Vow of Silence Page 7

  Hannah paled. “Oh, no…ya don’t know what happened?”

  The invisible vice fastened around Joe’s chest tightened another painful turn, cutting off his breath. “Know what, Hannah?”

  “Yer da…Deacon Troyer…he suffered a bad stroke last year.”

  Joe had been dreading the visit to his parents, not sure he could stomach the look of disappointment he’d see in their eyes. Oddly, the thought had never occurred to him that they may not be here when he got back. Clearing the thickness from his throat, he asked, “Is he…?”

  He closed his eyes against the wave of guilt tearing into him. What asshole son didn’t even know if his father was dead or alive?

  “He survived.”

  Josiah exhaled a breath, but his relief was short-lived.

  “Unfortunately, his disability was quite severe. He and yer mother went to live with her sister in Elkhart.”

  He wasn’t surprised to hear they’d gone back to Indiana. They were originally from there but moved to Lancaster when his father accepted a deacon position. Josiah hadn’t been much older than Hannah’s son at the time.

  “I would have gotten word to ya, Josiah, but I didn’t know where ya were. None of us did… If ye’d like, I can try to get ya an address so ya can reach out to them.”

  “Thank you for offering, but I know where my aunt lives.”

  “Of course…”

  Focus on the investigation, Troyer. There’s nothing you can do about any of this now. You can see them when this is over. Regret won’t change the past.

  “So…” he said, steering the conversation away from what a colossal failure he was as a son. “Cassie told you she was thinking about leaving the faith?”

  “Ja. And she said some things that made me think she wasn’t the only one of her friends considerin’ it, but she never named anyone specifically. She might have told Keegan. Accordin’ to her, they were in love. It makes sense she would have talked to him about it.”

  Joe needed a list of her friends and he really wanted to find this Keegan guy. “Do you know how she was contacting him?”

  Hannah shook her head.

  “Would it be all right if I looked in her room? I need to speak with her boyfriend and any of her friends she was hanging around.”

  “Sure…”

  She stood and he followed her toward the stairs. The wind howled as rain beat upon the windows. Lightning flashed, lighting up the entryway. A second passed before booming thunder shook the old farm house. The storm was right on top of them. Hannah startled at the wall-rattling bang and cast an anxious glance outside. Instinctively, he reached for her hand—as he’d done so many times when they were younger—but caught himself before touching her.

  “Storms still bother you, huh?”

  She nodded and started up the steps. “I don’t expect that will ever change. Thankfully, Eli did not inherit that from me. He’s such a brave little boy…”

  A deep throaty chuckle rumbled inside Joe’s chest. “I expect you are exactly where he got his bravery. You may have an aversion to inclement weather, but you’re one of the most fearless, head-strong women I know.” She’d need to be to stay here without a man, managing a farm and raising a child on her own. No doubt she’d taken a lot of heat from the community for it. Anything outside of Old Order tradition was frowned upon.

  She paused and glanced back at him. Her added height on the stairs put them at eye-level. She met his stare, studying him intently for a moment, and replied with a surprising amount of snark. “Apparently not strong enough. Ya still left.”

  Before he could formulate a response, she turned back around and headed up the stairs. Leaving him standing there, shocked by her blunt remark. “Hannah…” He started up the stairs after her, but she cut him off.

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Josiah. Ya can’t change the past any more than I can. We both have to live with our mistakes.”

  Mistakes? Was she telling him she thought he was a mistake? What they’d had was a mistake? It gutted him to hear the sadness and regret in her voice. One of the things he’d loved and admired about Hannah was her honesty and strength. She didn’t fit the cultural mold of a typical demure Amish woman. Though she was strict in her values and committed to her faith, Hannah was a strong, independent, outspoken, and courageous woman in her own right.

  “This is Cassie’s room on the left.” Hannah stepped inside and lit a lamp on the desk and one on the nightstand before returning to the doorway. She went to step past him, and Joe caught her arm.

  Hannah stopped, the tension between them was palpable, but she waited silently for him to say something. Her delicately arched brow rose ever-so-slightly when he failed to speak. There was so much he wanted to tell her, to apologize for, but none of the words seemed adequate for the hurt he’d caused her. Instead of manning up, he gave her arm a little squeeze and said, “Thank you.”

  She gently pulled out of his grasp and stepped into the hall. “I’m not doin’ this fer ya. Like I said, I’d help the devil himself if it meant catchin’ Cassie’s killer.”

  Chapter Nine

  It didn’t take Joe long to conduct a thorough search of the small room. The bedroom was meticulously clean, housing a desk, a dresser, a twin-size bed, and a nightstand. After thirty minutes of digging through Cassie’s things, Joe found nothing that would indicate she had a boyfriend, let alone one that wasn’t Amish. He closed the drawer on the nightstand and sat on the side of her bed. Exhaling a sigh, he dragged his hands through his hair.

  “Did ya find anythin’?” Hannah’s voice carried from across the room.

  “No. Nothing…”

  “I didn’t expect ya would. Cassie was good at keepin’ her secrets.”

  “I’m going to need to come back and do a more thorough search when the lighting is better.” She might have been Amish, but Cassie was still a teenage girl. “There’s something here, there has to be. Letters from her boyfriend, notes from her friends? This place is almost too clean. She had to be hiding something.” His tone was sharp with frustration. Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to block out the snapshot of graphic images of this afternoon playing through his mind on a continuous reel. The mattress dipped beside him and he opened his eyes, surprised to find Hannah sitting beside him.

  “Josiah, are ya all right?” And wouldn’t that be just like her to worry about him. She always thought of others before herself. Even though she was still pissed at him—she hadn’t forgiven him for leaving her—compassion overruled her anger, even if only temporarily, because staring back at him was genuine concern and empathy.

  A nostalgic smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “You always knew me better than anyone…”

  “That’s ’cause ya wouldn’t let anyone else in. Ya always planned on leavin’, didn’t ya?” she accused sadly.

  That’s what she’d thought all these years? That he’d wanted to leave her? The knowledge was like a sharp blade, twisting savagely in his heart. He didn’t respond. What could he say? If he told her the real reason he’d left, what good would it do? She’d only hate her father, and in a community like this, family was everything. The truth wouldn’t erase the past or buy back the years they’d lost.

  “I spent the day in the morgue, assisting the autopsy of Abigail Schwartz. I’ve been a cop for a long time, Hannah, but I’ve never worked a case where I knew the victims. For the first time in my career, I can’t detach. I thought I could, but seeing that girl lying there on the table… This is personal. I realized today after trying to speak with the Schwartz’ that I’m not going to be able to do this without your help.”

  His confession seemed to surprise her. Hannah’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Me? How can I possibly help ya, Josiah?”

  “I need you to come with me when I interview the victims’ friends and families. I expected it to be difficult, coming back here, but the Schwartz’ wouldn’t talk to me, and it’s not going to be any different with the
other families. People haven’t forgiven me for leaving—they’re hurt and they’re angry.”

  “They aren’t the only ones…”

  He didn’t expect her to forgive him for hurting her. “Yes, but at least you understand that if you want your sister’s killer found, then you’re going to have to put your anger aside and trust me.” He took her hand, threading his fingers between her slender, delicate ones and studied the differences between them—his rough and calloused juxtaposed to her smooth, soft skin.

  “Josiah…”

  For the briefest moment she hesitated before reluctantly pulling her hand from his. Discovering she was widowed had been a shock, and he’d be lying if he said this development didn’t open a door to a shitload of thoughts he’d been working hard to keep at bay since seeing her again. The urge to kiss her nearly overwhelmed him.

  Fuck, he couldn’t afford this distraction.

  “I need to catch this bastard,” he verbalized the thought, a reminder to closet the unwanted emotions that kept resurfacing. “Every day it takes is one more a killer is out there preying on young women. I’m worried about you. I don’t like the idea of you being here all alone, especially with the possibility that you were the target.”

  He raised his hand, cupping the side of her cheek, glad this time she didn’t pull away, and swept his thumb over her peaches-and-cream skin, coming daringly close to her bottom lip. He wanted to kiss her, to taste those soft lips just one more time, but he didn’t dare, not trusting himself to stop with a chaste kiss.

  His thumb brushed over her cheek again, this time grazing the corner of her mouth. A small shiver ran through her as she closed her eyes, seeming caught in an internal struggle.

  “I’m so mad at ya, Josiah.”

  “I know.” His thumb swept over her cheek again, infinitely closer to that mouth he longed to taste.

  “Ya left me…”

  “I know.” His thumb crested her bottom lip. As if drawn in by an unseen force more powerful than Joe’s will to stay away. He leaned closer. Just one gentle brush of his mouth against hers…

  “Ya broke my heart and I can’t just forgive ya for that,” her voice cracked.

  “I know…” Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against hers, nose to nose, wallowing in regrets and breathing each other’s breath. “I’m so sorry, Hannah.” He didn’t deserve her forgiveness. He didn’t deserve her. Exhaling a sigh, he brushed his lips over her damp cheek and tasted the heartache he’d caused her.

  For the first time since he’d left all those years ago, he allowed himself to wonder if he’d done the wrong thing by leaving. Maybe he should have let her choose, but she would have chosen him, and he loved her too much to let her walk away from her family, her friends, her faith… She would have been excommunicated and in the end, he’d feared she would have been miserable. Over time she would have come to resent him for ruining her life.

  “I should go…” He was pulling back when a flicker of light in the barn caught his eye.

  Joe jumped up and went to the window.

  “Josiah, what is it?” Tension edging her voice.

  “There’s a light on in your barn that wasn’t there before. It looks like it’s coming from the loft. Someone is in there.”

  “In this storm? Are you certain?” She crossed the room to come stand beside him.

  “Wait here.” It was pure muscle memory that had him pulling his gun as he turned and headed for the door. It wasn’t until Hannah’s startled gasp rang out that he realized what he’d done and likely frightened her.

  He raced down the stairs and gave Dex the command to stay with Hannah as he headed out the door and battled the wind to pull the door closed behind him. With the pouring rain and riotous thunder, there was such a cacophony of fury raging outside he didn’t worry about stealth as he charged across the yard toward the barn. The door creaked as he opened the small gap and slipped inside. A lit gas lamp hung from a barn nail near the ladder to the loft, casting just enough light for Joe to see the main area was empty. Livestock rustled in the stalls beyond the reach of the lamp’s paltry glow. Joe cautiously advanced, his Glock held securely in his hand as he made a systematic sweep of the area before heading toward the ladder.

  Floorboards creaked directly overhead, raining dust and hay fragments down on top of him. A horse whinnied behind him, restlessly stomping its hoof on the dirt-packed floor. Joe was approaching the ladder when something came flying toward him. He barely had time to side-step the blur before it hit the ground with a loud thunk.

  What the fuck? He glanced down at the bale of hay inches from his feet. The ladder creaked and he swung his gaze back to the loft as a man began to climb down. “Police Department,” Joe identified himself, keeping his gun trained on the man. “Descend slowly, then raise your hands to the back of your head and turn around.”

  The man initially froze, and then carefully made his way down the ladder. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  Joe waited for the man to get his feet on the ground and turn around before he spoke. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” At once, Joe catalogued several things about the man—tall, well-built, late-thirties, Amish attire. And he seemed to be studying Joe with the same calculating stare. He didn’t act like someone who’d been caught somewhere he didn’t belong. Was Hannah seeing someone?

  The man kept his hands in the air but took his sweet-ass time to answer. “I’m Hannah’s neighbor.”

  Hannah? Not Mrs. Adams, as was the proper way to refer to her.

  “I rent her land. And as for what I’m doin’ here, isn’t it obvious?” The man nodded to bale of hay at Joe’s feet. “I’m feedin’ her livestock.”

  “It’s storming outside.”

  “Exactly. I didn’t want her havin’ ta go out in the rain and take care of them. Animals still have to eat, Detective.”

  “I never told you who I was.”

  “Ya didn’t have to—Minnesota plates on yer car. Ye’ve been here a whole eight hours and everyone already knows who ya are. Word travels fast in these parts. Surely, ya know that. Is it all right if I put my hands down now? I’d really like to get these animals fed.”

  Joe grudgingly nodded and holstered his gun. “Which farm?”

  The man went to pick up the bale and stopped, eyes locking on Joe for the briefest moment. “Excuse me?”

  “You said you’re her neighbor. Which farm are you from?”

  “Heinz.”

  Heinz…? The man bent down to grab the bale, and Joe set his foot on top of it. “Was Cassie Beiler at your place the night she disappeared?”

  “She was. I already told the police—”

  “Well, why don’t you tell it again.”

  “There’s nothin’ to tell… She dropped off a jar of preserves and an apple pie Hannah made. Then she left.”

  “How long have you lived at the farm?”

  “Little less than a year.”

  “The Heinzes don’t have any children.”

  “I’m their nephew. Moved here from Wisconsin. I took over the farm after they died.” When Joe continued to study him, the guy added, “If ya don’t believe me, we can go talk to Hannah. She’ll tell ya.”

  Joe wasn’t sure if it was his untrusting nature or jealousy over finding some other man traipsing around her property that had his hackles up. He lifted his foot, and the man reached down, hoisting the large square bale with notable ease, then turned and headed to the back of the barn, disappearing into the darkness. “As long as ye’re standin’ there, ya want to grab that sack of grain on yer left and bring it over here?”

  Joe glanced down at the burlap bag. Did he trust this guy enough to load his arms full and follow him into the darkness? Yeah, probably not… A moment later, a light flickered on in the back of barn, casting a glow down the walkway. “What’s your name?” Joe asked, grabbing the grain sack and switching the load to his nondominant arm.

  “Saul,” the man answered, pulling out a knife from
his pocket and cutting the twine strings around the bale. He began separating flakes of hay, tossing handfuls into the stalls.

  Joe dropped the grain sack beside the bale. “Are you courting Hannah?”

  The man turned to look at Joe, his expression unreadable except for the faintest arch of his brow. The corner of his mouth might have twitched, but in the poor lighting and with that beard, Joe couldn’t be certain. Did this amuse him?

  “Are ya questionin’ me, Detective?”

  “Should I be?”

  The man stepped into the shadows, and Joe tracked his movements. He returned a moment later with four grain buckets in hand. Brandishing his knife again, he sliced the top of the bag open, then looked up to meet Joe’s stare. “Ye’re more than welcome ta, but perhaps yer time would be better spent tryin’ ta catch a killer. In case ya haven’t heard, there’s a madman runnin’ loose ‘round here.” Saul stabbed the scoop into the grain and began filling the buckets.

  Joe silently studied him as he went down the line, hanging each bucket on the hook inside the stall, and that’s when he noticed… “Your clothes aren’t wet.”

  “What?” he glanced over his shoulder and eyed Joe.

  “Your clothes. They’re. Not. Wet.” He enunciated his observation. “It’s been pouring outside for the last half hour. How long does it take to feed four animals?”

  “A lot longer than half an hour when ye’re milkin’ a cow.” Saul stepped back into the shadows and returned with a pail. Handing it to Joe, he said, “Give this to Hannah for me. I gotta get home. Got my own chores that need seein’ ta.” The man opened the last stall door and retrieved his horse. As they passed Joe, he said, “Make sure ya shut the barn door tight on yer way out. It sticks sometimes.”

  Chapter Ten

  Joe’s cop-senses were tingling. He’d been doing this job long enough to know when something didn’t feel right, he shouldn’t dismiss it. After setting the milk pail on the ground, he grabbed the lantern off the nail and stepped onto the rung, quickly climbing the ladder. The loft was filled with bales of hay. Joe slowly trekked up and down the precisely stacked rows, having no idea what he was looking for, but trusting he’d know it if he found it.