Shamed (Kate Burkholder #11)(8)

“Da Deivel got Grossmammi!” the little girl cries. “He took Elsie!”

“What?” The Amish man is so startled by the assertion that he presses his hand against his chest and stumbles back. “Took her? Da Deivel?” His eyes find mine. “Where are they, Chief Burkholder? What’s happened here?”

“Mr. Helmuth.” I set my hand on his arm, let my eyes slide to the little girl. “I need to speak with you privately.”

His eyes connect with mine; then he looks down at the boy who’d followed him over. “Bleiva mitt die shveshtah.” Stay with your sister.

Looking shell-shocked, he lets me lead him a few feet away. When we’re out of earshot of the children, I stop and turn to him. There’s no easy way to tell him what needs to be said. There’s no way to cushion the blow or ease the deluge of terror that will follow.

“Mr. Helmuth, Mary Yoder is dead. She’s inside the house.” I motion toward the structure a hundred yards away where half a dozen deputies mill about.

“What?” He blinks, disbelieving, staring at me as if I’ve played some cruel joke on him and he’s expecting me to slap him on the back and admit all of this is a hoax.

“But … dead? How—” He bites off the word, his eyes zeroing in on mine. “It’s not possible. Mary was fine when she left earlier.”

I struggle to find the right words. Pose them in some way or put them in some order that won’t send him into a panic, but the only thing that comes are facts that will be excruciating for him to hear. “All I know at this point is that Mary Yoder is dead and we haven’t been able to locate the other girl.”

“Elsie?” He struggles for calm. “We need to find her,” he snaps. “She’s got to be around here somewhere.”

“She’s not in the house. We’re searching the property now. Is it possible she’s at home?”

“No, she was with her sister and grandmother.”

“Mr. Helmuth, there was foul play involved—”

“You mean someone did this thing?”

I nod. “Annie told me a man took Elsie. We have reason to believe it was the same man who attacked your mother-in-law.”

“Took her? Mein Gott.” Comprehension suffuses his face. His mouth opens, but he doesn’t speak. He stares at me; the brim of his hat begins to shake. “Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“We must find Elsie,” he says. “She’s just a child.”

His entire body is vibrating with a terror he can’t contain. Raising his hand, he presses his thumb and forefinger to his eyes. “Chief Burkholder, what happened to my mother-in-law? How did she…”

Not wanting to upset him further when I don’t yet have all the facts, I fudge. “I’m not sure, but it’s bad.”

He nods, but he looks bewildered and blindsided. Most of all he looks terrified. “Miriam will want to know.”

I don’t suspect this man of anything, but as we talk, I find myself looking for blood on his clothes, on his hands. Any wounds. There’s nothing there. “Mr. Helmuth, is it possible a neighbor or family member picked up Elsie? Took her home?”

“No,” he snaps, growing increasingly anxious. “My children were here with their grossmuder. Gathering walnuts. That is all.”

“Is it possible Elsie got scared and ran home?”

“I didn’t see her, but…”

“We need to check.” I motion toward the Explorer and we start toward it. “Do you have a phone at your house?”

“No.”

“I know this is a lot to take in. But time is of the essence. We need to hurry. Grab Annie and come with me.”

Snapping out of his fugue, the Amish man looks at the boy. “Bringa da waegli haymet,” he tells him. Bring the buggy home.

“Take the horse,” I tell him. “Leave the buggy. I need to check it for evidence.”

The man nods at the boy and then we’re off.

A minute later, I pull into the gravel lane of the Helmuth farm, driving too fast, and park in the driveway behind the house. Helmuth opens the passenger door before I’ve even brought the Explorer to a complete stop and scrambles from the vehicle.

“Miriam!” he calls out as he rushes toward the back porch. “Finna Elsie! Finna Elsie!” Find Elsie.

The screen door squeaks open. A heavyset Amish woman with hips as wide as the doorway and a kind, tired face looks out at the man running toward her. “Was der schinner is letz?” What in the world is wrong?

“Elsie is missing,” he says as he reaches her. “Did she come home?”

“No,” the woman says, looking startled. “She went with—”

He cuts her off. “Search the house. I’ll look in the barn.”

He trots toward the barn. The woman shoots a worried, questioning look my way, then disappears inside.

I get out of the Explorer and open the door for the girl in the backseat. She’s not making a sound, but her cheeks are shiny with tears. I notice the dried blood on her hands again, and a quiver of sympathy moves through me. “Let’s go inside, sweetheart.”

Taking her hand, I walk with her to the back door. We enter a mudroom with dirty plywood floors and a wall of windows to my right. An old wringer washing machine squats in the corner. A dry sink against the wall. A clothesline bisects the room at its center, half a dozen pairs of trousers hanging to dry.