stone Mill. Like them big cities with all the shooting of guns and stabbing with knives.”

“No better than Sodom and Gomorrah we'll be soon,” Rachel's Uncle Aaron intoned. “Not that Bill Billingsly was ever a friend to us, but no man should die in such a way.”

“Frozen solid, they say.” Rachel's father, Samuel, stood at the head of the long kitchen table that easily sat twelve. “You think he just went onto his porch and got locked out?”

“Locked himself out and then tied himself to his front porch?” Aaron gave a snort. “Not even an Englisher would be so
mupsich
.”

“Tied himself to his front porch,” Naamah's nephew Sammy repeated and nodded. “
Ya,
stupid to do such a thing.”

Rachel's Aunt Hannah made a clicking sound between her teeth as she set down a butter plate. “No man should die in such a way. Not even the newspaperman who has said such terrible things.”

Rachel couldn't agree more, but she remained quiet, helping her mother and her little sisters bring food to the table. Uncle Aaron, Aunt Hannah, Annie and Joab Herschberger, Bishop Abner, Naamah, and her nephew Sammy had come to share a light supper with the family, as had Rachel's brother Moses and his wife, Ruth.

Since Rachel's mother and father still had three sons and two daughters living at home, the additional company made quite a crowd for the evening meal. The younger children were all scattered through the house, playing with an assortment of cousins. Rachel's mother's kitchen was large, like most Amish kitchens, but rather than set up additional tables and still not be able to seat everyone comfortably, they had decided that only the adult guests and Rachael's parents would eat in the first sitting. Once their meal was finished, Rachel's parents would retire to the sitting room with the others and Rachel, Mary Aaron, and the younger children could have their turn at supper.

In remembrance of the early days of persecution, Amish worship services were held in private homes rather than a church, but this Sunday was a visiting Sunday for Bishop Abner and his flock. These pleasant days of rest and relaxation were reserved for time with close friends and family. There were no chores other than those absolutely necessary, such as caring for the farm animals. Hard work was a natural and welcome part of Old Order Amish life, but visiting Sundays were a cherished and much anticipated break from everyday life, one that Rachel missed as part of the English world. Too often, at the B&B, her Sunday afternoons were consumed by housecleaning, laundry, and catching up on her bookkeeping on her computer.

Though Rachel no longer attended Amish religious services, she was always invited to come on visiting Sundays. She liked spending time with her family and Amish friends, especially her siblings, and she enjoyed being part of the family's challenges and successes. She missed so much in her day-to-day life at the B&B. Being here, in the home she'd been raised in, grounded her and filled her with a quiet peace. Lately, Evan had even been joining her on visiting Sundays. He liked both of her parents, and he enjoyed interacting with her large and noisy family, so different from his own. Evan had been invited for supper today, which always made for an interesting evening, but he hadn't been able to get off due to the urgency of the murder investigation.

Rachel sliced a loaf of whole wheat bread and carried the platter to the table. The bread had been baked the previous night, but still smelled rich, yeasty, and heavenly. Not even having the bishop and his wife to supper would warrant making bread on a Sunday. The meal would be mostly cold: sliced ham, potato salad, pickled beets, coleslaw, an assortment of cheeses, and canned fruit. The only thing served hot today was a hearty pepper pot soup that had been prepared Saturday and kept warm on the back burner of the woodstove.

Rachel's father scraped the floor noisily as he pulled out a chair at the head of the table. “We should pray for Billingsly. He may not have been a friend to our people, but he deserves our compassion.”

“
Ya,
” Bishop Abner agreed. “At a time like this, it isn't our place to judge.” He turned an empathetic gaze on Joab and Annie. “You must extinguish the anger in your hearts, despite the harm he's done to your family.”

Joab's expression remained wary, but he nodded. Annie pursed her lips and looked down at her plate. The unnatural stiffness in her neck and shoulders told Rachel that she was not ready to forgive Billingsly.

“Shall we bow our heads for grace?” Rachel's father asked.

Quietly, Rachel's mother slid into a chair between Annie and her daughter-in-law Ruth. Rachel, Mary Aaron, and Rachel's sisters paused and closed their eyes during the silent prayer of thanksgiving. When grace was over, her father began to pass the food, and everyone settled in to enjoy the simple meal. There would be no more discussion of the murder during supper and probably not for the rest of the evening. Of course, even if there were discussion, Rachel wouldn't be included because she wasn't welcome to sit at the table with them.

Her relationship with her mother and father was complicated. She had never been baptized in the church, so she'd broken no laws by leaving the faith as a young woman. But in her parents' eyes, or at least her mother's, there had to be consequences to her abandoning the church and Amish life. At her mother's insistence, one of those consequences was that she could not eat with her parents. While Evan and other Englishers found this hard to believe, Rachel understood it wasn't a lack of love that made her parents treat her this way. It was a desperate attempt to force her to return to her faith and roots.

Rachel was just getting ready to slip out of the kitchen when her mother held up an empty serving plate and announced, “I think the pickled beet dish is running low.”

“I'll get more from the pantry.” Rachel took the plate, knowing very well that the statement had been intended for her. Since Rachel had returned to Stone Mill, her mother had refused to speak to her directly, which made for some awkward moments. But some funny ones, too. Sometimes Rachel would stand next to her mother and have a whole conversation with her via one of her siblings or her father. Her mother would speak to the go-between, who would then repeat what had been said.

Rachel headed for the pantry.

“Need something?” Mary Aaron followed Rachel out of the kitchen.

“Beets. I can get them.”

Mary Aaron was her closest friend, closer to her than even her brothers and sisters, but Rachel had a lot on her mind, things she wasn't comfortable talking about, even with Mary Aaron. Like her unwise decision to go to Billingsly's house to confront him the previous night. She hadn't told Mary Aaron; she hadn't even told Evan. She wasn't sure why she hadn't told, but the longer she waited, the more difficult it would be. She'd look as though she was deliberately concealing what she'd done rather than simply being unwilling to admit she'd been so rash.

Inside the small room, lined floor to ceiling with shelves, Rachel stood on tiptoes to grab a Mason jar off a shelf.

Mary Aaron let the heavy wooden door swing shut behind her. “Where's your engagement ring?” She kept her voice low. “It's not on your hand.”

Rachel curbed her impatience and tapped her skirt to be sure it was still there. “In my pocket.” She didn't want to talk about this now, but she knew her cousin. When Mary Aaron got a notion in her head, she usually wouldn't let up on it.

“You still haven't told them?” Mary Aaron stared at her, clearly displeased. “Rae-Rae, you promised. It's been two weeks. You
have
to tell them.” She grabbed her cousin's hand. “You haven't changed your mind, have you? About Evan?”

“No. No, of course not.” Rachel pulled away and tried to unscrew the ring on the jar. She didn't want to be cross with Mary Aaron, but this was really none of her business. The thought that her cousin was probably right made her position hard to defend, though. “It took me such a long time to agree to marry him because I wanted to be sure.” Frustratingly, the jar lid wouldn't loosen.

“You have to tell them,” Mary Aaron insisted. “Your parents are going to find out from someone else and then their feelings are really going to be hurt.”

Rachel sighed. She'd been putting off the announcement of her engagement because she knew how disappointed her family was going to be. Even though they all liked Evan, they were all still hoping that she would
come to her senses
and return to the Amish faith. If she married an Englisher, that would pretty much mean they had lost their daughter. At least in the sense of their faith. “I'm going to tell them.” She tried the lid again.

“Tonight? Are you telling them tonight? Here, give it to me.”

Rachel slid the jar across the painted wooden countertop to her cousin. “Probably not tonight,” she admitted.

Mary Aaron cut her eyes at her as she tried to twist the lid.

Rachel gestured in the direction of the kitchen, where everyone at the table was in quiet conversation as they ate. “Not with everyone else here. Not with what's happened today. Me getting engaged to someone I've been dating a year isn't all that monumental considering the fact that Bill Billingsly is lying in the morgue right now.”

“I'm sorry he's dead, but you had nothing to do with that. I'll pray for him. But whatever happened, I don't think it was a random killing. He probably brought the evil on himself because he hurt so many people.”

She's right,
Rachel thought, not voicing a reply.
I had nothing to do with Billingsly's death, and I didn't see anything at his house. I have nothing to add to the investigation.
Saying something to Evan would only muddy the water. Unconsciously, she rubbed her palms together.

“And it's not a year. It's more like two years,” Mary Aaron corrected. “You and Evan have been dating
two
years.” She slid the jar back. “I can't get it, either.”

“We've got one of those rubber thingies somewhere.” Rachel avoided eye contact with Mary Aaron and began to dig around in a wooden box on top of the counter that held spare jar lids, rubber bands, and other assorted objects.

“So why haven't you told them yet?” Mary Aaron persisted. “Is it the whole idea of becoming engaged to an Englisher, or is it the fancy ring?”

Rachel found the rubber gripper at the bottom of the box. “You know I'm never coming back to the church.
Mam
and
Dat
know, too, I think.” She met her cousin's penetrating gaze and then returned her attention to the stubborn jar lid. “And it's not the ring, either. I've just been busy, and—”

“You're stalling,” Mary Aaron put in.

“It's just that I want to tell them in the right way.” Rachel gave the lid a good tug. “There it is!” She set aside the little rubber mat and unscrewed the lid.

Mary Aaron handed her a can opener. “You
have
to tell them this week.”

Rachel popped the lid off the beets. “I will.”

“You will,” Mary Aaron insisted, using a fork to move beets from the jar to the plate. “Or I'll tell. I feel bad enough as it is, me knowing when they don't; a girl's parents should know these things first.”

“You wouldn't dare.” Rachel met Mary Aaron's gaze again. “
I'll tell them,
” she insisted. “This week. I'll come over one day this week, I'll sit them down, I'll tell them. I'll even wear the ring.”

“Good.” Mary Aaron picked up the plate. “Now you better get back to the kitchen or your mother will be coming to see what happened to you.”

“No, she'll probably send Amanda or Lettie.” She offered Mary Aaron a conspiratorial smile. “Because coming herself might force her to speak to me.”

At the table, Naamah, Aunt Hannah, and Rachel's mother were discussing plans for the next quilting bee, and the men were quietly eating. Rachel's sister-in-law Ruth threw her a look that said, without words, that she would rather have been in the pantry as part of whatever Rachel and Mary Aaron had been up to than on her best behavior seated among the older women.

Ruth was shy around the bishop's wife and her mother-in-law, but full of fun in her own house or when she was with women her own age. She was a perfect match for Moses, and managed to get her way most of the time while making him think that he was in charge. Rachel wished she could learn a few tricks from Ruth because, as well as she and Evan liked each other, they often butted heads.

The atmosphere in the kitchen was warm and friendly, despite the pall cast by Billingsly's death. Only Joab and Annie seemed on edge. Rachel noticed that Annie had taken food on her plate but had hardly touched a morsel, while her husband ate but had little to say. Poor Joab. He seemed to have aged ten years in the week since Billingsly's column had exposed their son's true circumstances and the deception Joab had perpetrated.

Folks in Stone Mill had known that Joab and Annie's son had left suddenly the previous fall, but Joab had told everyone, including his wife, that their Wayne had simply needed to
sow some oats
and had moved to an Amish community in Delaware. He told everyone that his eldest son was working for a construction company and living with an Amish family while he searched for a wife. The truth, Billingsly had reported in the paper, though no one knew how he'd found out, was that Wayne had left the faith and was living in sin with an English girl in Delaware.