When the Bishop Needs an Alibi Page 17

  But the police weren’t waiting on Henry’s front porch. A young Englisch woman of medium height, with shoulder-length light-brown hair and dark-brown eyes, stood there. The skin around her nose and eyes looked red, swollen, chafed. He thought she looked completely exhausted, as if even standing there took all of the energy she possessed.

  “Can I help you?” Henry asked.

  “I’m here to see…that is, I’d like to speak to Henry Lapp.”

  “I’m Henry.”

  The woman glanced at something on her phone, then back up at Henry. She hesitated, then swayed, and Henry worried that she might take a tumble. But she drew herself up to her full height, which couldn’t have been even five and a half feet, and asked, “Are you the Henry who knew Sophia? Did you try to help my sister?”

  Forty-Four

  Emma pulled the young woman into the house before she collapsed on the porch. “Ya, we knew Sophia. We’re so sorry for your loss. It’s a real tragedy.”

  Lexi sniffed the woman’s shoes, determined she wasn’t a threat, and trotted back into the kitchen.

  Sophia’s sister halted just inside the room, staring in wide-eyed wonder. “You don’t have electricity. Just like it says in the book.” She dropped her phone into her handbag and pulled out a slim paperback book with the photograph of two Amish girls on the front. At least it was tastefully done. The girls were facing away from the camera.

  “Ya. Just like in the book,” Emma agreed. “Why don’t you come into the kitchen?”

  Henry raised his eyebrows, so Emma held back as Rachel walked out to greet their guest.

  “You’re sure this is a gut idea?” Henry asked.

  “How can it hurt?”

  “Things have a way of twisting and turning in unexpected directions, as you and I know all too well.”

  “But Henry, she’s grieving. It’s plain to see she’s devastated by what’s happened. Surely our first responsibility is to minister to her.”

  “You have a terrible habit of sounding more bishop-y than I do.”

  She sighed, relieved that he could joke about their situation. “Let’s go see why she’s here.”

  Katie Ann and Rachel were guiding Sophia’s sister to a chair. She accepted a mug of coffee, but her hands were shaking so badly that she had to place it on the table, which was when she noticed the drawings.

  “What…what are these?”

  “I can explain,” Henry said evenly.

  “They’re all of Sophia. Every one of them.” Tears began to fall down her cheeks.

  Emma expected an accusation then, that Henry had been infatuated with her, that Henry had been stalking her, that Henry had killed her. Instead, the young woman picked up one of the drawings, the one with Sophia helping the old woman. She hesitantly ran her fingertips across the page, touching the inside of Sophia’s wrist that was marked by the tattoo. “It’s like Sophia said. It’s more than a drawing. It’s more like a photograph.”

  She set it down and took a big gulp of coffee before she realized they were all watching her. “I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Tess Savalas. I’m Sophia’s younger sister.”

  “You look very much alike,” Rachel said. “Same cheekbones, same nose.”

  “I suppose we do, or rather we did.” She swiped at the tears running down her cheeks. “I always thought her hair was shinier and her face was prettier.”

  Emma sat down next to her. “It’s natural enough to envy your older schweschder—sister.”

  “Yes. I guess that’s what it was.” She drank more of her coffee and then stared down into it. “I still can’t believe she’s dead.”

  “Your sister was a very kind woman,” Henry said. “Everyone in this room knew her, and we will miss her, though of course our grief can’t compare to yours.”

  “I was so surprised when she mentioned you.” Tess raised her eyes to Henry’s as he sank into the chair across from her. “She doesn’t usually talk about strangers. Sophia was something of an introvert. Her circle of friends—well, they were good friends, but few in number. When the police…when they called, I knew I had to come. They offered to ship the… the body, but I needed to see where she’d spent the final weeks of her life. How she’d spent them. I didn’t expect this.” She waved her hands toward the drawings. “It’s like a chronicle of her last days.”

  “Perhaps I should explain—”

  “How you can do this? I read all about that.” When they looked at her in surprise, she again reached for her book on Amish people. “That’s right. You don’t read the paper much. I guess you don’t know, but the newspapers wrote all about you and what you can do.”

  “How did you know where to find Henry?” Clyde asked. “And why? I don’t mean to be rude, but he’s been falsely accused, and it’s been a terrible forty-eight hours. Why did you come here this evening? What is it you hope to accomplish?”

  She squared her shoulders and turned her attention to Clyde. “It was easy enough to find him.”

  Emma could tell Tess Savalas was made of strong stuff. Just one more way she resembled her sister.

  “Just ask in town, and they’ll point you in the right direction. I stopped by the police station first, of course. I met with Officer Anderson, who assured me you would be tried and convicted. That you wouldn’t get away with this.” She let her gaze travel around the room until she reached Henry, and then she spoke directly to him. “But I know you didn’t do it.”

  “And how do you know that?” Henry’s response was so softly spoken, so tenuous, that Emma leaned forward in her chair.

  “Because Sophia told me. She told me I could trust you. And she said if anything happened to her, I should come and find you.”

  “You spoke with her?”

  “No. She left me a voice mail message, I think a few hours before she died. Though I didn’t tell that officer as much. I’d be more than willing to speak to the judge, but honestly, I’m not sure who else I should trust.” She picked up the picture of Sophia walking down the road in the wind. “I hate that she was so alone. That she was frightened.”

  “She was frightened,” Emma agreed. “But she wasn’t alone. Henry could tell something was wrong, and so he…well, he tried to minister to her.”

  “And that’s why she spent the night at your house? You’re Emma, right?”

  Emma nodded, and then she realized Tess didn’t know everyone in the room. She quickly introduced her family before continuing with her questions. “What did she tell you, Tess? When she called and left you a message, what did she say?”

  Tess blinked rapidly. Instead of answering, she turned to Rachel and held up her mug. “Could I possibly…”

  “Of course.”

  Katie Ann jumped up as well. “And pie. We have homemade pie. It’s gut, and you look as if you haven’t eaten.”

  Lexi’s ears perked up at the word pie, but she didn’t bother climbing out of her bed.

  Tess shrugged, which Katie Ann took as a yes. Rachel had cut the pie into eight pieces and three were left in the pan. Katie Ann plopped two of them onto a saucer and put it in front of Tess, gently pushing the drawings out of the way. Emma noticed that she covered up the one of Sophia’s body in the reeds. She smiled at her granddaughter, grateful for her quick thinking and her compassionate spirit.

  “This is very good. I can’t believe I’m eating pie, though, while my sister is lying on a slab in your county morgue.”

  “I’m sure she would want you to take care of yourself.” Rachel had refilled her coffee mug and sat down next to Clyde.

  No one spoke as Tess ate three heaping bites of pie. Her attention turned again to the drawings, and she pulled the stack toward herself, thumbing through each one until she came to the final picture, the picture of Sophia lying among the reeds of the refuge wetland.

  “You want to know why I’m here.” She stared at the drawing another moment before looking up.

  “I’m here to find the person responsible for killing Sophia
, and I will do that. One way or another. For some reason, I think you all can be more help than the police, who seem to have already decided Henry is the guilty person. But Henry didn’t do this.” She leveled her gaze at him. “I barely know you, but I know you didn’t do this because Sophia liked you. She trusted you, and she told me to find you, to talk to you if something happened.”

  “But do you realize what you’re insinuating?” Clyde sat forward now, his shoulders bunched, a deep furrow between his eyes, and his hands clasped together. “If Henry didn’t kill Sophia—and we agree with you that he didn’t—then someone else did. Someone in these drawings, is what we suspect. We don’t know why or whether they’re still in the area or even if they will kill again.”

  And then Henry voiced what Emma had been thinking. “Perhaps it’s not wise for you to be here, Tess. Someone killed your schweschder, and whoever it was probably wouldn’t hesitate to kill you too.”

  Forty-Five

  Tess’s expression took on an even more determined look. “I appreciate what you’re saying, but that doesn’t change my mind. I’m determined to find who did this, with or without your help.”

  Henry combed his fingers through his beard. Because he’d been married, he had a full beard, now mostly gray. But Henry had been a widower for many years, and he understood the pain of loss—how it could color a person’s world. He didn’t want that for this young woman, and he wanted justice for Sophia. Against his best intentions, he felt himself being drawn into her crusade.

  His friends had come over with one goal in mind—to establish doubt as far as Henry’s guilt. At best, they would find a way to present an alibi for his whereabouts on the morning of Wednesday, September 20. It was a defensive strategy, and as such was a vastly different thing than trying to find a killer. Henry knew that well enough. He also knew Emma and Rachel and Clyde understood what they were about to undertake. Perhaps young Katie Ann did as well. She’d been integrally involved in catching the Monte Vista arsonist. Henry wished it wasn’t so. She was much too young to be exposed to such things. But then God’s ways were not his ways.

  “We will help in any way we can.” The rest of the group visibly relaxed at Henry’s words. They had felt the draw to help her as well. That was good. The Spirit was speaking to them in the same way, encouraging them to help this lost soul. “Perhaps you should start with the message Sophia left you. Could you tell us, word for word, what she said?”

  “I can do better than that. I still have the message.” She pulled her phone out of her purse, and then hesitated when her eyes landed on the slim paperback book. “But you don’t allow phones in your home. Should I go outside?”

  “These are extenuating circumstances,” Henry said.

  When Tess glanced at Clyde, he laughed. “Henry’s our bishop. It’s his job to decide what exceptions can be made to our Ordnung, but in this case—as his deacon—I happen to agree with him.”

  “All right. I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

  She placed the phone on the table, tapped a couple of buttons, and then Sophia’s voice was coming over the speaker.

  Tess, it’s me. Sophia. I wanted…I needed to call you. I should have done it sooner, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for so many things, but mostly that I didn’t call you when I needed you. I did it for a good reason—to protect you—but I see now that there was no reason good enough to shut you out.

  I think I know who killed Cooper. Not the person’s name, but what they’re involved in. Actually, I don’t know exactly what they’re doing. I hope to find that out tonight. It all has to do with something Cooper found out. He was about to expose someone, and they killed him so he couldn’t. I know the police said it was a street mugging, but that doesn’t make any sense. Cooper would have never been in that part of town that late at night. I know him, and I knew—even when you came down to help with the funeral, but I didn’t tell you—I knew something wasn’t right about it all. And then I found his notes…

  Tess, I have to turn off my phone now. If I survive the night, then I’ll call you back in a day or so. Once I’ve turned the evidence in. Once I’ve figured out who to turn it in to. But if I don’t make it, if you hear that something’s happened to me, then I want you to know how much I care about you. The truth is, you’ve been the best sister a girl could hope for, even if you did borrow my makeup and get a stain on my favorite dress when you went out with Danny Vento.

  There was a pause, and Henry thought that was the end of the recording, but then Sophia cleared her throat and continued.

  My friend Henry says we can trust God’s words, His promises. Do you still believe that? I think I do, and maybe that’s why I’m brave enough to go through with this. Henry also says we’re supposed to encourage one another, to spur each other to love and good deeds. If something happens to me, finish this, Tess. Don’t put yourself in danger, but take what I’ve put together and hand it over to the authorities. Emma Fisher has my files. Find Henry, Henry Lapp in Monte Vista, Colorado. He’s an Amish bishop, and he will take you to Emma.

  I love you, sis.

  The recording ended. Tears were once again running down Tess’s cheeks. Katie Ann stood, walked around the table, and wrapped her arms around her. When she finally pulled away from Tess, who was sniffling and dabbing at her nose with her shirtsleeve, Katie Ann said, “Henry has a fine horse. Would you like to see it? A walk outside might…well, it might help.”

  Tess nodded. Lexi jumped up to join them, and the three fled into the warm night.

  The door had barely shut behind them when Henry, Clyde, and Rachel all turned on Emma at once.

  “Files?” Clyde frowned in confusion. “You said nothing about files.”

  Emma was already shaking her head. “I don’t know anything about any files.”

  “She said you have them, though, so she must have given them to you.” Rachel leaned back in her chair. “You were only with her twice—”

  “Three times,” Henry said. “At the diner, in my buggy when we brought her here, and at your home the morning she left. One of those times, Sophia gave you something. And if I’m right, it contains the information we need to find whoever killed her.”

  Forty-Six

  Emma continued to shake her head as they all stared at her. “I can’t think of a thing she gave me. Certainly not any files.”

  “All right. Let’s leave that for a minute,” Henry said. “Sometimes when you think of something else, you can remember the thing you forgot.”

  “Or maybe Sophia meant to give me something but didn’t, though why would she give it to me and not you? I barely knew the girl.”

  “Gut point,” Clyde said. “If it happened while you were in the diner or the buggy, she probably would have given it to Henry. So it had to have been while she was at the house after Henry left that evening or the next morning.”

  “She left in a hurry,” Rachel said. “I came out of the laundry room, and she was gone.”

  Emma’s hand flew to her mouth.

  “You’ve remembered.” Henry sat up straighter. “You’ve remembered what it was.”

  “Ya. Well, I don’t know what it was, but I do know where it is—in my apron pocket.”

  “Files fit into your pocket?” Clyde shook his head. “That can’t be right.”

  “Which is probably why I forgot. It was a little thing.” She held up her thumb and forefinger, a gap as big as a clothespin between them. “It was some little object. She gave it to me and said—”

  Now she stopped and dropped her head, staring at her lap. Embarrassment and grief washed over her. How could she have forgotten? “She told me to give it to you, Henry. She said if anything happened, to make sure that I gave it to you. But I slipped it into my pocket, and I haven’t worn that apron again because the hem was starting to unravel. I don’t think I’ve even washed it.”

  “And you think this thing could be what Sophia told Tess about?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”
>
  She felt miserable. How could she have forgotten something so important? But so much had happened in the last week. It was then she realized that it had been exactly seven days since she’d spoken to Sophia. And in that time the poor girl had been murdered, and Henry had been charged with the crime.

  “You’ve had a lot on your mind, Mamm.” Clyde reached across and clumsily patted her hand. “Don’t blame yourself.”

  “And you couldn’t have saved her even if you’d given it to me the same day. I’m sure I would have had no idea what it was, let alone what to do with it.”

  “It might be something to put into their computers,” Rachel said. “Phones and computers. Englischers save all sorts of records on them, and they call them files.”

  Henry tapped his fingers against the table. “Emma can find it, and then we’ll ask Tess. For now, tell me what you saw in the drawings.”

  By the time they’d laid it all out, Emma was feeling better. What had happened was terrible, but it wasn’t her fault. And while Sophia’s files might hold clues, Henry’s drawings did as well. She was sure of that.

  Katie Ann and Tess walked back into the room as they were finishing the list. Lexi trotted over to her water bowl, drank noisily from it, and then curled up at Henry’s feet, her head across his shoes.

  Tess’s color was better, though her eyes were still puffy, and she kept wiping at her nose with tissues Katie Ann gave her. Crying was probably a healthy sign. Emma could only imagine how much pain the girl was in, but keeping those emotions bottled up couldn’t be healthy. No, it would be far better to cry it out and face the feelings.

  There was something else. Emma’s thoughts slipped back to her childhood. A terrible storm had passed through their town in Indiana, damaging many homes and barns and obliterating the crops. She’d walked in one evening to find her father on his knees, pouring his heart out to God. Her mother had pulled her aside. “Sometimes Gotte calms the storm, but sometimes He lets the storm rage and calms His child.” At the time, she hadn’t understood that at all, but maybe now she did. Tess was calming before their eyes. She was sharing her burden with them, though the storm around her continued to rage.