Young people out for an evening’s fun were a normal sight. Certainly no one would recognize Trooper Evan Parks in Plain clothes.
Talking Evan into Amish garb had been more difficult than Rachel had believed it would be. And it didn’t help her cause that Mary Aaron’s friend Timothy was both shorter and chunkier than Evan, so his pants were high-waters, his shirt loose, and his hat large enough to settle over his eyes.
“Stop whining,” Rachel advised. “If you ever make detective, you might have to wear stranger clothes than these. I can just see you with fake tattoos, a skullcap, and a leather motorcycle jacket.” She wouldn’t admit it, but Mary Aaron’s dress wasn’t easy for her to put on, and not simply because, instead of buttons, the garment was fastened together with straight pins. Rationally, Rachel knew that the Amish clothing and head covering were just for tonight, but still, donning the familiar garment brought a lot of conflicting emotions.
The pony’s hooves made a pleasing sound as they clip-clopped along Buttermilk Road. “I would have gotten the closed buggy if I could,” Mary Aaron said, in an effort to appease Evan. “But
Dat
would have asked where I was going and how many people I intended to take with me.”
“This is fine,” Rachel assured her. “It’s not as though we’re going to try and chase down our suspect in the buggy.”
“I can’t believe I let you convince me this is a good idea,” Evan muttered.
“Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t,” Rachel told him. “But wouldn’t you rather be here with us, just in case?”
She took his silence to mean agreement.
They arrived at the schoolhouse after sunset. Rachel and Mary Aaron had guessed that any Amish girls or boys leaving home would do so after their parents had gone to bed. They wanted to be in place in plenty of time.
“I’ll put the pony in the shed,” Mary Aaron offered. Her voice echoed and then was swallowed up by the towering trees that surrounded the small clearing. “We don’t want anyone to see the cart. Young people intending to sneak away would probably walk here.”
Or run,
Rachel thought. It was impossible to shut out the memory of that night more than fifteen years ago when—scared half to death—she’d carried a single, battered suitcase to a bus stop along the highway and climbed aboard the first arriving Greyhound. She’d had to pay for her ticket with one-dollar bills and a handful of change. If it hadn’t been a rainy night with few passengers, the impatient driver might have refused to allow her on board.
I could easily have ended up like Hannah,
she thought,
or Beth.
Amish youth risked so much when they went out, ignorant and usually broke, into the English world. They weren’t prepared. They had none of the street smarts that Englisher kids had. They were easy prey to drugs, alcohol, and immoral people who wanted to take advantage of their innocence. She could understand why the community wanted to keep them in the church. Church doctrine stated that the Amish were God’s chosen people and salvation lay in following the teachings of Jakob Ammann.
She respected the church and traditions, but some things had to change. Eight years of education wasn’t enough for twenty-first-century America, and it was time for the elders to realize that the real danger to their faith was trying to hold their sons and daughters so close that they were unable to fend for themselves in the modern world.
“Quiet place,” Evan mused.
“It is.” Rachel moved closer to him, glad of his big, reassuring presence. She wasn’t easily spooked, but mist was rising off the low ground, giving the deserted school yard an eerie feel. She’d always thought of one-room schools as happy places, echoing with the laughter of children, but tonight this place seemed lonely and a little frightening.
Thick, old-growth timber pushed in on either side of the school yard, diminishing the size of the schoolhouse and the shed and making Rachel feel small and insignificant. It was too early for the moon to illuminate the clearing, and they had to rely on the beams of their flashlights to see more than a few yards into the darkness.
“Thank you for coming tonight,” Rachel said, looping her arm through Evan’s. “I know you had to take a personal day to make it happen.”
“I’m just glad you called me.” He held his flashlight up, looking around. “I wouldn’t want you two out here alone at night. Just in case you’re right about this.”
A twig snapped, and Rachel jumped as a figure materialized only an arm’s length away.
“So,” Mary Aaron said, “are we just going to hide here in the trees? It might get uncomfortable if we have to wait long.”
A mosquito whined in Rachel’s ear. Simultaneously, she heard what could only be a
slap
and a grunt from Evan’s direction. “I’d rather not,” Rachel said. “Do you think the schoolhouse is open?”
“Now we’re trespassing?” Evan asked.
Mary Aaron chuckled. “The good thing about the Amish is that they don’t call the police for every little thing. And they don’t bring lawsuits, either.”
“We aren’t vandals,” Rachel argued. “We’re here for a good reason. I doubt anyone will mind.”
“Inside might be smarter, anyway. There are big windows all around.” Mary Aaron added her support to the plan. “And the school is raised on an old stone foundation. We’ll have a good view of the suspect when he approaches from either direction.”
“The
suspect?
Maybe you two should apply to the state police academy,” Evan suggested. “You seem to be enjoying this way too much.”
Rachel became conscious of what felt like a needle drilling into her ankle. “Ouch.” She brushed away the offending mosquito. “That’s going to leave a welt.” She glanced at the dark shape that was the schoolhouse. “We should have thought about repellent before we left the house.”
“I did.” Mary Aaron pushed a spray can into Rachel’s hand. “I put some on in the shed. Sprayed the pony, too. We keep it under the buggy seat in warm weather.” She looked to Evan. “What do you think? Should we go inside? It could be hours before Vi’s man shows up.”
“
If
he shows.” Evan took the mosquito repellent from Rachel, tucked his flashlight under his arm, and sprayed her back and legs. Then he passed the can to her. “Get the back of my neck. I think I’ve got bites on my bites.”
Mary Aaron chuckled with amusement as she shut off her small flashlight. “If we’re going around front, I think it’s better if we shut these off.”
Rachel turned off her flashlight. Evan turned off his.
Mary Aaron then led the way to the open porch on the front of the one-room schoolhouse. As Rachel made her way up the three steps, she heard the ghostly call of a screech owl from the trees. The doorknob rattled as her cousin turned it.
“Locked.” Mary Aaron sighed. “Gully wash! Guess it’s back to the trees and the mosquitoes.” She turned back to them. “Unless one of you can pick a lock.”
“Not me,” Rachel said.
“Okay, so now I’m breaking and entering,” Evan grumbled. “Luckily, I’m prepared.”
“You have a key?” Rachel asked. It was pitch-black on the porch. There was a faint glow, so she supposed there must be some moonlight, but the fog seemed to blot out and distort images around them.
“Swiss Army knife.” Evan pulled the penknife from his pocket. “Comes with a tiny screwdriver blade, among other things.”
“Wait,” Rachel said. “Maybe—”
“I can get this,” Evan insisted, rattling the doorknob.
“Can you turn on that penlight, Mary Aaron? Right on the keyhole.”
“But,” Rachel interrupted, “I think—”
“I said, I can get it.” That was Evan’s take-charge tone.
Trooper Evan Parks to the rescue.
She bit back a response as she watched, by the light of Mary Aaron’s flashlight, as Evan inserted the blade and fumbled with the lock.
“I just have to get it lined up right.” Evan’s breathing took on a decided pattern of impatience.
Rachel stepped around him and stood on her tiptoes. Stretching, she reached the top of the door frame and felt around. She gave a small sound of delight when her fingers brushed the cool metal outline of a key. “Maybe try this?” She held the key in the beam of the flashlight.
He accepted it without comment, slid it into the lock, and opened the door. He stepped in, and she and Mary Aaron followed. For a few seconds there was absolute silence, and then Evan began to laugh softly. “How did you know there was a key there?”
Rachel shrugged. “Smartest place to keep it if different people are letting themselves in.”
“Of course. I rest my case,” he said. “You should be the detective. Not me.”
Abruptly, Rachel’s mood became somber. “We need to remember why we’re here. Someone died.”
“You’re right.” Evan squeezed her shoulder. “Let’s do this right. Mary Aaron, you take one of the front windows. I’ll take this one, and you can watch the north, Rachel. If you need to use your flashlight, keep the beam low to the floor. We don’t want to scare off our man.”
Rachel found a chair and dragged it to a spot by the window. Outside, she saw nothing but darkness. There was the scrape of wood against wood, and then no sound but the three of them breathing in the darkness. After what seemed a long time, she asked, “What time is it?”
Evan’s watch glowed blue as he pushed the button. “Nine fifteen.” Another quarter hour passed before he broke the silence. “I think we can talk. As long as we’re not shouting, I don’t think anyone could hear us outside.”
Rachel shifted restlessly. She’d been staring out through the window with such intensity that she was developing a headache. Every time a pair of headlights came down Buttermilk Road, she tensed, waiting for the vehicle to turn in. Once, they heard hoofbeats and an approaching buggy. The hair had risen on the back of her neck as she listened. Hannah had said a van had picked her up, but what if it was a buggy coming for Vi?
The notion revolted her, but she was afraid George’s information might be true. It was logical that the man helping kids leave would be Amish. Who would Amish girls trust most? Certainly not an English stranger. They’d been taught to be suspicious of Englishers from babyhood on . . . even to fear them. It was a foolish belief in this day and time, but it still held true.
The buggy rolled by.
“We should play a word game,” Mary Aaron suggested. “To pass the time. How about Twenty Questions?”
“Sure,” Evan agreed. “Stakeouts are notorious for being long and boring. You up for it, Rachel?”
“Why not?” She leaned against the windowsill. The mist had thickened, and the last pair of car lights had only been pinpoints moving past in the blackness. “You go first, Mary Aaron.”
“Got it,” her cousin said.
“Animal, vegetable, or mineral?” Evan asked.
Mary Aaron giggled. “Mineral. I think,
ya,
mineral.”
The window glass was cool against Rachel’s cheek. It eased the itching from a big mosquito bite.
“Rae-Rae, your turn to ask a question,” Mary Aaron prompted.
Rachel opened her eyes to see the flashing lights of another buggy coming down the road. Her pulse quickened.
They all watched in silence as the buggy kept moving on past the school, blink-blink-blinking, until the lights faded in the mist.
“Is it a buggy?” Rachel blurted out.
Mary Aaron scoffed. “You’re not supposed to guess yet. You get twenty questions. You’re supposed to ask how big it is.”
“Yeah, Rachel, follow the rules,” Evan teased.
“All right. Is it in this schoolhouse?”
“Warm,” her cousin answered. “But not exactly.”
“
Warm?
That’s cheating,” Evan teased. “You’re only supposed to answer yes or no.”
Mary Aaron laughed. “Yes or no.”
“Is it the woodstove?” Rachel asked, switching to Deitsch. Evan understood the Pennsylvania Dutch dialect, but not as well as they did, and he was hazy about the slang. He protested loudly, but the game went on amid mock accusations that the two of them were in league with each other against him.
Another hour passed and then two. Passing vehicles became fewer. Sometime after eleven, they gave up on Twenty Questions and began to go over the case from the beginning, examining each detail, rehashing the testimony of all the Amish young people whom they’d questioned, searching their minds for any clues they might have missed.
All the while, they kept watching the road. At quarter after two, Evan called a halt to the stakeout. “I doubt if they’d show later than this,” he said. “Mary Aaron should get home.”
“I was so sure he would show up.” Rachel sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples.
“It was a long shot, anyway,” Evan said kindly.
“We’re not giving up this easily. We’re coming back here tomorrow night,” Rachel told him. She looked to Mary Aaron for support. “I’m not willing to give up. ‘This weekend’ could mean
Saturday
night.”
“You expect me to dress up like this again tomorrow night?”
“I think Rachel is right,” Mary Aaron said. “Tomorrow night he will come, this bad man. For sure. Tomorrow night.”
Chapter 20
The following night, Evan walked over to Rachel and sat down on top of a child’s wooden desk. She sat lower to the floor, in a pint-sized chair. “It’s time we think about wrapping this up,” he said.
Rachel shook her head slowly. “I was so sure he would come for her,” she said as much to herself as to him. “I was so sure it would be tonight. Didn’t you think he would come for Vi, Mary Aaron?” she called softly across the dark schoolroom.
“
Ya,
I thought he would come,” Mary Aaron agreed. She sounded as disheartened as Rachel felt.
“And it
was
sound reasoning, Rachel.” Evan removed the straw hat and wiped his forehead with his hand.
The air was still and humid inside the schoolroom, and smelled of chalk and an apple left behind in one of the desks. Suddenly, the scents seemed cloying, particularly the distinct smell of the chalk.
Earlier, bored from sitting for so long and playing another long round of Twenty Questions, Rachel had wandered over to the chalkboard on the back wall. A class had been working on state capitals. They had to have been playing some sort of game because someone with mature handwriting—the teacher, she guessed—had written abbreviations for the states, and then in children’s scrawls were the capitals. Someone had written that the capital of Arkansas was Austin. It had made Rachel smile.
She glanced up at Evan. The moon had risen and now cast light through the windows so that she could see his face. “I’m sorry I dragged you here two nights in a row. Last night you had to take a personal day. Tonight was your night off.” She exhaled, fighting frustration. “This was a complete waste of your time. Everyone’s time.”
He covered her hand on the desk with his. “From what I hear the detectives say, most of their jobs involve sitting around waiting for something that never happens.” He shrugged. “Nature of the beast, I guess. It was worth a try.” He chuckled. “As much as I care for you, Rachel, I wouldn’t have come with you if I had thought it wasn’t.”
She gave him a quick smile. He was being so sweet about this whole mess. He was such a good guy. She really did need to put some thought into where their relationship was going. She already knew what he wanted. She needed to seriously consider her feelings for him. She couldn’t just keep putting him off with excuses because she didn’t want to deal with her own emotions.
She glanced out the front windows; the panes were clean, and the moonlight glistened off them. School had started the previous week. She suspected a cleaning crew of Amish women and girls in the school district had washed the windows. She remembered her own days of washing schoolhouse windows. It had been more like an afternoon party than a work detail, with all the women and girls she knew gathered together, laughing and talking as they worked.
“I thought I could figure this out,” Rachel said quietly. “I
really
thought I could help you find out who killed Beth.”
Mary Aaron rose from the chair where she’d been sitting and walked toward them. “Maybe you have to be content right now to know that you were able to bring Hannah home safely and that you were able to protect Vi from harm.”
“And who knows?” Evan put in. “Something on the Glick case could turn up over the next few weeks . . . or months. Criminals talk. They can never keep their mouths shut. I can’t tell you how often arrests are directly related to the guilty party bragging to someone on a bar stool next to him.”
They were right. Everything they were saying was right. She just hated . . . she hated to admit it to them, or herself. “I guess we should go home.” Rachel rose, feeling utterly dejected. She had been
so
sure they would catch the man tonight. Especially after he hadn’t shown up the night before.
Headlights suddenly appeared in the distance, headed south, out of town. All three of them stared at the lights as they grew bigger.
“What time is it?” Mary Aaron asked quietly.
Evan reached into the pair of Timothy’s work pants that he had worn again. The light on his phone glowed. “Eleven fifteen,” he said. He locked it, turning off the light.
“The car’s slowing down,” Rachel whispered. “I think it’s slowing down,” she repeated, scared and excited at the same time.
“It’s a van,” Evan observed.
“Should we get down?” Mary Aaron asked, crouching and watching.
Rachel ducked down. “It’s turning in!”
Evan leaned over, taking Rachel’s sleeve and then Mary Aaron’s. He kept his gaze on the approaching headlights as he began to back up, taking them with him. “Let’s move to the back door. He might get suspicious if we walk out of the schoolhouse.”
As the van pulled into the driveway, the headlights flashed briefly into the front windows. The three of them froze. Thankfully, the headlights went out.
Rachel heard Mary Aaron pick up the suitcase she had brought with her again.
Evan, Rachel, and Mary Aaron stepped into the shadows, away from the moonlight coming in through the windows, and slowly walked backward toward the door just to the left of the chalkboard on the back wall. The windows didn’t run the full length of the sides of the building, all the way to the back, so once they were fully in shadow, Evan stood upright again.
Rachel pressed her hand to her chest. Her heart was pounding, and she felt like she couldn’t take a deep breath. Somehow, planning this stakeout, thinking the man would come for Vi, didn’t feel at all like the reality of it. Being right didn’t seem to matter at the moment; mostly, she was just scared.
Evan unlocked and opened the back door, which led directly onto a stoop. “Careful, there’s a step down,” he warned in a whisper, taking Mary Aaron’s hand.
She stepped out into the night, and Rachel moved behind her. As she passed Evan, she placed her hand on the small of his back to keep her balance in the dark . . . and felt something hard and cool tucked into the waistband of Timothy’s pants. She looked up at him, surprised, though why, she didn’t know. He was a state policeman. He carried a weapon in a holster every day. But somehow, in this setting, in an Amish schoolhouse, it seemed shocking. “You brought a
gun?
” she whispered.
“You think I would come without it?” She could feel his gaze on her. “Rachel, my first responsibility is to protect you and Mary Aaron.”
Rachel stepped out onto the stoop without his assistance. Mary Aaron was already down the steps. “What do we do?” she whispered. She sounded scared . . . but determined. She knew what could be at stake here.
“We follow our plan,” Evan said firmly in a whisper. “Rachel, you walk to the van as if you’re here to meet him. We’ll hang back a little.”
Her feet on the grass, she turned back to him. “Do you think that’s smart? If he sees you two, it might spook him. He might take off.”
They walked toward the back corner of the building. They heard the sound of a door opening, then the sound of shoes crunching on the gravel driveway.
“There’s no way I’m letting you out of my sight,” Evan whispered. “If he does spot us . . . he’ll probably just assume we’re here to see you off. A brother and sister, or friends.” They stopped at the corner of the building. Once they walked around it, the driver of the van might be able to see them.
“Stay close to the building as you walk toward him.” Evan grabbed Rachel’s arm. “I just want you to confirm that he’s here to pick up an Amish girl. Do not,
under any circumstances
, get into the van.”
“Take this.” Mary Aaron pushed the suitcase into her hand. “And be careful.” She pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.
Rachel nodded and peeked around the corner. She gripped the suitcase handle with her now sweaty hand. With only the moonlight, she could see much more than the outline of the van. It was white, with writing on the side . . . maybe on the door. And she could see the man’s form. He was neither tall nor short, neither thin nor fat. Just a man. But an Englisher, not an Amish man. That was obvious from his clothing: pants, white shoes that might be sneakers, and a short-sleeved shirt with big flowers on it.
“We’re right behind you,” Evan whispered.
Rachel took a breath and stepped around the corner. She kept her head down so he couldn’t see her face. She didn’t know if the driver was specifically expecting Vi or just an Amish girl. And then there was the chance he might recognize her. Her hand went to her white prayer
kapp
. Oddly, she found the texture of the fabric comforting.
She heard the footsteps of Evan and Mary Aaron behind her.
“Someone there?” the man called from near the van.
Rachel thought she might recognize his voice, but then wondered if it was her imagination.
“Hallo?”
she answered tentatively in Deitsch. “
Ya,
I’m here.” She got as close as the front of the schoolhouse but remained in its shadow.
“Is someone else there? Did Joe bring you?” the man called. He took a step toward Rachel, then stopped.
“Ya,”
she called, trying to make her accent heavy.
“Meine bruder und schweschder.”
“I’m sorry? English, dear. I don’t speak the Dutch. Not much, anyway.”
Rachel was almost sure she recognized his voice, but her heart was pounding so hard in her ears that she couldn’t be sure. “My brother and sister,” she called meekly. “Come to . . . say good-bye.”
He didn’t say anything for a second, and she sensed he was getting nervous. “Well . . . we need to make this quick. They won’t wait for us on the other end. So . . .” He lifted a hand and let it fall. She still couldn’t see his face.
Rachel heard Evan and Mary Aaron behind her. She took another step and then another. She couldn’t make out the man’s features because of the way he was standing, with shadows across his face, but she was almost close enough to read the side of the van.
Two more steps and the words on the side of the van came into focus. Her breath caught in her throat, and she took another quick step toward the man. “Ed?” she cried.
His head snapped around, and he looked right at her. He took a step toward the van and snatched open the driver’s door.
“Ed, how could you?” Rachel demanded.
In the light, he saw her face. “Rachel?” He looked her up and down once. “What are you doing here . . . in Amish clothing? Is Viola here?” He looked around. Then he must have realized he’d just incriminated himself; his eyes filled with tears.
“Vi’s not here,” Rachel said sadly. She dropped the suitcase and continued to walk toward him. “But if she had been here, where would you have taken her? The same place you took Hannah?”
He exhaled heavily. “Rachel—”
“Do you know what happened to her?” Rachel’s voice trembled with anger. “You sold her into the sex trade, Ed. How could you have done such a thing. How—”
“Rachel, don’t.” Evan came up quickly behind her. “Mr. Wagler, it’s Trooper Parks. Step away from your vehicle.”
“You sold Hannah!” Rachel repeated, still walking toward him.
“Rachel!” Mary Aaron tried to grab her arm.
Rachel shook her off. “Is that what you did to Beth, too? And
then what?
She came back, so you killed her to keep her from telling people what you did?”
“No.” Ed shook his head violently. “That’s not what happened. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.” He took a stumbling step back. “I had nothing to do with Beth’s death. I just arranged . . . I got her a job.”
“You got her a job as a prostitute,” Rachel flung at him. He backed against the side of his van, his head hitting it with a bang. “I didn’t kill Beth! I didn’t even know she’d come home. I swear to God, I didn’t.”
“Rachel.” Evan grabbed her arm and held her back. With his free hand, he punched numbers into his cell.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” a female voice said on the other end of the line.
“How could you, Ed?” Rachel demanded. She broke free from Evan’s grip and walked away. “How could you?” she whispered.
How could he?
Rachel was still asking herself the same question the next day when she went out to the barn to let out her goats. How could Ed Wagler have been involved in selling Amish girls to a sex-trade operation? Ed was such a nice guy. It didn’t make sense.
Rachel had neither seen nor spoken to Evan since they parted the previous night, her in the courting buggy with Mary Aaron and him in a police cruiser with Ed. Evan had looked a sight climbing into the police car in high-water Amish pants, but he hadn’t been concerned. What mattered to him was getting Ed into questioning and making sure proper procedures were followed. One look into Evan’s eyes had told Rachel they’d pretty much gotten a confession out of him, but she’d read enough detective novels to know that nothing Ed had said in the school yard would be admissible. What would count was what he said when he was questioned by the police, with his lawyer present, after hearing his Miranda rights.
Rachel had a slight headache and had had one since she got up. She had decided not to go to church, but instead spent the morning reconciling her checkbook, paying bills, and playing catch-up on boring paperwork. She was carrying the bushel baskets she’d borrowed from her father outside, thinking she’d return them finally, when her cell phone rang in the back pocket of her jeans. She pulled out her phone and checked the screen. It was almost two in the afternoon. She’d begun to worry about why she hadn’t heard from him. “Evan . . .”
“You home?” he asked. He sounded tired.
She had a million questions, the biggest one being, had Ed Wagler confessed to killing Beth? Instead she said, “Yes. Want me to come get you?”
“No. I’m on my way to get my car. I’m almost there.”
“You want me to make you some lunch?” She lifted the latch, swung open the gate, and the goats sauntered out into the field.
“No food. Not sure I could hold anything down.” He sighed. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”