Secrets in the Grave (Serenity's Plain Secrets Book 3) (2 page)

Robyn would love the child either way, but she couldn’t lie, even to herself. A fifth girl would be disappointing.

The faint sound of her youngest daughters, Gloria and Verna, shrieking downstairs met Robyn’s ears. She almost didn’t notice the beginning of another contraction as she stared at the door, waiting impatiently for Jonas to burst in.

When the door flung open, Robyn caught a glimpse of the girls peeking in before Mrs. Gingerich scurried over to close it, blocking her daughters’ view. Childbirth wasn’t pleasant to witness, especially for children. They were too young to understand the pain and suffering their momma had to endure. Later, after the blood and mess were cleaned up, and the soiled sheets were removed from the room, the girls would meet their newest sibling, but not a moment before.

Jonas lifted the black hat from his head, tossing it on the dresser beside the door. His clear blue eyes were calm and the corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile. A few gray hairs mingled with the brown ones in the thick beard that ran down the length of his chest. Those gray hairs were the only visible proof of his thirty-eight years. There was a youthful, charismatic quality about Jonas that made everyone like
the medicine man. As a teen, he’d had been one of the most sought after boys in the community. A shy, blonde girl named Robyn had ultimately won his favor.

He nodded at Mrs. Gingerich first and then his sister before he turned his attention to Robyn. “How are you fairing, wife?” He had the gift of a steady voice no matter the circumstance. Robyn loved that voice. Hearing it, she relaxed.

“It goes difficult this time. Ada Mae had me pushing earlier, but the child is taking its sweet time,” Robyn drawled the words, reaching for her husband’s hand.

Jonas pulled his suspenders from his shoulders. He knelt beside the bed, taking Robyn’s hand and pressing it to the side of his face. “Rest assured, I am here now,” he told Robyn before glancing at Ada Mae with a frown. “You should have waited for me. I deliver all the children in these parts, especially my own.”

Ada Mae’s green eyes flicked from Robyn to Jonas. She shrugged. “You of all people should know sometimes babies don’t wait for anyone.”

As if he was used to such insolence from his younger sister, he sighed and rose to his feet.

Ignoring Ada Mae’s comment, he asked, “Do you have everything prepared?”

“Of course. Don’t I always?” Ada Mae huffed.

“Yes, I suppose you do,” he replied in a tired voice.

He rolled up his sleeves and dipped his hands into the sudsy water in the washbasin. Mrs. Gingerich handed him a towel before she busied herself plumping the pillows behind Robyn.

Ada Mae brought a wooden tray with raised handles to Jonas. It contained everything from scissors and thread to
cloths and iodine, arranged neatly. There were several dark glass bottles filled with herb mixtures, essential oils and tinctures.

Jonas plucked one of the bottles from the tray and poured it into a small cup. “Here, drink this. It will take away the pain and tedium of this delivery,” he coaxed, placing the cup into Robyn’s hands.

“Oh must I, Jonas? I want to be awake when this one arrives,” she said with the wilted tone of disappointment.

Jonas met his wife’s pained eyes. “There is no reason for you to suffer so. Have faith in me. It will be over soon.”

Robyn glanced at Mrs. Gingerich, who gazed back at her with tight lips and wide eyes. The old woman wouldn’t question her husband’s ways. He was well known as a miraculous healer. Robyn understood. Then she looked at Ada Mae. Her sister-in-law graced her with a firm shake of her head and a slight smile.

Robyn swallowed the contents of the cup down resignedly. Who was she or anyone else for that matter to question Jonas Peachey?

The liquid burned as it slid down her throat. She closed her eyes, easing back into the pillows. Another contraction gripped her insides. The pain was still there, but it was numbed, distant feeling, and so were the voices in the room. She strained to listen, catching Jonas’ quiet, yet commanding voice as he said a short prayer for the health of her and their baby. He called out orders to Ada Mae and Mrs. Gingerich in quick succession.

The sound of the words and the shuffling of feet on the hardwood floor drifted away. Robyn was at peace. When she
felt the pressure of hands pushing down on her belly and pulling within her womb, she didn’t startle.

Her mind wandered. She thought about the lavender dress she had almost finished sewing for Verna and how she might allow the child to work the final stitches on the hem herself. She wouldn’t have much time to do it herself. She’d be busy in the coming days with a new baby. She hadn’t even completed the crib quilt yet. She’d been waiting to see whether it was a boy or a girl before picking the trim color.

Dear Lord, please make it so Jonas is wrong. Give me a baby boy
, Robyn prayed, as the world went dark and quiet.

1

SERENITY

March 24, 2015

Blood Rock Amish Settlement, Indiana

“H
ere we go again.” Todd Roftin gave an exaggerated roll of his brown eyes.

I couldn’t help sighing myself as I slid into the front passenger seat of the cruiser. As usual, Todd was driving. Bobby Humphrey, the county coroner and all around go-to guy for forensic questions, took the back seat.

I regretted ordering the double bacon cheeseburger from Nancy’s Diner. It felt like a heavy rock rested in my gut. The little burp that escaped didn’t relieve the bloated feeling.

“You eat too much greasy food, Serenity. Your arteries are probably already clogged,” Todd informed me with a sideways sneer.

“You should talk,” I fired back. I wasn’t in the mood for sparing with Todd and indigestion was only part of the reason. “For every burger I eat at Nancy’s, you eat two.”

“Yeah, but at least I have Heather back at the house cooking some decent meals during the week. Do you even cook?” Todd raised a brow.

Bobby snorted. I ignored him.

“I make do just fine in that department, thank you very much. I know all about Heather’s cooking skills. I’ve eaten at your house enough times to know that her meals aren’t that much different from what we eat at the diner.”

Todd opened his mouth to protest when Bobby promptly shut him up.

“Don’t you think we should focus on the call that just came in and not worry so much about everyone’s eating habits? I swear the two of you are more like squabbling siblings than the sheriff and deputy of Blood Rock.”

I glanced over my shoulder and forced a smile. Bobby should have retired by now, but he loved his job, despite his constant complains. I figured that spending all day, every day, with his wife was a lot worse than working full time with dead bodies. I wouldn’t say it out loud, but I was glad for his troubles at home. I couldn’t imagine what I’d do without the grumpy wisdom he dispensed on a daily basis.

“The death of a woman while having a home birth doesn’t sound like sheriff’s business to me.” I shrugged, facing forward.

The argument I’d had with Daniel that morning had my stomach rolling more than the burger. His stubborn ways had flared up again. The last thing I wanted to deal with on this cloudy afternoon was Amish intrigue.

“That’s not exactly what Bishop Aaron Esch said on the phone…” Todd trailed off when I flashed him a withering look.

“Amish drama. That’s all this is.” I made a cutting motion with my hand to signal the end of the conversation.

The historic brick buildings, neat sidewalks and ornate street lamps disappeared as we left the city limits. The trees beyond the car’s windows still had the fluffy, yellowish look of budding leaves. The fields were plowed and miles of dark, churned earth spread out on either side of the road. Yellow flashes of daffodils and forsythia bushes began as we passed farmsteads.

The improved weather was the only thing that kept my foul mood in check. It was difficult to be grouchy when the snow had finally melted and birds were chirping. I rolled down the window a few more inches and tilted my face to the rush of warm air. Every year, the first spring days in Indiana felt heaven sent. It was a relief to be at winter’s end.

“What do you make of it, Bobby?” I reluctantly asked.

My last meeting with the bishop was still fresh on my mind. Two months earlier, when I’d gotten back from my insane trip up north to help with the arson investigation in the Poplar Springs’ Amish settlement, Bishop Esch had stopped by my office to complain about the arrival of a new family. I’d listened to the bishop talk about vague healing practices that sometimes went awry. He’d given no specifics. No crimes had been committed as far as I could tell. I’d sent the tall, elderly man on his way, explaining as best as I could that law enforcement couldn’t arrest someone who hadn’t committed a crime. We weren’t in the business of running people out of town, either.

“From what Aaron said, the young woman was hiding her pregnancy from her family and the rest of the community. She was only midway into her second trimester. It seems she
died while having a miscarriage, which is not very common, I might add,” Bobby said.

I continued to gaze out the window at the newly mint-green world, frowning. I certainly wasn’t an expert on pregnancy. Maybe Bobby was on to something.

“Is the bishop implying that her death is a homicide?” I asked. A quick glance at Todd showed his expression was grim.

Without looking back at Bobby, I knew he was twirling the end of his mustache whiskers between his fingers. When he spoke, he sounded cautious.

“That’s the feeling I got from the man. We won’t rush to judgment on the matter until I conduct the autopsy.”

“It doesn’t make sense. In Naomi Beiler’s case, the bishop wanted nothing more than to cover up the entire incident so that he could resolve the issue vigilante style. Now he’s begging for our help with a matter that probably isn’t even criminal,” I said, hoping that Bobby would see my aversion to getting involved.

“Maybe Aaron Esch is afraid,” Todd muttered.

I leaned over. “Afraid of what?”

Todd’s shrug made the back of my neck tingle. “Sounds like voodoo shit to me,” Todd replied. “I watched this show a while back about a crazy medicine woman in Haiti who was taking out her enemies in this fishing town. They were just dropping one after the other, for no apparent reason.”

“I’m sure that most of those deaths can be attributed to poisons of some kind. There is also a theory about the mind’s ability to cause damage to the body when a person truly believes they’ve had a curse put on them,” Bobby added.

I held up my hand. “Whoa. We’re talking about the Amish here, not some superstitious witchcraft religion on an island.” I scoffed.

“Voodoo isn’t what you think it is. I’ve spent some time over the years studying foreign cultures. For the most part, it’s a spiritual religion, comprised of a type of folk magic.” Bobby rested his arms over the front seat.

I turned to him. “Do you really believe there’s magic involved in any of these cult practices.”

He shrugged, settling back into his seat. “Not everything can be proven or understood by science.”

“I agree. Have you heard about those people who spontaneously burst into flames? I watched a special about it the other night…”

I blocked Todd’s ramblings and stared out the window. Among the mostly bare branches in the groves we passed were clusters of pinkish-purplish flowers. I caught a scent of blossoms on the breeze and inhaled. The grass bursting from the earth was such a lush green it almost looked fake.

“Here’s the place.” Bobby pointed his bony finger between Todd and me.

Jeremy’s cruiser and an ambulance were parked beside a small, white farmhouse. Four buggies were already lined up on the gravel driveway.

Thudding my head against the headrest, I grumbled, “It never ceases to amaze me how quickly the Amish show up when something bad happens. This must be the closest thing to a TV show they have.”

“What has you in such a foul mood?” Bobby clucked his tongue. “A young woman has died. Adjust your attitude to the circumstances,” he ordered.

I overlooked Todd’s smirking face. Bobby was right. I was being a bitch. And it wasn’t just about Daniel. A couple of months earlier, I’d shot a man named Asher Schwartz. He’d deserved it and I wasn’t suffering remorse over his death, but another innocent person had died on my watch. The image of Jotham Hochstetler bleeding out on the Amish schoolhouse floor was seared into my consciousness, like Naomi’s pale and lifeless form in the cornfield. Over time, a cop became desensitized to cruelty and death, but for me, the pictures didn’t go away.

I took a measured breath and straightened my sunglasses, putting on my best game face. “What’s the woman’s name?”

“Fannie Kuhns. Twenty-one years old,” Bobby said.

As Todd parked the car, my eyes skimmed the crowd of darkly clad people gathered in front of the house. I spotted the tall silhouette of Bishop Aaron Esch and the round one of James Hooley, one of the ministers. Moses Bachman, Daniel’s father, was with them, along with several other long-bearded Amish men I recognized and a couple I didn’t.

I couldn’t stop my heart from racing. Walking into a group of stoic Amish men gave me the creeps and this particular group was worse. They’d held me prisoner in a barn not so long ago. It was fine to forgive, but forgetting something like that was foolish. I’d learned long ago that the Amish weren’t the pacifist people I’d assumed they were. Reality checks sucked.

Daniel walked out through the front door behind his mother and I knew my day was completely shot to hell.