Where Shadows Meet(8)

THE BODY LAY half-submerged in the pond along the back of the property. The contorted limbs told Matt the man had died the same painful death as the family inside. “Any ID?”

“Yeah,” one of the deputies said. “Driver’s license belongs to a Cyrus Long.”

Only when Hannah gasped behind him did Matt realize she and Luca had followed him and O’Connor. He swiveled on his heel to face them. “This the guy who was here tonight?” In the wash of the halogen lights, Hannah’s skin held no color. Her gaze stayed fixed on the body. He moved to obstruct her vision, and the horror in her eyes began to recede.

She looked up at him then. “Yes. He’s our neighbor.” Her mouth dropped open, then closed. “He said he wanted to buy one for his wife, Ellen.” Her gaze focused on Matt again. “Her birthday is next week.”

Matt took the pad and pen out of his pocket. “How well did you know them?”

Luca answered. “As well as any Englisch neighbor. We were friendly, but our lives went in different directions.”

Hannah nodded.

“How did he get this far?” O’Connor asked, still inspecting the body. “If the perp poisoned him, too, how did he get out of the house?”

“Good question. Maybe the coroner can tell us.” He stepped away to talk to O’Connor in private. “Let’s start canvassing the neighbors, checking Nyesville and other towns around the county. See if anyone has heard threats directed toward the Amish.”

O’Connor nodded. “We had that rash of barn arsons five years ago. Three Amish barns were torched. Maybe it’s related. We never found the offender.”

“Hey, look at this, Matt,” one of the deputies called.

The plastic bag the deputy pointed to held chocolate chip cookies. Matt glanced around the area. No quilts, but the pond was right here. “Maybe this is the murder weapon. And maybe this is the perp. Let’s dredge for the quilts. Maybe he tossed them in the water.”



HANNAH’S WORLD HAD gone dark even though sunlight streamed in the windows of her aunt’s home. Through unblinking eyes, Hannah lay on the bed looking up at a water stain on the ceiling.

Downstairs, Aunt Nora clanged pots. She could smell the aroma of coffee and shoofly pie, something that would normally have her scooting down the steps. No one made shoofly pie like Aunt Nora.

The upstairs felt quiet, almost as though it mourned with her. The Amish community had circled around the past week, trying to love the pain away. Their kindness wasn’t working.

A tap sounded on the door, and she tried to ignore it. She felt no hunger, felt nothing more than the slight weight of the blanket on her body and the beginning thump of a migraine in her left temple.

“Hannah? Are you awake?” called her best friend, Sarah, through the wood panel.

She struggled into a sitting position. “Come in, Sarah.” She’d thought Sarah would come this morning. She lived two farms over.

Her friend eased into the room as though she feared her footstep on the bare wood floorboards would cause a fresh spate of sobs. She carried a tray of steaming coffee and a sliver of shoofly pie on a saucer. “I brought you some breakfast.” Her dark blue dress and white apron were pressed and starched, and her hair wasn’t drawn back quite so tightly as usual under her kapp. Sarah had a crush on Luca, and Hannah wondered if he was downstairs too.

The aroma of the molasses pie filled the room, but Hannah turned away from it. “I’m not hungry.” She swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. She had to get up, face the day.

Sarah shut the door behind her with one foot. “Try to eat, Hannah. You can’t mope. God’s will be done.”

“If one more person says that to me, I will scream.” She swallowed against the constriction in her throat and composed herself. “I know God is sovereign, but it’s not fair, Sarah.” She rubbed at her temple.

“You have a headache?” Sarah moved to sit on the bed. She took Hannah’s hand and began to apply pressure to the fleshy pad between the thumb and the first finger.

Hannah’s headache began to ease almost immediately. “Thanks, Sarah. Why couldn’t God punish me instead of them?”

“How is it your fault? The poison was in the cookies Cyrus brought.”

“But it was my sin.” Confession trembled on her tongue. “God’s punishment is more than I can bear.”

“You haven’t . . . done something . . . with Noah, have you?”

If only it were that simple. She and Noah could kneel at the next meeting and confess. “No. He’s been a perfect gentleman.” She lifted her head. “I—I’ve been seeing someone else, someone Englisch.”

Sarah put her hand to her mouth. “Oh no, Hannah! You must turn away from him. Confess it to the bishop. It will all be forgiven. Who is it?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Hannah stood and went to grab her dress from the hook on the wall. “I’d better get dressed. The funeral begins in two hours.” She went down the hall to the bathroom and made herself presentable.

Hannah had lied. It did matter. She was lost, abandoned. How could she stay here among her people and be reminded daily that she’d caused something so bad? And what if God wasn’t finished? Maybe he would do more to harm her loved ones because of her sin. Besides, she longed for Reece, for his strength and take-charge attitude. He’d only been able to see her in his professional capacity, but when their eyes met, she knew he ached for her pain.