Shamed (Kate Burkholder #11)(5)

I hit my shoulder mike, recognizing the voice of my first-shift dispatcher. “Hey, Lois.”

“I just took a call from Mike Rhodehammel. Says there’s a horse and buggy loose on Township Road 14 right there by the old Schattenbaum place.”

“On my way,” I tell her. “ETA two minutes.”

I slide back into the Explorer. “You hear that?” I ask Mona.

“Yep.” She puts the vehicle in gear.

A few minutes later we make the turn onto the township road. It’s a decaying stretch of crumbling asphalt that’s long since surrendered to the encroaching grass shoulder and overgrown trees. There are two houses on this barely-there swath of road. Ivan and Miriam Helmuth own a decent-size farm, growing hay, soybeans, and corn. The other property is the old Schattenbaum place, which has been abandoned for as long as I can remember.

I spot the buggy and horse ahead. The animal is still hitched and standing in the ditch against a rusty, tumbling-down fence. The buggy sits at a cockeyed angle.

“No sign of the driver.” Mona pulls up behind the buggy and hits the switch for the light bar. “What do you think happened?”

“The Helmuths have a lot of kids.” I shrug. “Maybe someone didn’t tether their horse or close a gate.” I get out and start toward the buggy.

The horse raises its head and looks at me as I approach. The animal isn’t sweaty or breathing hard, which tells me this isn’t a runaway situation. I peer into the buggy, find it unoccupied, three old-fashioned bushel baskets in the back.

“Well, that’s odd.” I look around and spot a red F-150 rolling up to us.

“Hey, Chief.” Local hardware store owner Mike Rhodehammel lowers his window. “Any sign of the driver?”

I shake my head. “Might belong to Mr. Helmuth down the road. I’m going to head that way now and check.”

He nods. “I thought someone should know. Hate to see that horse get hit. I gotta get to the shop.”

“Thanks for calling us, Mike.”

“Anytime, Chief.”

I watch him pull away and then start back toward the Explorer. “Let’s go talk to the Helmuths.”

I’m in the process of sliding in when I hear the scream. At first, I think it’s the sound of children playing, but the Helmuth farm is half a mile away, too far for voices to carry. Something in that scream gives me pause. I go still, listening.

Another scream splits the air. It’s high-pitched and goes on for too long. Not children playing. There’s something visceral and primal in the voice that makes the hairs at the back of my neck prickle.

Mona’s eyes meet mine. “What the hell, Chief?”

“Where is it coming from?” I say.

We listen. I step away from the Explorer, trying to determine the direction from which the voice came. This time, I discern words.

“Grossmammi! Grossmammi! Grossmammi!”

Panic and terror echo in the young voice. I glance at the Schattenbaum house, spot a little Amish girl running down the gravel lane as fast as her legs will carry her.

“Grossmammi! Grossmammi!”

Mona and I rush toward her. In the back of my mind, I wonder if her grandmother had an accident or suffered some kind of medical emergency.

I reach the mouth of the lane. The gate is open. The little girl is twenty yards away, running fast, darting looks over her shoulder as if she’s seen a ghost—or a monster. She’s about five years old. She looks right at me, but she doesn’t see.

“Sweetheart. Hey, are you okay?” I ask in Deitsch as I start toward her. “Is everyone all right?”

When she’s ten feet from me, I notice the blood on her hands. More on her face. On her dress. A lot of it. Too much. A hard rise of alarm in my chest. I glance at Mona. “I got blood. Keep your eyes open.”

The girl’s body slams into me with such force that I stumble back. She’s vibrating all over. Mewling sounds tearing from a throat that’s gone hoarse.

“Easy.” I set my hands on her little shoulders. “It’s okay. You’re all right.”

“Grossmammi!” Screaming, she claws at my clothes, looks over her shoulder toward the house. “Da Deivel got her!”

“What happened?” I run my hands over her. “Are you hurt?”

The girl tries to speak, but ends up choking and crying. I kneel and ease her to arm’s length, hold her gaze, give her a gentle shake. “Calm down, honey. Tell me what happened.”

“Da Deivel hurt Grossmammi!” the girl cries. “She’s bleeding. He’s coming to get me, too!”

“Where is she?” I ask firmly.

Choking, she lifts a shaking hand, points toward the old house. “In the kitchen. She won’t wake up!”

I look at Mona. “Get an ambulance out here. Call County and tell them to send a deputy.” I ease the little girl over to Mona. “Stay with her. I’m going to take a look.”

Normally, I’d take Mona with me, but this child is too young and too panicked to be left alone. I don’t expect anything in the way of foul play. Chances are, Grandma had an accident, a fall or heart attack or some other medical episode. Of course, that doesn’t explain the blood.…

I hear Mona hail Dispatch as I jog toward the house. I notice the buggy-wheel marks in the dust as I run. A burlap tote someone must have dropped.