Dead Wrong Page 13

  “Not really. I was out walking along the river because, well, I guess because I was used to rising at that hour. I heard Dixon say they should mind their own business or there would be trouble.”

  “Do you think Paxton and Mason had invested in Dixon’s scam?”

  James looked to Henry and both men shook their heads.

  “Not likely,” Henry said. “I don’t think those Cox boys have two nickels to rub together. The truck they’re driving looks worse than my last buggy, which I had for twenty years. Nein. I’m not sure why—or how—they happen to be here, but I don’t see how they could have been investors.”

  Their story told, they both stood.

  “Again, we’d like to offer our apologies for our dishonesty early, and we certainly never meant to be rude in any way.” Joseph stood straighter—shoulders back and head higher—as if he’d set down a heavy burden.

  “Neither of you showed any rudeness to me.” Agatha’s words were soft and without accusation. It was obvious to Tony that their confessions only increased her sympathy for the two men.

  Tony tucked his notepad and pen back into his pocket. “And if you were rude to me, I probably deserved it. Unfortunately, asking unwelcome questions is part of an investigation.”

  “You were only doing your job.” Henry crossed his arms. “We should not have made that harder.”

  “Actually, I wasn’t. As Jasmine pointed out, I’m no longer a detective.”

  Henry paused a moment, considered that, and then a smile played across his lips. “Yet a job is so much more than what you’re paid to do at any given time. My job, since I was a youngie, has been to farm and to provide for my family. It still is my job, though these old hands no longer work a plow, and though I’ve lost much of what I’d saved for my family due to foolishness.”

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “That is something I will wrestle with, but I will get through it. Gotte doesn’t lead us to trouble, but He certainly leads us through it.”

  “You speak the truth, Henry.” Agatha rocked in her chair, her head bobbing up and down. “I’ve always been a homemaker. Whether it’s for my family or for strangers makes little difference.”

  “And you, Mr. Vargas. Your job is to find the truth and to bring those who have strayed to justice.” Joseph reached forward and clapped Tony on the shoulder. Somehow, that simple touch seemed like a blessing. “Yours is a higher calling, and it’s likely not one that you left behind the day you retired.”

  Tony watched the two men walk away.

  He had the distinct feeling that the pieces of the puzzle were now all on the table. The problem was, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how to put them properly together.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Agatha could tell by the pensive expression on Tony’s face that he needed a few minutes. She sat and waited and prayed that God would ease this man’s mind.

  She’d often seen that look of consternation on her own husband’s face. Seth had been a kind and gentle man. And quiet, which perhaps wasn’t that unusual for a Plain person. She could always tell when he needed to think—to make connections and draw lines. They’d shared twenty-four years of marriage, and in that time she’d learned to be patient and give him that space.

  When Tony finally turned to look at her the sky had darkened and the porch’s solar lighting had switched on.

  He smiled ruefully. “You probably wish I’d go home.”

  “Not at all.” She hesitated, then said what had been on her mind probably since Wednesday morning. “You probably wished I’d run the opposite direction when I found Dixon’s body. If I’d gone south, Mr. McNair would have caught the brunt of this mess. Or if I’d just gone inside and used the office phone to call the police...”

  “I don’t regret becoming involved.”

  “You don’t?”

  “As Joseph pointed out, solving who committed a crime—finding the truth—it’s what I do. Besides, if it hadn’t been for Dixon’s murder, we might have remained polite neighbors and nothing more. Just think, I never would have sampled your cooking.”

  “Now that would have been a real tragedy.” Agatha wanted to offer some kind of solace to the man sitting beside her, but she wasn’t sure quite how. Something in Tony’s voice told her he was wrestling with a great hurt and perhaps trying to cover it up with light words.

  So again, she waited.

  Finally, he pointed in the direction Henry and Joseph had left. “Those two men have given me a great deal to think about.”

  “In regard to Dixon’s murder?”

  “Not really.” He repositioned the rocker so he was facing her more directly, studied her, and finally shook his head. “They’ve suffered a great loss, but they’re not dwelling on it. Instead, they’re doing what they can to make things right, and they’re moving on.”

  “Their actions convey their intent to move forward, but the hurt and embarrassment will no doubt linger for some time. Don’t let their common sense ways fool you. Amish men—and women—are no different from Englisch in many ways. Humiliation is a bitter pill to swallow.”

  “My point is, they’re moving on.” He stood and paced in front of her. When he finally turned her direction, she understood his struggle wasn’t really about the murder investigation at all. “I, on the other hand, have been sitting in that house feeling sorry for myself for nearly a year.”

  “Losing money is not the same thing as losing a person.”

  “Camilla would give me a good swift kick in the backside if she could. She told me, just before she died, she said, ‘Don’t waste your life, Tony. It’s a gift. Live it.’”

  “She sounds like a special person. Did you have any children?”

  “No. She couldn’t, and it never mattered. It was enough that we had each other.”

  She thought he might leave then. Instead, he rested his backside against the porch railing. “You’re a widow.”

  “I am.”

  “Children?”

  “Four sons and a daughter—all grown with families of their own.” Fonzi made an appearance, meowing and winding between Agatha’s legs. She reached down and stroked the cat, causing it to purr like a small engine.

  “Was it hard to leave them?”

  “To come here? Yes and no. I knew they would visit, and I needed...I suppose I needed a purpose. Or maybe I was just looking for an adventure.”

  “How did you...handle it?”

  “It?”

  “Being a widow—the loneliness, the grief. Even regret, maybe.”

  Agatha didn’t answer right away. She rocked a minute, closed her eyes, and allowed the breeze to calm her heart and mind. Finally she stood, walked to Tony’s side, and they both turned and stared out over the porch railing at moonlight skipping off the river.

  “Those things you speak of...they’re a natural part of heartache. Seth, he was a gut husband, and I lost him too early. At the time, I couldn’t even think about caring for someone else, so I threw myself into raising my children and providing a home for them. But even as I washed clothes and made meals and helped my kinder with their schoolwork, the shadow of my grief was there.”

  She turned to him and smiled, though she realized he probably couldn’t see that. “I can’t tell you when the first day was that I woke without that heaviness in my heart. And I can’t tell you that I don’t still feel it on occasion. But most days...now...are filled with fond memories of him. The ache has taken a back seat to an appreciation for the time we shared. Mainly I’m grateful for that—to have known and loved him.”

  “I like to think that I could take such a mature attitude someday, but I’m not sure I ever will.”

  “Oh, it’s not about maturity, Tony. We get up every day, put on our clothes, and go about our business. I had no choice because my children depended on me.”

  “While I’ve had the luxury of wallowing in my pain.”

  “Perhaps Gotte knew you needed that time, and perhaps one man’s w
allowing is another man’s path to healing.”

  Agatha followed him to the porch steps. “Will you call Bannister? Update him on what we’ve learned?”

  “I’m not sure we’ve learned anything, except that everyone was hiding something. That’s not unusual. People have lives—have struggles—that we can’t begin to imagine.”

  “You still think one of my guests was involved.”

  “I do. The question is which one.”

  He said goodnight, and Agatha watched him walk across her yard to his property. He paused at his side door to wave, then disappeared into his home. Fonzi curled up in the rocker she’d just vacated, winking at her and closing his eyes.

  Agatha walked around her kitchen and living area, adjusting a pillow here, wiping away a speck of dust there. In truth, there was little to do. Gina cleaned everything within an inch of its life. But Agatha was restless and not ready to turn in for the night.

  What were the Cox brothers doing on the river?

  Why had Jasmine and Xavier rented a kayak? Who were they spying on?

  What were Brooklyn and Stuart hiding?

  As for the Beilers and the Glicks and the Fishers, Agatha did not—could not—believe they were in any way involved. Not because they were Amish...even Amish sometimes succumbed to passion and bad decisions. No, it was more that they were so obviously subdued by what had happened to them. She didn’t sense a terrible rage there, only a deep sadness.

  She readied for sleep—combing out her hair and loosely braiding it, washing her face, brushing her teeth. The routine calmed her. Finally, she climbed into bed and opened her Bible. She read a chapter each night—something her parents had begun with her when she was a small child.

  She tended to enjoy the Psalms or Proverbs before bed, sometimes Isaiah or even Job. Yes, she could certainly relate to Job’s questions. But this evening she pulled her battery-operated lantern closer, fumbled with her glasses, and turned to the book of Romans. It took her a few moments to find the passage she sought, her fingers casting long shadows across the page as she traced the words.

  When she found it, she released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

  But we also rejoice in our suffering because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character, and character hope. And hope does not disappoint...

  Hope does not disappoint.

  The words calmed her heart and helped her slide into a dreamless, restful sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Breakfast went well the next morning, meaning no more dead bodies popped up and everyone seemed to have recovered from Tony’s grilling the night before. After they’d cleared off the dishes, Gina set off to give the cabins a brisk cleaning while Agatha headed to work in her garden.

  Doc was in the pasture grazing. She paid an Amish teen to stop by early in the morning and again in the evening to care for the horse. Now the mare raised her head as if to nod at Agatha. It was such a beautiful sight—such a simple sight—just a mare in a field on a pleasant June morning. She often found that thirty minutes of pulling weeds set her day on the right track, and she’d slept so well the night before that she felt full of spunk and energy. At least, she did until she turned the corner behind the barn. Then the energy faded out of her like water poured from a pitcher and her knees went suddenly wobbly.

  Because when she turned to enter the garden area, she saw a message painted in sloppy, broad strokes on the back of her barn wall.

  Dead Wrong

  That was it.

  Just those two words.

  What could it possibly mean? It looked as if the graffiti artist had used the left over paint from her wraparound porch. She stepped closer and placed a finger against the letter D. Definitely Swiss Coffee. She’d spent enough time staring at paint chips to recognize the color she’d picked for her front porch trim. From a distance, the message might not even be noticeable. But up close, the off-white stood out against the gray, which was called Silvery Moonlight.

  She’d been so proud of her newly painted barn.

  Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall. The Proverb popped into her mind, but she pushed it away. She didn’t think pride in a cleanly-painted barn had been such a sin, and it certainly hadn’t caused Russell Dixon’s destruction.

  Whoever painted the graffiti had apparently been in a hurry. The paint dripped toward the ground with each letter, giving it a macabre effect.

  Who was dead wrong?

  About what?

  And who had left the message on the side of her barn?

  She was trying to decide whether to go in the house and call Tony or continue with her gardening when Gina skidded around the corner of the barn. She was out of breath and flushed. She stopped with one hand on her hip and the other pressed to her chest. Her posture was slightly bent as she tried to pull in a deep breath.

  “Are you all right?”

  Gina held up a finger.

  “Should I fetch you some water?”

  “No.” She glanced up at Agatha, and that was when she caught sight of the message. Her mouth fell open, but no words escaped.

  “I know. They didn’t even do a good job of the painting. It’s a mess. Look, it dripped all down the wall.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I have no idea.” Agatha stepped closer to her friend. “What’s wrong? Why were you running?”

  “It’s the Cox brothers.”

  “What about them?”

  “They’re gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “And they left a note.”

  Agatha hurried with Gina back to Cabin 2. The rooms weren’t exactly spotless, but they were empty. No fishing equipment. No food. No clothing.

  “They’re gone.” Agatha turned in a circle, trying to understand what she was seeing—or rather what she wasn’t seeing.

  “Yeah. That’s what I said.” Gina stomped across the room and pointed to a single sheet of paper on the counter, held down by a pepper shaker as if the writer feared a strong wind might come through the cabin and blow the note away. “I didn’t pick it up—in case they want to dust it for fingerprints.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Because the Cox brothers could be the killers.”

  “If they were, and I’m not saying I believe that, their fingerprints are all over this room.”

  Gina sniffed and raised her chin a fraction of an inch. “Not if they wiped it down.”

  “Wiped it down? Can you hear yourself? And did you ever see Mason or Paxton wipe down anything...including their feet?”

  “Valid point.”

  Agatha stared down at the note. Like the message on her barn wall, it only had two words, so it didn’t take long to read.

  We’re sorry

  “Sorry for what?” Agatha asked.

  “I was wondering the same thing. Did they pay their bill?”

  “Ya. Paid in full when they first checked in. All my guests do, since they check out on Sunday and I’m at church when they leave.”

  “Maybe they’re apologizing for killing Dixon.”

  “Really? You think they’d leave a note that would confess to the crime?”

  “I don’t know.” Gina’s hands fluttered in front of her like two birds suddenly gone wild. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but two people left you a note since Tony’s interrogation session last night. I think one of them must have killed Dixon.”

  An hour later Agatha’s place was once again overrun with Hunt County PD.

  “Bannister and Tony seem like old chums,” Gina noted.

  “I believe they’ve put aside their differences to solve the case.”

  Bannister said something to Tony that caused him to frown, look off toward the river, and nod once. Whatever it was, the lieutenant had made a decision. He pulled out his radio and walked away as he talked into it.

  Tony made his way back to Gina and Agatha. The rest of the guests had been mildly inter
ested the first fifteen minutes, then drifted off to do other things. It seemed the murder mystery no longer held their attention, but then it was the last full day of their vacation. Perhaps they had other activities planned for the morning—activities like picnics and walks by the river and resting in a hammock.

  “Bannister had turned up some information on Mason and Paxton,” Tony said. “He was coming out to question them today.”

  “What kind of information?” Agatha felt a frown forming between her eyes and she reached up with her forefinger to rub it away. The last thing she needed was a headache from scrunching up her face.

  “I’m not at liberty to go into detail, but they have some financial problems—enough to constitute motive.”

  “How would killing Russell Dixon net them any money?” Gina asked.

  “Good question, and Bannister is working on that. But the note—that seems to indicate they did something wrong.”

  “Could be a confession.” Gina’s voice took on a decidedly cheerier tone. She threw a told-you-so look at Agatha.

  “Bannister thinks it’s the break we’ve been waiting for. If the Cox brothers—”

  “Stop it, both of you.” Agatha stomped her foot, then felt foolish so she offered a weak smile. “I liked those boys. I know their manners were lacking and they were a bit daft when it came to fishing, but I think they both had a good heart.”

  “A good heart? You’re crossing two suspects off the list because you think they had a good heart?” Gina folded her arms over her chest. “Not good enough, Agatha.”

  Tony was fighting a smile. Agatha had learned he had a marked frown when he was trying not to laugh. No doubt he found it quite funny that two older ladies—one Amish, one Englisch—might be able to solve a murder. Which wasn’t a fair assessment of Tony at all. He’d been nothing but respectful and kind to her. She was simply feeling a bit off. The day was not going as she’d hoped.

  “Given Jasmine’s testimony that she saw them arguing with Dixon, along with their suspicious behavior this week—”

  “Suspicious how?” Agatha fought to lower her voice. “Explain that to me, Tony.”