A Plain Malice: An Appleseed Creek Mystery (Appleseed Creek Mystery Series Book 4) (13 page)

Timothy parked his pickup in the grass next to my Beetle. “Did Greta say she was coming
back here?”

“No, but she doesn’t typically tell me what she’s up to.”

Timothy and I climbed out of the pickup and crossed the yard. Officer Riley lumbered around the side of the barn. He nodded at Timothy and me. He held several plants in his hands. Some were clearly cut from bushes and trees, and other appeared to be pulled from the ground.

The farmhouse was quiet. There was no sign of Timothy
’s parents, grandfather, or the children.
Were they all barricaded in the house?

“What are
you still doing here, Riley?” Timothy asked.

He place
d the plants into the plastic bag. “Doc sent me back to collect some samples.”

My forehead creased. “Plant samples? Why?”

Riley hooked a thumb through his belt loop. “You will have to ask the chief about that.”

“We will,” Timothy said.

Riley tipped his police officer’s ball cap and moseyed to his cruiser.

After the cruiser was out of sight, the back
door of the Troyer home slammed opened. Thomas shot out the back door. Grandfather Zook followed at a much slower pace. Thomas ran at his brother and catapulted himself in the air. Timothy scooped the boy into his arms and held the child over his head as if he weighed not more than Naomi’s favorite doll. Thomas crowed in laughter.

Grandfather Zook grinned. “Thomas has been chomping at the bit
to run outside, but Martha wouldn’t let him out until that police officer left.”

Thomas began to kick his legs, and Timothy set him on the ground.
“I need to talk to
Daed
.”

Grandfather Zook nodded. “I thought you might.
Your
daed
is in a bad way and may not be up for talking.”

“When is he ever up for talking?” Timothy asked.

Grandfather Zook adjusted his stance one his braces. “You know your
daed
is a
gut
Amish man. He is not one to complain or share his troubles.”

“This is not just his trouble. It affects the entire family, the entire district.”

“
Ya
, I have tried to tell him, but he will not listen to me.”

“He’s inside,” Timothy said it more as statement than a question.

His grandfather nodded.

Timothy headed to the farmhouse
, and I followed. The back door opened into a narrow mudroom where the Troyers shed their work boots and mud-speckled coats after working on the farm. Pegs lined both walls with jackets from the smallest Troyer, Naomi, to the biggest, her father. The mudroom opened up into the kitchen, which was the center of Mrs. Troyer’s domain.

Even before I stepped inside,
I knew she was well on her way into making the evening meal by the enticing smell of onions and lemon in the air. No matter what good or bad befell the family, Mrs. Troyer’s cooking was a constant. She found comfort in the kitchen and saw it as her main responsibility as the lady of the house. Many times I wondered if Mrs. Troyer found I was a poor match for Timothy since I didn’t know how to cook anything more elaborate than a grilled cheese sandwich and didn’t have any interest in learning.

The cabinets were high-polished wood. A pantry hutch stood along one wall laden with home-baked goods and jars of fruits and vegetable
s, which Mrs. Troyer canned herself in the fall. Mr. Troyer sat in his place at the head of the twelve foot pine wood table. There were chairs on either end of the table, one for Mr. Troyer and one for Grandfather Zook. Everyone else sat on either side of the table on backless benches.

A steaming mug of coffee sat on the tabletop in front of Timothy’s father. The austere Amish man stared into the
pool of dark liquid.

Mrs. Troyer wiped her hands on a
n embroidered tea towel. She spoke to Timothy in their language. I shrunk back. Typically the Troyers spoke English in my presence so that I could follow the conversation. The use of Pennsylvania Dutch was intentional. She didn’t want me to know what she said.

Timothy frowned and answered her in English. “We’ve just come from the Dutch Inn. That’s where the
Englischers
are staying.”

She replied in their language.

“
Mamm
,
Chloe is here. Please speak English. It is rude not to.”

Mr. Troyer’s head snapped up then. In English, he said, “Do not correct your
mamm
. You are the
kind
not she.”

A muscle in Timothy’s jaw
twitched.

I took two steps back into the mudroom.
“Maybe I should step outside so that you can talk for a moment.”

“No
. You have as much a right to be a part of the conversation as anyone.” He reached for me and grabbed my hand, folding it into his own. The statement could not be clearer. Timothy and I were a team. “Chloe is trying to help find out who did this. She’s riding on the bus the rest of the time it’s in Ohio to find out what happened, to clear your name,
Daed.
”

Mr. Troyer glowered at our intertwined fingers.
“No one asked her to do that.”

Mrs. Troyer turned away and busied herself at the stove.

I pulled my hand away from Timothy’s.

Chapter Twelve

Timothy pursed his lips as I inched away from him. He knew better than I did that public displays of affection were frowned upon in the Amish world. I wanted the Troyers to accept me just as much as Timothy did, but I wouldn’t force them, nor would I offend them in their own home.

Grandfather Zook, who still stood in the doorway to the mudroom, stepped forward and looped his arm through mine. “Come, Chloe, help me check on the cows. They’ve had a worse day than all of us. Those lab rats stuck them with their prods and needles. They could do with a visit from some friendly faces.”

Timothy’s eyes softened. Of all the people in his family, he trusted his grandfather’s judgment the most. I followed Grandfather Zook back through the mudroom and out the door. Mabel greeted me with her tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth and her black tail wagging. She sniffed our hands for treats.

I scratched between her ears. “Sorry, girl, I don’t have any snacks.”

The dog whimpered but quickly recovered from her disappointment as she led the way to dairy barn.

Grandfather Zook didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the bite in the air as the sleeves of his dark blue work shirt were rolled up to the elbows.

I folded my arms across my chest in order to conserve as much heat as possible. “Did you see what Officer Riley took from the grounds? They were plants. He said the coroner asked him to collect them. I plan to ask Chief Rose about it. Do you know anything about the plants he chose?”

The old man removed his straw hat. “They were poisonous. Every single plant he cut could kill someone.”

A chill rocked through my body. “There are poisonous plants on the farm? Isn’t that dangerous for the animals?”

“The
plants are from our land. All are from the woods or the garden. They are contained in places the livestock cannot go. Simon is very careful that any dangerous plants are out of the reach of the animals. See that plant there.” He used his brace to point to the corner of the garden at a large berry bush with clusters of white flowers blooming on it. “That’s an elderberry bush.”

“It’s poisonous?”

“Parts of it are. The leaves, bark, and roots are all very poisonous. Even the berries themselves can make you ill if you eat them raw. Just because they have that quality does not make the plant all bad. My daughter makes delicious elderberry jam.”

“Did Riley take part of that bush?” I asked.

Grandfather propped his brace against the bench. “He did. The poisonous plants my daughter has here in the garden have parts that can be eaten, or they can be used for medicines. We do not go to the
Englicsh
doctor if we suffer from something that we can heal here at home.”

I swallowed. I would
think about that the next time Mrs. Troyer offers me a piece of an elderberry pie.

Grandfather Zook patted the pocket where he hid his harmonica. “Just like with all
Creation, including people, plants have both virtue and depravity within them because this is a fallen earth. There is nothing perfect on this side of heaven.”

Thomas threw the tennis ball at us, and I caught it before it walloped Grandfather Zook in the head.
Mabel bounded toward us. Thomas raced after the dog. The seven-year-old skidded to a stop.

I handed him back the ball. “Thomas, you need to be
careful. You could have hit your grandfather with that.”

“
Ya
, I’m sorry
Grossdaddi
. I didn’t want to smack you in the head.” His eyes were laughing. Of all the Troyer children, Thomas was the most like Grandfather Zook.

The
old man grinned. “That comes as a great relief,
Kind.
”

The back door to the house opened, and Timothy
stepped out. To my surprise he was followed by his father. Mr. Troyer and Timothy strode to us. Neither one looked particularly happy.

I stood, but Grandfather
Zook remained in his spot on the bench. Thomas and Mabel took off back toward the tree. I hesitated for a moment.

Timothy and his father walked with purpose to the garden.

“Go to them,” Grandfather Zook whispered. “They want to talk to you.”

I glanced down at him. “How do you know that?”

“Because I know. When you get to be my age, you will know such things too.”

I met Timothy and his father halfway to the garden. “Is everything all right?”

“Timothy tells me you are trying to find the person who hurt those people. Please stop,” Mr. Troyer said.

I looked at Timothy. Why had he told his father I was helping Chief Rose with the investigation?
I knew that had been a mistake the moment he’d said it in the kitchen.

Timothy’s father clenched his fists at his sides. “I won’t allow it.”

I took two steps backward. “I’m sorry it upsets you, but Chief Rose asked for my assistance.” I paused. “And I want to help your family.”

Timothy, who stood between us, winced.

Timothy’s father closed his eyes for a moment.
Was he preparing to kick me off of the farm, or was he praying?

“
The lady officer is not concerned with your safety. I am.” He looked away from me, toward his barn. “I know Timothy cares for you. My son has not had the easiest time because of his own mistakes but also because of my shortcomings as his father.”

“
Daed
—” Timothy started to argue.

His father held up a hand to silence him. “He is the
happiest when he is with you.” He sighed. “It’s not your fault you’re not Amish.”

I suddenly felt lighter. I wanted to wrap my arms around Timothy’s father and give him a hug. I stopped myself because I knew it would only embarrass him.
Instead I squinted to hold back the tears gathering in my eyes. Those would embarrass him too.

“So I am asking you for my son to stop this foolishness
. The
Englisch
police can find whoever did this.”

My heart thudded to the bottom of my sneakers because I knew I couldn’t walk away from the bus tour. It wasn’t just about the Troyers anymore. There was Pearl
, who was missing because of me, too. “It is only for a few days. The tour bus leaves for Indiana before dawn on Wednesday morning.”

He met my gaze again
. “I see I cannot convince you to change your mind. Timothy warned me this would be the case. I can see why my son is so fond of you. The Troyer men are attracted to decisive women. My Martha is a bear when she makes her mind up one way or another. There’s no swaying her.”

I tried to imagine Timothy’s sweet
, quiet mother arguing with her husband about anything. The image didn’t fit.

Mr. Troyer
sighed again. “Please be careful for the sake of my son and for my Rebecca. I know she is very fond of you too.”

I couldn’t miss the opportunity to mention Becky.
“Becky wants to see you.”

He clasped his hands in front of himself.
“We’re hurt. It is a hurt you as an
Englischer
can never understand.” He turned and headed back to the farmhouse.

How could he accept me and not his own daughter? Mr. Troyer was right I couldn’t understand it. Or could I? I took a couple of steps after him.
“I understand betrayal and abandonment.”

Mr. Troyer
froze.