Murder Tightly Knit Read online

  Forty-Three

  Hannah stared at the notebook in Jesse’s hands, afraid to touch it. What if it made things worse? What if it proved Andrew’s guilt?

  They were sitting at Sandwich Bites in downtown Middlebury. Outside the window the sun shone the last of its light on a perfect fall day, but nothing felt perfect to Hannah. She was beginning to wonder if she’d ever experience a normal day again.

  When Jesse had shown up at the kaffi shop asking her to go with him, when he’d asked her to wait after her shift until he was off, she’d known it was important. So she’d sent a message to her parents that she wouldn’t be home for dinner. Now she and Jesse sat next to each other in a rear booth, the remains of one large sandwich they’d split pushed to the other side of the table and night beginning to fall over the streets of their town.

  “The police searched the house when they arrested Andrew. They also searched the barn.”

  “So where was it?”

  “Down by the creek. There’s an old deer blind there. When we were boys, we’d spend hours in that blind, watching wild turkey and deer. We even saw a fox a time or two.”

  “What made you think to look there? What made you think to look at all?”

  “Our neighbor, Linda Rainey, had seen Andrew walking toward the creek a few hours after he arrived. With everything going on, it took until today for me to remember what she said. I decided I’d better go down there and take a look. Today, after I saw him at the jail, I was so disappointed, disappointed and”—Jesse ducked his head as if he had trouble looking directly at her—“feeling guilty that I’ve spent years being angry with him. Angry when he left, angry when he came back, and more recently angry that he’d come back and become messed up in this situation with Owen.”

  “We’ve talked of that, Jesse. Don’t worry over it anymore. You were concerned for your parents and your schweschdern.”

  “Ya. I can’t say my attitude is completely adjusted, but I’ve been praying about it. I know Gotte has forgiven me for my bad behavior and harsh feelings. Andrew is my bruder, no matter what he’s mixed up in. I should love and pray for him.”

  “And you do.”

  “Sure. Some days, though, some days it’s still hard, like when I went to see him this morning.”

  Jesse looked up at her then, and Hannah could see the struggle he was still enduring. She loved him all the more for it.

  “I do believe Gotte is in control, even though I can’t see how this will end well.”

  “We don’t have to see the solutions. We are called to be faithful.”

  “Ya. Hard to remember when someone like Roland Shaw is breathing down your bruder’s neck.”

  Hannah started to argue with him but stopped herself. God would change Jesse’s heart and ease his worries. Instead, she touched his arm and asked, “So you remembered to go and look by the creek, and you found the journal in the deer stand?”

  “Ya. We would sometimes hide things there when we were boys. You know, stuff we didn’t want our schweschdern to see—like car magazines and such.”

  “So what is in the journal?”

  He held the spiral notebook in his hands. It was smaller than any tablet they’d used in school, something that might have fit in a coat pocket, though it probably would have stuck out. The cover was black, and the edges of the pages were frayed. Jesse opened it, and they both stared down at the messy, cramped writing.

  “Did he write this badly on purpose, to try to confuse anyone who might find the book?”

  “I don’t think so. Andrew never was gut with his penmanship.”

  “I’ll say. What is this word?”

  “I’m not sure. Could be dead or deed or even dat.”

  “It would help if he’d consistently cross his t’s.”

  They paged slowly through the book, stopping occasionally to try to read specific portions. A cloud of confusion settled over the table as they realized that the notebook was quickly raising more questions instead of answering any of the ones they had.

  “Two things we know, Hannah Bell.” Jesse sat back and pushed the book toward her. “This book was meant for Andrew’s eyes only. No one else could have read it.”

  “And the second thing?”

  “He was worried enough about what might happen, about who might read these pages, to hide it.”

  “The dates stretch back over a year.”

  “Ya. I noticed that too.”

  “So this isn’t a description of something he stumbled on recently. I don’t see how it can be related to Owen’s death.”

  “Perhaps the beginning of the notebook isn’t, but I’m guessing the second half is, at least in some way. Maybe he does know the person who did it, or at least who Owen was involved with. I recognize several names here.” Jesse thumbed back through the pages and showed her different spots with names of people in their community. “Mary, Owen, the bishop. And this looks like Uri’s name.”

  “Hard to tell. Maybe we’re seeing what we want to see.”

  “The other thing I’m noticing is that the initials ISG appear in multiple places.”

  Hannah picked up her cup of soda and took a drink. The ice had long since melted, and it tasted like badly flavored water. “Do you think Andrew was involved with the group?”

  “I don’t know, but that would be a solid connection between him and Owen. The first one we’ve found.”

  “Why would he write all this down? Why even risk it? If he’s involved in something—something he shouldn’t be—then he wouldn’t want to take a chance that someone might find it. And if it’s something honest he’s involved in, well, I can’t imagine what it would be.”

  “I don’t know either. I want to take it with me tomorrow when I go to meet Andrew and his lawyer.”

  “Should you take it into the police building?”

  “Maybe not. I think they search visitors each time, and they might confiscate it.”

  Hannah reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “We should ask someone who understands the Englisch system better than we do.”

  “Amber?”

  “Ya. I’ll call her from the phone booth over there and see if it’s okay for us to stop by.”

  Amber answered the door before Jesse or Hannah had a chance to knock. She’d been watching for them. She’d been pacing back and forth across the living room floor since their call, pausing every few minutes to stare out the front window.

  “Come in. Let me take your wraps.”

  Jesse shrugged out of his coat, and Hannah handed over her poncho-like shawl. The dark-blue yarn was tightly knitted, and Amber wanted to ask if she’d made it. The sight of the knitting reminded her of Mary, though, and she bit back her question. They needed to stay focused and find some answers. Amber had the strangest feeling that a clock was ticking somewhere, one that would count down to another disaster if they weren’t careful.

  Tate walked into the room with a tray containing a teapot full of hot water, various instant drinks, and four mugs. His expression remained grave as Amber explained what had happened in the field that afternoon—both the apparent attack and the fact that Gordon had filed a report.

  Hannah’s face paled as she listened. “Ach! That’s terrible, Amber. You shouldn’t be in the middle of this.”

  “It involves one of my employees, and whoever this creep is needs to answer for what he’s doing. He can’t go around scaring people by shooting arrows at them. This isn’t the days of Robin Hood.”

  “Who?” Jesse squinted at them over his mug of hot chocolate.

  “Never mind. Tell me what you’ve found.”

  Hannah reached out and stopped Jesse, who was about to hand over the small notebook. “Did Roland Shaw come out this afternoon when you called the police?”

  “No, and I’m glad he didn’t.”

  “Shaw’s probably a good investigator.” Tate sat back and crossed his right foot over his left knee. “Somewhat overzealous, but on the right side of this.”
/>   “I’m not so sure.” Hannah accepted the notebook from Jesse and flipped the pages in search of something, turning forward, then back again. Finally she found the section she was looking for. “Doesn’t this look like Roland to you?”

  “Maybe. It’s hard to tell. The handwriting is terrible!”

  “Ya. Makes it difficult to read,” Jesse agreed. “And his notes are very cryptic anyway.”

  “Tell me again what this notebook is and where you found it.” Amber had been restless all evening, convinced there was something they should be doing. It felt good to have Hannah and Jesse in their home. It felt right to be working on this together.

  So Jesse explained about meeting with his brother at the police station and his frustration with his brother’s talk of a job. “It always seemed to me that he bummed around. I never imagined him having a job.”

  “He would have needed a way to pay for the place he lived in when he was in Chicago.” Amber sat back and sipped her hot tea.

  “Ya, but when I visited, he was living with a few other Amish guys, so maybe they let him stay for free. Or maybe he found odd jobs to do, enough to earn a little money. Regardless, Andrew always talked big, but I never saw him actually go to work.”

  “Maybe it was something he thought you wouldn’t approve of.” Hannah stared down into her mug of apple cider. “Perhaps he didn’t tell you because he knew you would try to talk him out of what he was doing.”

  Tate cleared his throat. “We could talk maybes from now until sunrise. Better stay focused on what we know. Or at least on what we suspect.”

  Amber pulled her tablet from her work bag. “Point well taken. I’ll make another list, this one of what we suspect, what we know, and what questions we have.”

  “My first question is, why is Roland Shaw’s name in this book?” Hannah frowned at the page she still held open.

  Jesse’s brow wrinkled as he studied the notebook. “Is Shaw even who he says he is? Are we sure he works for the government?”

  “And why was your brother keeping the notebook?” Tate added.

  “What type of job did Andrew have?” Hannah set the notebook on the coffee table.

  “Does my bruder know who killed Owen?” Jesse’s last question settled over the room like a wet cloak, muffling all sound.

  Tate broke the silence when he added three more questions. “Who shot at us today, why, and how is ISG involved?”

  Amber typed as fast as she could and then ran her finger down the list of questions. They had a lot to learn, but this was a good start. “Two things we left out. Is Uri Wagler involved, and where is Mary?”

  It took no time at all to list what they knew, since they knew, for certain, practically nothing. Owen was dead, pierced by someone’s arrow. The same person may have slung a rock at Amber and Pam. And someone had tried to scare her and Tate, though why she couldn’t imagine.

  That was it, and Amber wasn’t confident that the police knew any more than they did—except for whatever it was that made them think Andrew was guilty. Gordon was usually pretty forthcoming with everything he was allowed to tell, but when he’d met them in the pasture earlier that day, he’d seemed frustrated.

  As for what they suspected, it could have filled a book.

  Tate stopped them after twenty minutes. “I suggest you hand Andrew’s notebook over to Adalyn Landt tomorrow. She’ll know what to do with it.”

  “Won’t she already be inside when I get there? If the police find it on me—”

  “It could be we want the police to have it, especially if what’s written in there can help them to find the real killer. Also, you don’t want to be guilty of withholding evidence. Adalyn will know what to do with it. Arrive at the station early. That way you can intercept Adalyn before she enters the building.”

  “How will I know who she is?”

  “She’s Englisch and dresses conservatively. Her gray hair is usually pulled back, and she always carries a Louis Vuitton leather bag.”

  Amber stared at Tate, her mouth slightly ajar. She pressed her lips together, realizing how foolish she must look, but then she noticed Hannah and Jesse were also staring at her dear, sweet husband.

  “What? I read the paper, and she’s been in there often enough with the murders in Shipshe.”

  “It sounds as if you know her.” Amber crossed her arms and gave Tate the look. “She carries a Louis Vuitton bag? How do you even know what that is?”

  “There was a feature piece in the paper on her. Seems she’s a bit eccentric, especially in her choice of handbags.” He pulled Amber into his arms as they stood. “I don’t know her, but I know of her and she’s a good lawyer—something that’s hard to find when you need it.”

  Jesse and Hannah were nearly to the door when the house phone rang. Amber was standing closest to it, so she reached over, picked up the receiver, and said hello.

  The voice that responded was male, low and sinister. For a moment he breathed heavily into the receiver, and then he spoke. He only uttered five words, but they were enough to rock Amber’s world once again.

  “Next time I won’t miss.”

  Forty-Four

  He lay in his bed in South Bend, Fern curled at his side. She’d fallen asleep over an hour ago. Running his fingers through her hair, he thought again of how precious this life was to him.

  Why should they take it away from him?

  He wouldn’t allow it. He’d defend what was his, and that included Fern, their tiny home, and the family they might one day have.

  The feeling of desperation closed in on him once more. He’d thought when they arrested the kid, Andrew, that the police would back off. But that wasn’t happening. Instead, the hunt seemed to have grown more intense.

  Slipping out of their bed, he walked into the living room. From the front window he could see up and down the tidy street. The streetlights cast halos on the cars parked beside each home.

  Perhaps he should stay here. Why keep returning to Middlebury? Why take the risk?

  Stay here. Lay low. Allow things to cool off for a while.

  It wasn’t how he’d planned it, but then, what had been?

  His life had spun out of control when Owen Esch had stopped into the sandwich shop in South Bend. That the lad had recognized him—had actually stopped to talk—sealed his own fate. At least he hadn’t asked about Fern, hadn’t raised her suspicions, though Owen had looked at her curiously enough.

  He had known, in that moment, what he’d have to do.

  The same certainty came over him again as he stood in the predawn studying the scene outside his home.

  He’d stay away—not forever, but for a time.

  But he would return. He wouldn’t allow them to take what was his.

  Forty-Five

  Hannah thought she wouldn’t rest well that night, but she did. She enjoyed a deep, dreamless sleep. She woke the next morning refreshed and confident everything would work out for the better, and soon.

  When her family prayed over their breakfast meal, she remembered God’s promise that in all things he works for the good of those who love him.

  In that moment, it was something she could easily believe.

  Mattie was full of sunshine and giggles.

  Her brothers left for school on time and without any argument.

  She had walked to work along the Pumpkinvine Trail, praying as she enjoyed the fall morning that smelled of falling leaves and fresh-cut hay. Hannah prayed for Jesse and Amber and Andrew. She prayed God would protect them all and grant them wisdom, mercy, and grace.

  And she made it to the kaffi shop a few minutes early, which always made opening easier.

  Everything was going well, better than it had since Owen’s death, when Roland Shaw walked into the shop.

  She stared at him as if he might pull out his badge and arrest her on the spot.

  “Good morning.” Shaw had both hands in his pants pockets. He wore the same thing he’d worn every time she’d seen him—black pan
ts, plaid shirt, and black tie. His black hair was precisely cut above his ears and along the neckline. He looked like an Englischer arriving for an interview with Amber, but of course he was not in search of a job. He had one. Unfortunately, it involved harassing people.

  Was Amber even at the Village this morning? They’d decided last night that she would go, first thing that morning, to the police station and report the threatening phone call. Not that there was any need to call Amber. It wasn’t as if Shaw had come by to threaten her.

  She also realized that Roland Shaw wasn’t standing in her shop because he had happened by on his morning commute. That much she knew for certain.

  Hannah blushed, realizing she hadn’t answered the man. Perhaps he wished to purchase a drink.

  “Gudemariye.” She pointed toward the menu board, which included their special for the day. “Would you like a drink?”

  “I would love one. How about a double espresso in your darkest blend, no room for cream necessary. I like it strong and black.”

  Hannah didn’t respond to that, but she did turn to pull the shots of espresso.

  “Your little coffee shop is a bright spot here. Not quite what I’m used to in the city, but not bad.”

  Had he been in before? Wouldn’t Seth have told her?

  “Say, Hannah—I can call you Hannah, right? That’s not breaking any Amish rules or anything?” His tone was pleasant enough, but now he stood with his hands behind his back, the way a child did when he or she was hiding something. And the look on his face would have been comical on anyone else. He’d scrunched up his nose as if he smelled something that offended him slightly. Hannah knew that her shop smelled nice.

  She became conscious that she was standing mute. She hadn’t answered his questions, so she nodded her head yes and then shook it no. Then she handed him his order and told him how much he owed. Hopefully he would leave with his highly caffeinated drink. She didn’t want him in her shop.