KILLER IN AMISH COUNTRY

After her sister is found dead and her brother-in-law goes missing, Hannah Wittmer rushes back to the Amish community she abandoned to care for her young nieces. Although she makes every effort to blend in, she’s still seen as an outsider—and quickly attracts the attention of a killer. She knows Sheriff Spencer Maxwell is fast on the murderer’s tracks, but the Amish townspeople are as suspicious of him as they are of Hannah. As threats escalate—now targeting Hannah and the handsome sheriff—they’ll follow any trail to uncover a vicious criminal. Even if that trail leads them right to their own backyard…

“Something wrong?” Spencer asked.

Biting her lip, Hannah turned the pail over. Bold red letters spelled out the word English. A red slash cut across the entire bottom of the pail, as if to say, No English Allowed.

Her knees grew weak. Suddenly the heavy cotton of her Amish dress clung to her neck, making her hot, strangling her. She pushed past Spencer and returned to the first pail and found the same thing.

“Look,” she said, handing him the bucket. “The person who slashed my tires was busy last night.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed as he glanced down at the bucket.

“You have to find my sister’s husband. If it’s he who’s doing this,” she quickly added.

“We’re doing everything we can to find him,” Spencer said, his gaze intent on her. “To get answers.”

The thought of spending another long, restless night in this house…

“To answer your earlier question, I won’t leave, won’t abandon my nieces. Because—” she swiped the bucket out of his hand “—that’s exactly what her killer wants me to do.”

Dear Reader,

I hoped you enjoyed Plain Peril. It’s my second Mills & Boon Love Inspired Suspense set in Apple Creek, NY. The first was Plain Pursuit. The fictional Apple Creek is loosely based on the real Amish community along Route 62 in Conewango Valley, NY, about an hour drive from Buffalo, NY. It wasn’t until I started research for my first Amish book, that I realized an Amish community existed so close to my hometown. Imagine my surprise!

Everything Amish seems to be popular these days, and fiction is no exception. Writing suspense around the constraints of Amish characters is both fun and challenging. Challenging because my editor will make a note on the manuscript such as, “Where is she charging her cell phone?” (My heroine is reluctant to leave behind her English ways.) Finding creative ways to work around these problems is part of the fun.

In real life, the Amish are very creative, too. On one visit to Conewango Valley, my daughters and I stopped at an Amish candy shop. They were able to use a modern mixer by threading the electrical cord through an opening to the outside where they had it connected to a gas-powered generator. Ta-da! Electricity! In many Amish communities, electricity is acceptable as long as the house is not connected to the grid.

I’ve enjoyed learning and writing about the Amish. I look forward to future visits to Apple Creek.

I love to hear from my readers. Feel free to send me a note at my email address: Alison@AlisonStone.com. Or “like” me on Facebook: www.facebook.com/AlisonStoneAuthor.

Live, Love, Laugh,

ALISON STONE lives with her husband of more than twenty years and their four children in western New York. Besides writing, Alison keeps busy volunteering at her children’s schools, driving her girls to dance and watching her boys race motocross. Alison loves to hear from her readers at Alison@AlisonStone.com. For more information please visit her website, alisonstone.com. She’s also chatty on Twitter, @Alison_Stone. Find her on Facebook at facebook.com/AlisonStoneAuthor.

Plain Peril

Alison Stone

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them.

—Romans 8:28

To my big sister, Lisa, whose gift was reminding all of us to Live, Love, Laugh.

To Scott, Scotty, Alex, Kelsey and Leah.

Love you guys, always and forever.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

ONE

The long shadows from the branches clacking against the bedroom window stretched across the two small lumps in the queen-size bed. Hannah tucked the hand-stitched quilt—the one her grandmother had made—under her six-year-old niece Emma’s chin and smiled. A pathetic smile. The poor child stared back, a cross between grief and contempt on her precious little face. On the other half of the bed, Sarah, Emma’s nine-year-old sister, had already lost the battle against the flood of tears, and sleep had taken her. Merciful sleep.

Hannah blinked her gritty eyes a few times and drew in a deep breath, praying for wisdom.

“I want Mem.” The plea in Emma’s tiny voice tore at Hannah’s heart.

I want your mem, too. But Hannah kept those words locked in her heart along with her conflicting emotions. She kissed her niece’s cool forehead. “Sleep, little one. I’ll be here in the morning.”

Emma pursed her lips, unimpressed with the promise of another day with Aunt Hannah.

How many more mornings could Hannah maintain this routine? She had already been here for three days, and she only had two weeks before she had to return to her job as a bank teller in Buffalo. She tried to quiet her mind and prayed the young girls’ father would return home soon. Everyone had anticipated that her sister’s husband, John, would returned for his wife’s funeral.

Everyone was wrong.

Hannah’s chest tightened. The circumstances surrounding John Lapp’s disappearance were sketchy at best. Would leaving these two sweet girls with the father who had abandoned them at the most critical time in their lives be the best option—even if he did return?

A little voice told Hannah John was not going to return.

Emma crinkled her nose at Hannah. The familiarity of the gesture took Hannah’s breath away. How many times had she seen Ruth make that same face when she was a little girl? Poor Ruthie. Hannah smoothed her niece’s hair, and the child jerked away.

Hannah’s heart broke a little bit more.

“Guten nacht, Emma. I love you.” Hannah took a step toward the door. Every inch of her ached for her precious nieces who had lost their mother in a horrible farming accident, after which their father had apparently run off in grief upon finding her body partially buried in the grain silo.

She shook her head, trying to dismiss the horrific image. She ran her hand along the smooth railing on the stairs. The swooshing of her long dress brushing against her legs felt strange yet familiar. She slowed at the bottom of the stairs, allowing her eyes to adjust to the gathering darkness. She hadn’t bothered to turn on the gas-powered lights before she had headed upstairs to tuck the children into bed.

Now she didn’t mind lingering with the long shadows. It suited her mood. She wondered fleetingly what time it was, then realized it didn’t matter. The children and the chores on the farm dictated her day. Not a clock.

Through the front window, she noticed the sun low on the horizon. Soon the entire house would be cast in darkness. Then she’d be left with nothing but her thoughts because sleep didn’t come for the guilt ridden. A chill skittered up her spine, and her neck and shoulders ached from exhaustion. She dreaded the long night in her childhood home in the middle of nowhere.

She wished she had something mindless to occupy her time, like TV or her iPad, two things she had reluctantly given up when she stepped foot into her sister’s Amish home.

Her dead sister’s home.

Her eyes drifted to the far wall in the room, an empty spot where her sister’s simple pine casket had held her body as friends and neighbors came to give their final respects. She closed her eyes and felt the familiar tingling, the promise of more tears. How could it be that her younger sister was dead? She sighed heavily. Hannah had abandoned her Amish ways, but she hadn’t abandoned her faith. She’d get through this. For the sake of her nieces, she had to.

Hannah found herself in the kitchen putting on the teakettle. She stared over the yard and daydreamed about the days she and her sister—two years younger—had run in and out of their mother’s fresh sheets hanging on the line. The scent of clean laundry and newly cut hay. Not a care in the world.

A nostalgic unease wormed its way into her memory. No cares as long as Dat was busy working on the farm because as soon as his chores were done, he’d find a reason to scold Hannah while allowing Ruthie to play undisturbed with her dolls.

Hannah never understood the favoritism. Now, more than a decade after she had slipped away from Apple Creek in the middle of the night, she felt the emptiness. An emptiness that had kept her away.

Until now.

A knocking at the door startled Hannah. She turned off the gas stove. Her pulse whooshed in her ears as her long gown whooshed around her calves. Had her sister’s husband, John, finally returned? Doubt whispered across her brain. Why would he knock on the door of his own home?

Why would he abandon his daughters after their mother’s tragic death? John was obviously not well.

She drew in a deep breath and reached for the door handle. What could she possibly say to him? Could she muster the compassion her brother-in-law needed? She feared she’d be unable to hold back the torrent of angry words criticizing him for not manning up when it came to his bereaved children. She yanked open the door, praying for the former. The greeting froze on her lips.

“Miss Wittmer, I’m sorry to bother you so late. I’m Sheriff Spencer Maxwell. We met earlier today.”

Alarm sent goose bumps racing across her skin.

“Yes, Officer?” Self-consciously, Hannah smoothed her apron and skirt, an outfit she wore out of deference to her grieving mother. Hannah’s English wardrobe would have been an in-your-face reminder that her mother had lost not one, but two daughters. The handsome sheriff had paid his respects at the funeral earlier today in the barn. He was one of only a few outsiders to mingle among the hundreds of Amish. That’s the reason she noticed him, or so she told herself.

The sheriff removed his hat and pressed it to his chest revealing short-cropped hair and kind eyes. “I almost didn’t stop when I noticed the lights weren’t on, but I took a chance.”

Something in his tone made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge. “It sounds important.” She didn’t invite him in, fearing the neighbors would question why a single Amish woman—she referred to herself as Amish in the loosest of terms—had invited a man into her home. Part of her wondered why she cared. “Do you have news regarding my brother-in-law?”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t.” His even tone gave nothing away. “But I do have something important to discuss.”

Hannah listened for any sounds from the bedrooms. It was quiet save for the chirping of the crickets floating in through the open windows on the warm summer evening. Hannah hoped Emma had finally drifted to sleep. Hannah stepped onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind her. “Let’s talk out here.”

Hannah sat on one of the rockers, fearing her legs wouldn’t hold her upright. She was still struggling to get over the news that her sister had died. Her twenty-seven-year-old sister.

Sheriff Maxwell walked the length of the porch slowly then turned around and stopped in front of her. He leaned back on the porch railing. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts, but his hesitation made her feel suspicious, like when a man wandered into her bank with sunglasses and a baseball cap tugged low over his eyes. “Please sit, Officer Maxwell. You’re driving me crazy and if you don’t sit, I’m going to lose it.”

The sheriff angled his head and studied her for a minute. She knew the look. Something wasn’t adding up in his head. She had seen it many times, mainly in Buffalo. It was the double take of a bank patron when the word yah slipped from her lips. Or the pestering of her coworkers who couldn’t understand why she didn’t join them for happy hour. Or her roommates, who playfully mocked her unassuming wardrobe.

Now her English vocabulary was invading her Amish ruse.

The sheriff lowered himself into the chair next to hers and ran his hand along the smooth wood of the arm. “You seem different than the other Amish women I’ve met.”

And there it was.

Hannah flattened her hand against her prayer covering and forced a smile. “Is my bonnet on crooked?” After burying her sister and suffering withering looks from her former Amish neighbors and so-called friends, she was in no mood to be scrutinized by the sheriff, too.

The setting sun reflected in his brown eyes, and his brows shifted, as if he were adjusting his line of thinking. Regret at her snippy comment teased her insides, but not enough to apologize.

“I didn’t mean to pry.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I have some difficult news.”

Hannah hiked her chin and tried to ignore her racing heart. “At this point, I’m numb to bad news.”

“You’ve had a rough time of it.” Sheriff Maxwell’s Adam’s apple moved in his throat, and his hesitation made her panic swell, forcing all the air from her lungs. She wasn’t as numb as she claimed to be. He shifted toward the edge of the rocker and looked like he wanted to reach out and take her hand, but thought better of it.

Hannah sent up a silent prayer.

Dear Lord, please be merciful and let me handle whatever it is this man has come here to say.

“Yesterday, I drove out to Bishop Lapp’s farm.”

“John’s father.” The elder Lapp had to be escorted by the arm into the barn for his daughter-in-law’s funeral. His stooped posture radiated his grief. The bishop had only a few terse words for Hannah. It didn’t come as a surprise, considering the bishop’s loss and Hannah’s non-grata status in the community.

“The bishop’s other son, Lester, dismissed me without hearing what I had to say.” The sheriff stared toward his vehicle parked on the side of the road; its presence no doubt had the neighbors’ tongues wagging. Wireless technology had nothing on the old-fashioned rumor mill in Apple Creek.

“Bishop Lapp must be having a difficult time.” Hannah said the first polite thing that popped into her head. She had no firsthand knowledge on how he was doing. Since Hannah had never been baptized, she wasn’t officially shunned, but the bishop was determined to freeze her out all the same.

“I understand, but I need to talk to him about his son, John.”

“I’ll be of no help there.”

“It’s important you know where the investigation is headed, especially since you’re staying in John Lapp’s house.”

A hot flush swept over her body. “This was my family’s home before John moved in with my sister.”

“I understand.” Spencer sounded contrite, but determined.

She tugged on the folds of her skirt to allow the fresh evening air to cool her shins and bare feet. “You’re investigating my sister’s accident?”

“Yes. It’s customary for the medical examiner to be called out after a death like this. Law enforcement needs to make sure there was no foul play involved.”

Apprehension prickled Hannah’s scalp. She winced and scratched her hair through the fabric of the cap. Her tight bun was giving her a headache. “My sister’s death was an accident. A tragic farming accident.” That’s what everyone had repeated over and over as they paid their final respects and then again when they delivered casserole dishes with wordy instructions on how to warm them up.

Such a shame. A tragic farming accident. And those poor girls, to lose their mother...

They’d shake their covered heads then bustle into the kitchen and make tsking sounds at her nieces, who sat cross-legged on the floor, stacking blocks.

What was left unsaid, but blatantly obvious in their Amish faces, was that if John had been a better husband, Ruthie wouldn’t have been left with the brunt of the chores while her husband fraternized and schemed. What exactly he had been scheming, Hannah’s mother wouldn’t tell her.

Apparently, John Lapp hadn’t entirely shed his youthful, rebellious ways.

This wasn’t news to Hannah.

Sheriff Maxwell stood and faced her. The setting sun behind him cast his face in shadows. Tension hung heavy in the air. “There’s no easy way to say this.” The shaky quality of his voice made icy dread pool in her stomach.

“Tell me.” She wrapped her fingers around the arms of the chair and squeezed.

“Before your sister ended up in the silo, she was already dead.”

* * *

Miss Wittmer slumped in the wood rocker. Spencer’s first instinct was to reach out, grab her, but she clutched the arms of the chair and stiffened her back, as if determined to be strong, regardless of the devastating news. The color draining from her face told a different story.

She drew in a deep breath. “I...I don’t understand.” The Amish woman rose and stood next to him. A thin strand of brown hair poked out from underneath her bonnet. She turned to face him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Are you telling me my sister was murdered?” Her tone was shaky, brittle.

“I’m afraid so.” Spencer let his hand hover near her elbow, ready to grab her if she should faint. She stood absolutely still, and he thought he heard Miss Wittmer’s gasp above the incessant chirping of the crickets. As a cop originally from the inner city, he still hadn’t gotten used to the racket nature created.

She shook her head briskly, as if trying to shake away the image, or perhaps his words. “My sister was murdered.” It was no longer a question.

This time there was no mistaking her gasp. Spencer clutched her elbow. She crumbled to her knees, her thin frame swallowed in a pool of black material. She bowed her head. Spencer had seen loud grief—the wail of a mother who had lost her child in a drive-by shooting. He had never seen such a quiet, heartbreaking display. He didn’t know how to react, and he didn’t know which was worse.

Spencer crouched next to the woman and held her arm. “Let me help you up. I can get you some water. A cold washcloth. Something.”

“Who did this?” Her words came out, barely a whisper.

“We’re investigating.”

The woman brushed his hand away and grabbed the railing and pulled herself to her feet, a mix of embarrassment and anger lacing her tone. “Ruthie told me she was afraid.”

Spencer’s pulse ratcheted up a notch.

Miss Wittmer yanked off her bonnet. The moon rising above the trees lit on the golden strands of her dark hair. If she weren’t an Amish woman, he would have thought she had highlighted her hair. She smoothed a hand over the few loose strands that had sprung free from the bun at the nape of her neck.

She sat, resigned. “She told me she feared too many things were changing.” She leaned back and wrapped her fingers around the arms of the chair. “My sister and I hadn’t seen each other for over a decade, then about five months ago, she called me. She wanted to see me.”

Spencer rubbed his jaw. “I guess it’s my turn to be confused. She called you?”

Miss Wittmer looked up at him, a battle waging behind her watchful eyes. “John had a phone installed in the barn.” She shrugged. “Claimed he needed it for work.”

“And you have a phone, too?”

“I’m not Amish.”

Spencer bit back a comment.

“I left Apple Creek and the Amish community eleven years ago.” Miss Wittmer dragged her lower lip through her teeth. “It—” she lifted her palms “—this life wasn’t for me. Once I left, my father refused to allow me to visit.”

“You were shunned.” Spencer had been sheriff of Apple Creek for only a year, but he was slowly learning the ways of the Amish.

She shook her head. “I was never baptized, so technically, there was no reason to shun me. But my father was a controlling man. He was part of the reason I left. I felt suffocated. And I suppose there was always the fear that if I came back home for a visit and talked about my wonderful, worldly life, who’s to say my sister wouldn’t want to leave with me.” Heavy shadows masked her expression, but Spencer thought he detected an eye roll when she referred to herself as worldly.

“The clothes.” He gestured to her long gown, her apron, the bonnet in her hand.

“It’s easier this way. I wanted to make sure I respected both my sister and my mother.” She grabbed a fistful of material by her thigh and fluttered her skirt. “This is my sister’s.” Her words came out droll, sad, lifeless as if to say, “She won’t be needing it anymore.”

A thought nagged at Spencer, and he didn’t know how to broach it. He decided to be direct. “If you were estranged from your family, why did they contact you when your sister died?”

A mirthless laugh escaped her lips. “My mother, who wouldn’t dare use the phone herself, sent word through a neighbor. I’m her only surviving child. My father’s gone. Now my sister’s gone.” She sighed heavily. “And someone needs to take care of the children...until John returns.” The tone of the last three words convinced him she understood John was unlikely to care for his children when and if he did return.

“No other family can care for the children?”

“John’s family is busy searching for their son and brother. They believe he ran off in grief after finding Ruthie in the silo. Perhaps blaming himself. His new job has taken him away from the farm.” She rocked slowly in the chair. “My mother is not as strong as she used to be. She’d never be able to manage two young girls.” She stopped rocking. “I’m worried about my mem. The news Ruthie was murdered will devastate her all over again.”

“I’ll do my best to find whoever did this.” He studied Miss Wittmer’s face to see if she had the same suspicions he had. “Why was Ruthie worried things were changing?”

“Ruth embraced the Amish way. When we were kids, she spoke of raising her family here. She was doing that. She had two beautiful daughters. By all outward appearances, she had what any humble Amish girl could want.”

“What about her husband? Was her husband a good guy?” John Lapp had come under his radar once or twice, which definitely wasn’t a good thing.

“I didn’t know John. He returned to Apple Creek shortly before I left. He was one of a group of young men who had left the area to work on a ranch out West. A handful of them returned and embraced the Amish way and were baptized and married.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It was the talk of the community. The families considered themselves blessed because their wayward sons had returned.”

“The prodigal sons.” Spencer referred to the parable he remembered from his childhood days in Sunday school. Before he realized God didn’t bless all His children, especially poor ones born into bad neighborhoods where guns and hanging out on street corners crowded out God and Sunday church services.

“Something like that.” Miss Wittmer seemed unimpressed. “But no one killed a calf in celebration of their return. Everyone went about their business. If you haven’t noticed, we are a humble people.” She wiggled her bare toes.

“Do you know if your sister and John had a good marriage?”

“When we got together for the first time five months ago—my sister drove the wagon to the McDonald’s in the next town—she said she was worried that John didn’t seem content. She feared he might leave her and the girls. John had given up farming for the most part and had taken a job making fancy swing sets.”

Spencer pointed toward the road with his thumb and squinted. “The place down the road? A lot of Amish men are employed there.” The Amish were notorious for being hardworking, skilled laborers. No shame in that.

“That was the first change. John also spent more time with the men whom he had left with years earlier.”

“Do you know these men?” Rumors reached the station that there had been some discord within the Amish community. When he tried to investigate, the alleged victims, men who had their beards cut in the middle of the night, refused to talk to him. Even Ruth Lapp had sent him away when he had come to this very farm to question her about her husband’s possible involvement. But there was no mistaking the fear in her eyes. Ruth Lapp was afraid of something.

Miss Wittmer got a distant look in her eyes, as if she were replaying a memory. “Ruth never gave me the names of the men John was hanging out with. I’ve been gone a long time. The names may not have meant much to me.” She ran her pinched fingers down the long tie on the bonnet in her hand. “There was something I found strange. My sister made what I thought was a passing comment about taking care of her girls. I laughed at her.” Regret and grief flashed in her eyes. She sniffed. “When I realized she wasn’t joking, I assured her she was doing a great job as a mom but if the time ever came, I’d make sure Emma and Sarah were well taken care of.”

Her gaze drifted up to meet his. “Do you think she knew something was going to happen to her?”

The memory of Ruth Lapp shooing him off the farm so that her husband wouldn’t find him here had haunted him from the moment he heard of her untimely death.

“Your sister seemed afraid, but she wouldn’t open up to me.”

Miss Wittmer’s head shot up. “Why didn’t you do something. Protect her?”

Spencer shoved his shoulders back despite the punch to his gut. “She assured me everything was fine. She told me to go, reminding me that the Amish and law enforcement have a tenuous relationship at best. There wasn’t much more I could do if Ruth didn’t talk to me.”

Miss Wittmer bowed her head, and her shoulders sagged. “I was helpless when it came to my sister, too. I had no right to snap at you.” Clasping her hands in her lap, as if she were bracing for something, she asked, “How do you know my sister’s death wasn’t an accident?”

“The county medical examiner didn’t find any corn in her mouth or nose. If your sister had suffocated in the silo, she would have inhaled the corn.”

Miss Wittmer closed her eyes. “He killed her, didn’t he? John Lapp killed my sister.”

Spencer cleared his throat. “We’re still investigating. The Lapp family has been unwilling to talk to me. I’ll give them a day or two to reconsider.”

Miss Wittmer rubbed her arms, despite the mild evening. Her bonnet had been abandoned on her lap. “How cooperative do you think they’re going to be when you accuse their son of killing my sister?”

“It’s part of my job.”

“I don’t envy you.” She planted her elbow on the arm of her chair and rested her chin in her palm. “I don’t envy either of us.”

TWO

Hannah tossed and turned on a small cot in the first-floor bedroom of her childhood home, now her sister’s home. Even the white noise of the crickets couldn’t lull her to sleep, not after the news she had received from Sheriff Maxwell. He had left her with a warning to be careful, his cell phone number and a promise to have his officers patrol her property.

Small consolation in the dead of night in the middle of nowhere.

Not even knowing that her mother slept nearby in the adjacent dawdy haus could calm her nerves.

The small bedroom grew stifling, yet she still couldn’t bring herself to move to her sister’s more spacious bedroom upstairs. Hannah slipped out of bed and slid the window open. She dismissed her silly fears that someone would climb through her window because if someone really wanted to get in, all they had to do was stroll through the front door. It didn’t have a lock.

Hannah flopped down on the cot and sighed. She pulled the sheet up to her chin and stared toward the open bedroom door, imagining the shapes morphing into an intruder, namely John. She was driving herself crazy. Her nerves felt like they were jacked on too much caffeine.

Had John really killed her sister? The sheriff had warned her they didn’t have enough evidence to prove John had been involved. But still...

Hannah struggled to quiet her mind with prayer and the hope of sleep. The chirping crickets filled her ears, and she realized the noise could also mask footsteps on creaking floorboards.

Tingles of dread crept up her spine.

“You’re being silly. You lived in the city and never were this afraid,” she whispered into the night.

You never tried to fall asleep with the knowledge your sister had been murdered.

Sitting up, she leaned against the wall and tipped her head back. The piece of snitz pie she had eaten before bed didn’t seem like such a good idea. She was making herself sick with anxiety.

Just when her rational side had talked her irrational side out of a full-blown panic attack, the blaring of a car alarm sliced through the cacophony of chirping. Hannah bolted upright and snapped her attention toward the window. Her car was parked behind the barn and covered with a tarp.

She pressed a hand to her thumping chest and drew in deep breaths.

The alarm will turn off by itself. It will turn off by itself.

How many times had a car alarm gone off in the city? Especially on her street filled with college students and their varying schedules. Car alarms were sensitive. An animal probably scampered across the tarp. Or a tree branch dropped on it. Or...or...

No, it did not mean someone was out there waiting for her. Her apprehension grew with the strident pulsing of the alarm. She drew in another deep breath through her nose and released it.

Hannah threw back the sheet and climbed out of bed. She pushed back her shoulders. I’m being ridiculous.

She grabbed her cell phone from the end table and dialed six digits of Sheriff Maxwell’s phone number, ready to press the seventh digit if needed. She grabbed a flashlight and her car keys from the kitchen on her way out the door. She stopped long enough to stuff her feet into boots.

Her focus tunneled. She made a direct path to her car, tucked neatly between the barn and a dense crop of trees. Striding across the yard, she rolled her ankle in a rut. “Whose great idea was it to park my car way out here? Oh yeah, mine,” she muttered. Hannah was doing everything possible to comfort her mother, even if it meant hiding everything that made her an outsider.

The alarm came at Hannah in varying waves of ear-piercing obnoxiousness. Wincing, she lifted her key fob and aimed it in the general direction of the car and hit the alarm button. The sudden silence deafened her. Even the crickets were mute. She glanced back toward her mother’s dark residence. Apparently, the noise hadn’t disturbed her.

Hannah debated about returning to the house, but decided to quickly check on her car. She rounded the corner of the barn, and the beam of a flashlight blinded her. Her heart leaped in her chest, and she turned to run.

“Wait.” A deep, commanding voice vibrated through her.

Hannah didn’t wait. She had to put distance between herself and the man trespassing on the farm. She was out here alone. She had to protect the girls. She bolted toward the house, calculating how she’d reach the girls’ room and wedge something against the door.

She stumbled in a wagon wheel rut and pitched forward. Crying out in panic, she braced herself. Pain shot up the heels of her hands as they met the earth. Her knees slammed down hard on the packed dirt.

“Miss Wittmer, it’s Sheriff Maxwell.”

On all fours, Hannah dropped her head in relief. She pushed to her feet and brushed the dirt from her palms and her pj’s. She spun around. “What are you doing? You scared me to death.”

“What are you doing out here? You shouldn’t be wandering alone outside.” The sheriff arched the beam of the flashlight across her dirty pj bottoms and her University at Buffalo T-shirt, complete with boots she obviously should have laced up.

“Don’t answer my question with a question.” Hannah crossed her arms and huffed. She had a tad more confidence in her English pj’s than she had wearing her sister’s Amish dress. No one expected her to fake Amish while she slept, did they?

“I was patrolling the area and heard the alarm.” Sheriff Maxwell flicked his flashlight toward her vehicle. “Yours?”

She didn’t bother to answer the obvious. He tossed back the tarp, revealing her three-year-old Chevy Malibu. “Someone slashed your tires.”

Hannah plowed a hand through her hair, and a mix of annoyance, resignation and fear wound their way up her spine. “Did you see anyone?”

The sheriff shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

She glared at him skeptically. “Why are you lurking around here?”

“I’m not lurking. I’m doing my job.” An annoyingly coy smile played on his lips.

“If you were doing your job—” she held out her hand toward her car, the one with twenty-seven remaining car payments “—then this would have never happened.”

“Fair enough.” His smooth voice rolled over her. “But doesn’t it make you feel better to know I’m not far away if you need me?”

Hannah smoothed the tarp back over her car. “Let’s be clear about something. I don’t need anyone.”

He seemed to give her a once-over. “That’s debatable.”

Hannah swept her hair into a ponytail and fastened it with a rubber band from her wrist. “Fair enough.” She repeated his words. “I am glad you’re here. Find out who did this. But make sure you’re not lurking around too much. I don’t want the neighbors talking. They already give me enough grief.”

Hannah spun around—her snippiness fueled more from her adrenaline-soaked nerves than from anger—and marched up to the house, keenly aware that Sheriff Maxwell was watching her.

* * *

The next morning, Hannah slipped into her sister’s black Amish dress, an outward sign she was grieving. She peeked in on her sleeping nieces and decided to check on Mem. Through the screen door of the adjacent dawdy haus, Hannah saw her mother sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. When Hannah knocked, her mother pushed back from the worn pine table slowly. Hannah couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw her mother wince.

“Are you okay?” The screen door squeaked, and Hannah stepped into the small space. Memories crowded in on her. Hannah had spent long hours here visiting her own grandmother. Her mammy was the one person who loved her unconditionally. When Mammy died shortly before Hannah turned sixteen, Hannah had found herself rudderless between an overdemanding father and a too-passive mother.

“Tired is all.” Her mother waved away her daughter’s concerns. “Would you like coffee?” She took a step toward the stove.

“No, I can’t stay long. I want to make sure I’m in the house when Emma and Sarah wake up.”

Her mother shook her head in disbelief. She did that a lot since Ruthie died.

“Did you hear the commotion outside last night?”

Her mother paused. “Commotion?”

“My car alarm went off.” She omitted the part about the slashed tires. She hated to add to her mother’s grief.

“Neh.” Her mouth pursed her lips. “My hearing is neh gut.”

Hannah leaned against the counter and watched her mother slowly sit back down. Her mother took a sip of coffee then touched her head. “Your kapp.”

Hannah tugged on her apron with both hands. “But I’m wearing a dress.”

Her mother looked down without saying anything, renewed disappointment etched in her pale features. An expression Hannah had seen many times. An expression that had both frustrated and confused Hannah as a teenager. Why didn’t her mother say what she meant?

“Mem, I came back for Sarah and Emma...and you.” Hannah pulled out the chair across from her mother and sat. She angled her head to see into her mother’s eyes. “I don’t know what my future holds.”

Her mother lifted her brows. “Your sister said you were coming home.” Her hopeful tone broke Hannah’s heart.

Hannah dipped her chin, surprise making her momentarily speechless. “Ruthie told you about our visits?” Ruthie had sworn her to secrecy.

Her mother nodded. “Yah.” She fingered the handle of the coffee mug. “Are you ready to be baptized Amish? Find a nice Amish boy and marry? Maybe next year you can prepare—”

“No.” The single word came out sharp, angry. Hannah flattened her palms on the table and drew in a calming breath and said more softly, “Not yet, Mem. Not yet.” Hannah scratched her forehead. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t happy in Buffalo.” She was lonely and didn’t enjoy her job, but she hadn’t decided to return to the Amish way of life. Not permanently anyway. She was toying with the idea. Searching for happiness. Wondering out loud to her sister if she had been naive in her decision to leave the Amish community in the first place.

Perhaps saying as much to please her sister.

Or perhaps, in a way, dissuading her sister from making any big decisions that would alter her life irrevocably. As Hannah’s decision had forever changed her life.

Hannah covered her mother’s hand. “I’m here for the short-term until I know the girls are okay. Please, don’t get your hopes up about me returning for good.”

Disappointment creased the corners of the older woman’s sad eyes. “I thought with Dat gone...”

Although the rift between Hannah and her father was apparent to anyone with eyes, it pained her to hear her mother talk about it.

“Mem, please, let’s talk about this another time. We’re all trying to come to terms with Ruthie.”

“Gott has a plan.”

Hannah’s body tensed. “I wish God’s plan was to leave Ruthie here on earth with us. With her daughters.”

Her mother’s lips quivered. “Life is hard. You have to make decisions that are gut for the family. You can’t be selfish.”

The sting of her mother’s comments wounded her. Had Hannah been selfish?

“One day at a time, okay?” Hannah hated throwing out a silly platitude, but she wasn’t ready to make life-altering decisions right now.

Will I ever be ready?

Hannah didn’t want to discuss Ruthie’s husband, but it couldn’t be avoided. Not with John running around out there, somewhere. “Did Ruth ever say anything negative to you about John?”

Her mother’s eyes flashed momentarily dark. “Neh.” She shook her head vehemently. “I don’t know how things work in the English world, but a woman does not speak ill of her husband. And if she does, she’s just being gossipy.”

“I’m not gossiping.” She placed her elbow on the table and rested her chin on the heel of her hand. “Was John ever mean to Ruth?”

“John Lapp is the bishop’s son.” Agitation shook her mother’s hands, and she refused to meet Hannah’s gaze.

“John left Apple Creek when he was a teenager. He was gone for a long time. Maybe he wasn’t the son the bishop had raised.”

Her mother lifted her chin. “John came back. Was baptized. Married. It was gut.” Which was more than Hannah had done. The accusation in her mother’s eyes made Hannah’s cheeks fiery. Couldn’t her mother see she was doing everything she could? Everything short of promising to be baptized Amish.

“You like John Lapp?”

“Your sister and her husband took care of me. I am grateful to them.”

Unease settled in Hannah’s belly. Learning Ruthie was murdered would kill her mother. Hannah pushed away from the table. The whole truth would wait for another day.

Hannah brushed a kiss across her mother’s soft cheek. Her mother pulled back and widened her eyes, startled by the display of affection. Hannah started to leave but turned back one last time. Her mother was holding her fingertips to her cheek, where Hannah had kissed her.

* * *

“Burning the midnight oil, huh?” Mrs. Greene, Spencer’s elderly landlady, sat in her wicker rocker on the front porch, nursing her tea.

The screen door slipped out of his hand and thwacked against the door frame. “Sorry about that. Didn’t see you sitting there.”

“Got no air-conditioning in there. Cooler out here. Can’t imagine how hot it’s gonna be later if it’s already this hot at—” She squinted up at him “—what time is it?”

“Early.” Too early, considering he hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. The red numbers on the digital clock by his bed read a blurry four-something by the time he left Miss Wittmer’s and climbed into bed. Despite assigning another officer to check in on the Lapp farm, he felt unsettled.

What was it about the brown-eyed beauty that had gotten under his skin? And what kind of danger was she in with John Lapp still out there?

Spencer eased down, balancing his coffee and sat on the top step. Mrs. Greene spoiled him. She brewed the best coffee and left a to-go mug on the hall table inside the front door every morning. She claimed she missed having her boys around. All of them had grown and moved on with their lives, leaving her to dote over the tenants of her two upstairs apartments, only one of which was occupied.

“You finally meeting some people in this town? Doing things besides work?” Mrs. Greene had a say-whatever’s-on-her-mind way of talking that didn’t always allow room for him to get a word in edgewise.

Smiling, Spencer lifted his coffee and inhaled its rich scent. “Last night was work.”

Mrs. Greene made a tsking noise. “How are you ever going to have a life if all you do is work?”

Spencer leaned back on the railing and shifted to look at Mrs. Greene. “I need to find you a hobby so you don’t pay so much attention to me.”

“Someone’s got to pay attention to a handsome man like you. You can’t tell me you haven’t found one pretty woman in Apple Creek who you’d like to take for a nice Friday fish fry.”

Spencer laughed, nearly choking on his coffee. “Is that what women like to do around here? Go to a fish fry?”

“That’s what they did in my day.” Mrs. Greene seemed to go somewhere for a minute before snapping out of it. “Nice crispy haddock and tartar sauce. Yum.”

Spencer watched the content expression on Mrs. Greene’s face. The look of a woman who had lived a good life and was now satisfied to sit back and watch the world go by—and to micromanage his.

“That girl you left behind in Buffalo hasn’t come to her senses yet?”

Why had he told Mrs. Greene about Vicki? Because she had a way of prying things out of people, that’s why. Spencer shook his head and rolled his eyes, feeling very much like a schoolboy under the inquisitive gaze of his grandmother, who always had an interest in everything he did. Unlike his parents, whose only interests involved all the things they required him to do.

“I’ve been here a year. I don’t think she’s suddenly going to show up at my door.”

Mrs. Greene thrummed the pads of her fingers on the arm of her wicker chair. “Country’s not her thing, you say?”

“Vicki was definitely a city girl.” And last he heard, she was engaged to a surgeon. So very Vicki. Looked like she was going to get everything she wanted out of life.

He and Victoria had both been in law school when they started dating. She told him she had signed up for one kind of life, and Spencer had turned the tables on her by signing up for the Buffalo police exam.

“Heard she’s engaged,” Spencer found himself saying.

“I’m sorry.”

He narrowed his gaze and stared at the long strands of grass growing up around the railing posts where the lawn service had forgotten to trim. “I’m not. Now I don’t have to feel guilty for stringing her along for so many years.”

Mrs. Greene made a disagreeable sound. “That’s not like you to string someone along. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

It was tough not to be hard on himself when even his own father claimed disappointment. His father had been a police officer, but he had wished something more for his son. Spencer was the first college graduate in the family. A lawyer—a nice, stable, safe profession.

Spencer grabbed the railing and pulled himself to his feet. “Maybe it’s time I got back into the game.” Miss Wittmer’s pretty face came to mind. He smiled wickedly at Mrs. Greene. “Maybe I should find me a nice Amish woman.”

Mrs. Greene’s eyes flared wide. She waved her hand in dismissal. “Don’t be getting any crazy thoughts. The Amish don’t take to the English. Not for datin’.”

Spencer felt a smile pulling on his lips. He walked over and tapped Mrs. Greene’s knee. “No, no crazy thoughts. I’ll just stick to my job.”

And his job was to make sure nothing happened to Miss Wittmer and her two nieces out there on the Lapp farm. Until he had John Lapp in custody, he feared he wouldn’t be getting much sleep.

He couldn’t screw this up. Not like he had let down Daniel, the teenage boy in Buffalo who had ended up another grim statistic. He wouldn’t let that happen again. Not on his watch.

THREE

Hannah slipped back into the house after visiting her mother in time to find Emma coming down the stairs in her sleeping gown, one hand on her doll, the other fisted and rubbing her eyes. Sarah came down only when it seemed hunger had gotten the best of her.

After feeding her nieces breakfast of, in their opinion, too-lumpy oatmeal and runny dippy ecks, Hannah had the girls get dressed then ushered them outside. She needed to check on the farm animals and thought perhaps the outdoors would brighten the young girls’ dispositions.

Hannah reached the door of the barn as the sun was haloing the roofline of the gray, weatherworn barn. Sarah and Emma seemed content to plop down on the slight incline leading toward the barn and drag long strands of grass through their fingers. As long as the young girls stayed close to the barn, there was nothing they could get into. The freedom the Amish children had to explore was far different than the constantly monitored existence of English children.

A little voice in her head warned her that her non-motherly way of thinking was likely to get her—or her new charges—into trouble. She considered taking each by the hand and advising them to stay close, then decided it was best not to draw attention to her slipping into the barn to check on the animals.

With two hands, she peeled back the door and stepped inside. The familiar smell of manure assaulted her nose even though the barn had been swept clean yesterday for her sister’s funeral. She lifted her apron to her nose, wondering how she had ever gotten used to such a foul smell. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Emma and Sarah kicking a volleyball back and forth. Their long blond hair dangled down their backs.

The morning light filtered through the slats of the barn. The cow mooed as if happy to see her. A neighborhood boy, Samuel, had come over both in the mornings and afternoons to milk the cow and feed the horse the past few days. Samuel had told her he couldn’t come this morning, but he’d be available this afternoon.

Planting her hands on her hips, she let out a heavy sigh. Even though John’s move away from farming for a living had been a point of contention for her sister, Hannah was grateful. Now she only had to worry about a few animals and no crops. Seemed a shame, though, considering all this land her family’s property sat on.

Hannah grabbed a milking stool and sat. She glanced at her soft hands, now foreign to the rigors of physical labor. A shadow crossed the open door, and Hannah’s hand immediately went to her head. She had taken the time to twist her hair into a messy bun, but she wasn’t wearing her cap.

“Gut morning.” The words flowed naturally from her mouth. She held up her hand to block the sun as a man strolled into the barn.

“Morning, Miss Wittmer.” The casual, warm greeting brought her up short.

“Sheriff Maxwell.” Hannah drew in a deep breath and found herself wishing she had on her English wardrobe complete with a little eyeliner and smoothing hair gel. She lowered her hand and forced a smile. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

“Call me Spencer.”

“Then you’ll have to call me Hannah.” She scrambled to her feet then looked past him to see her nieces hanging on to the door frame, studying the visitor.

“Go back to playing, girls. The sheriff won’t be here long.”

“No, I won’t.” Spencer shifted his stance. “Is there anyone who can take care of the animals for a while?”

“Why?”

“I think it would be safer if you and the girls left the farm for a while. Until we get this all sorted out.”

“I can’t pick up and leave.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer to him. “This is the only home my nieces have known. They lost their mother. And my mom lives next door...and I don’t know offhand who could care for the animals full-time.” Her brain swirled with all the responsibilities.

“Sounds like you have a lot of reasons to stay.”

“I have a lot to figure out.” Outside the barn, her nieces returned to their seats on the grassy incline and plucked long blades of grass and twisted them around their fingers.

“Maybe you can find other family to stay with the girls until we locate John and figure out what’s going on here.”

“My sister was all I had. As far as reaching out to other Amish families, I won’t be welcomed.”

“I’m sure a family would welcome your nieces.”

His words felt like a knife stabbing her heart. “I’m not going to leave my nieces.” She had promised her sister she’d make sure the girls were cared for. Hannah couldn’t run away.

Spencer studied her with unnerving intensity. Then he snapped out of it and jerked his thumb toward the cow. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your morning chores. You can milk a cow?”

She laughed, genuinely laughed, for the first time since she had received word of her sister’s death. “I’m certainly capable of milking a cow or two.” She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “This is the first morning I’ve had to deal with farm life since I arrived. I’m facing one thing at a time. First my nieces, then the farm animals.”

“All God’s creatures.”

Hannah stared at him for a minute. The smile lines at the corners of his eyes softened all his features. Yet his broad chest and solid arms would intimidate any criminal. She scooped up a metal bucket, fully aware that he was watching her. “An Amish boy has been helping me. That’s one thing you can say about the Amish. They always look after their own.”

“They do.” The two simple words held more weight than she dare explore.

She shifted the solid milking bucket from one hand to the other. She patted the backside of the cow, running her hand over its coarse fur. “How do you feel about a city slicker milking you?” The cow shuffled its back feet and let out a deep moo that vibrated through her chest. Hannah patted the animal again. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Hannah pulled up a stool and straddled it. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Spencer standing close. Did he doubt her abilities? Inwardly she laughed. What did he know about farm life?

Hannah glanced at the empty bucket to make sure it was clean enough for fresh cow’s milk. Three tiny holes marred the bottom of the metal bucket. The milk would leak out.

She put the bucket down and stood. She brushed past Spencer, his clean scent mixing in with fresh hay and too-fresh manure. She picked up a second pail from a nearby table. It also had several neat holes in the bottom, as if someone had taken a nail and driven it through the metal with a hammer.

“Something wrong?” Spencer’s voice sounded from behind her.

Biting her lip, she turned the pail over. Bold red letters spelled out the word English. A red slash cut across the entire bottom of the pail, as if to say, No English Allowed.

Her knees grew weak. Suddenly, the heavy cotton of her Amish dress clung to her neck, strangling her. She pushed past Spencer and returned to the first pail and found the same thing. She shoved the pail into Spencer’s chest.

“Look. The person who slashed my tires was busy last night.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed as he glanced down at the bucket in his hands.

“You have to find John. If it’s John who’s doing this,” she quickly added. “He mustn’t be in his right mind.” Hannah tugged on her bun to loosen it. “To kill my sister and now try to chase me away. What does he hope to accomplish?”

“I can’t speculate on his motive.” Spencer inspected the pail. “We’re doing everything we can to find him. To get answers.”

“Maybe it’s just kids. A prank...” Even as she said it, she doubted it. But John...that didn’t seem right, either. The thought of spending another long, restless night in this house made her wish she had the ability to speed up time. There were no locks on the doors, but maybe she could move furniture in front of the doors at night. She said a silent prayer in hopes of calming her frazzled nerves.

She bowed her head then lifted it and met his gaze directly. “I refuse to abandon my nieces. Because—” she swiped the bucket out of his hand “—that’s exactly what he wants me to do.”

* * *

When Spencer emerged from the barn a half step behind Hannah, the little girls were each holding an Amish woman’s hand. The girls tugged and pulled on the woman’s arm as she marched directly toward them, an expression, a combination of disgust and scolding on her plain features.

“There you are,” she said, narrowing her gaze at Hannah. “These girls have been wandering around half-dressed.”

“They are perfectly dressed.” Hannah fingered the older girl’s blond curls. “If it’s their hair you’re concerned with, I didn’t have a chance to do their braids yet. I wasn’t expecting visitors.” Hannah touched her own messy bun.

The woman’s gaze shot to Spencer, and her nose twitched.

“Morning. I’m Sheriff Maxwell.” He held out his hand then let it drop when it was obvious the woman wasn’t going to accept it.

The woman sniffed the air. “I’m Fannie Mae Lapp.” She lifted the girls’ hands. The pout on the older girl’s face was unmistakable. The younger of the two was on the verge of tears. “I’m the girls’ aenti.” She glared at him as if he were going to challenge her claim.

“Is there a problem, Sheriff?” He recognized Lester Lapp, John’s brother, strolling across the grass. Lester had been his father’s, the bishop’s, guard dog, not allowing law enforcement to speak to anyone in the Lapp family since Ruth’s death and John’s disappearance. Lester strode down the slight incline from the house to the barn, his arms swinging confidently by his sides. “I came out as soon as we heard you were here. The bishop is also here.” His tone held a warning. “If you have news regarding my brother, you can share it with me. My father is still weak from grief.”

“I have no news about John.” Spencer wasn’t about to share news of Ruthie’s murder in front of her daughters. “But I’m afraid we’ve had some—” he glanced down at the girls “—events on the property that need to be addressed.” Spencer crossed his arms. “It’s best if we don’t talk in front of the children.”

“Girls, run up to the house for me.” Hannah tossed the metal bucket on the hard-packed mud. It tumbled and landed with the graffiti facing away from the guests.

Lester gave Fannie Mae a subtle nod, giving her permission to take the children up to the house. The older niece yanked her hand from her aunt’s grip and ran ahead. The little one seemed tired of being led around, reminding Spencer of a rag doll dangling by a boneless arm.

“What’s going on?” Lester fingered his unkempt beard and kept his eyes trained on Hannah. “Sheriff Maxwell seems to be spending a lot of time on my brother’s farm. I’d hate for the neighbors to start talking. There is much work to be done if you expect to be accepted in Apple Creek.” He was speaking directly to Hannah.

Was Hannah planning on joining the Amish community permanently? Something in Spencer’s heart shifted, and he wasn’t proud of himself. Regardless of his initial attraction to this spunky woman, she had to make a decision that was best for her even if it meant there would be zero chance of a them. His disappointment seemed silly considering they had only just met. However, there was something about her simple, straightforward manner that was the complete opposite of high-maintenance Vicki.

“Lester, I’m going to forgive your bad manners on account of your tremendous loss,” Hannah said, not mincing words.

“I don’t need your forgiveness.” A vein bulged in Lester’s forehead.

“What’s going on here?” Bishop Lapp navigated his way down the slope with his cane. He looked warm in his black overcoat as the sun climbed higher in the sky.

Lester’s expression immediately softened. He met his father and guided him to the dirt-packed entrance of the barn.

“I have difficult news,” Spencer said. The bishop had aged dramatically these past few days. Spencer cleared his throat and then told Lester and Bishop Lapp of the suspicious circumstances surrounding Ruth’s death.

“Are you saying John hurt Ruth?” Lester crossed his arms over his chest, one of his fingers snagging on his suspenders. “Neh, impossible.” He shook his head adamantly for emphasis. “It was an accident. A tragic accident.”

“I’m afraid the medical examiner’s findings contradict that.”

“And you? How do you feel?” Lester asked.

“I have more questions than answers right now. I need to talk to John. Have you heard from him?” Spencer watched their expressions carefully, trying to detect deceit.

Lester tipped his head, hiding his eyes behind the brim of his straw hat. “Neh. We’re worried.”

“My son had nothing to do with his wife’s death.” The bishop narrowed his gaze. He reached out and clutched a post to steady himself. “You haven’t been in town long, Sheriff. But one thing you must already know. The Amish are a peaceful people. This medical examiner...he is wrong.”

“Someone slashed my tires last night.” Hannah stepped forward. “Any idea who would do that?”

“It wasn’t John. He hasn’t been around. Don’t you think if my brother was around, he’d be consoling his children? He must not be in his right mind due to grief. There’s no other reason he’d stay away so long.” Lester took off his straw hat and rubbed his head. “None of this makes sense. What reason would John have to hurt Ruth and then come back and destroy property?”

Spencer watched Lester. The man appeared genuinely distraught. “You’re all under tremendous stress right now. I’m not accusing anyone of anything. It’s my job to uncover the truth.”

“We want the truth, too.” The bishop’s voice sounded shaky as he mopped his brow with a handkerchief.

“Do you have any idea where John might have gone? Someplace he feels comfortable. Safe.”

“He felt safest here at home.” A tall Amish man with broad shoulders ambled toward them. Spencer recognized him from around town. “Can’t imagine what would keep my good friend away when his daughters need him.” A look of disgust swept across the man’s face as he took in Hannah before his features smoothed into an appropriate look of solemnity. Or had Spencer imagined it?

Spencer held out his hand. “I’m Sheriff Maxwell.”

The man nodded but didn’t take his hand. “I know who you are.” He looped his thumbs through his suspenders. “I’m Willard Fisher. I live down the road where it meets Plum Crossing. John and I help each other out when we can. My boy Samuel has been caring for the animals while he’s gone.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I was away visiting family in Ohio. I wish I had been here to console him after his wife’s accident.”

Lester puffed out his chest, as if in competition with the new arrival. “My brother was overcome with grief. He found his wife’s body. I can’t imagine what I’d do under the circumstances.”

“Have faith.” Willard’s mouth flattened into a grim line. “Have faith in Gott and continue on.”

“Do you know if John or Ruth had issue with anyone? Someone who might have wanted to hurt her?” Spencer shifted his stance, feeling as if he had to brace himself against the men’s displeasure.

The bishop shook his head. “We lead simple lives.”

“Are you saying Ruth’s death wasn’t an accident?” Willard frowned.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Willard and Lester glanced at one another while Hannah looked like she was tired of holding her tongue.

Spencer’s cell phone rang. He glanced at its display. “I have to get this. Excuse me.” As he stepped away, the back of his head prickled with the men’s laser-like gazes.

* * *

Hannah picked up the metal bucket and hung it upside down on the post near the barn. She watched the men to see if anyone had a reaction to the graffiti written on the bottom of the bucket.

“Don’t let your English ways interfere with our peaceful life here.” Lester’s fiery gaze slid from the sheriff to her.

Willard crossed his arms over his broad chest, but didn’t say anything. He obviously agreed. No one wanted an outsider living in their midst. She could dress up in her dead sister’s clothes, but no one would truly accept her until she embraced the Amish way and was baptized and found a suitable Amish husband.

Hannah’s pulse whooshed in her ears. “My sister was murdered. You can’t ignore that. The sheriff has to do a thorough investigation. If John was involved, you can’t protect him.”

Lester shook his head. “My brother had nothing to do with Ruth’s tragic death. It was an accident.”

Hannah lifted her trembling hands to dismiss him. “I can’t listen to this.”

She strode past Lester. He hollered after her, “Will you be joining us for church service tomorrow? We are having service in our home.”

Hannah turned and tugged on the collar of her dress. The thought of sitting in a sweaty barn for three hours listening to Bishop Lapp talk did not appeal to her, but she knew she had to make an effort on account of the girls. Her air-conditioned church back in Buffalo had spoiled her. It wasn’t God she was opposed to, it was falling back into her old Amish lifestyle before she made a true decision. Things were happening so fast.

“I have a lot of work to do around here,” she muttered, her brain racing for an excuse.

“It’s Sunday,” the bishop said. “A day of rest.”

“John and Ruth would want the children to go to church service,” Lester piled on.

Low blow.

“I’m not sure how I would get there.” Her car wasn’t an option even if her tires weren’t slashed.

“My family can take the girls,” Willard offered.

Hannah’s gaze shifted to the stern man and wondered where his son Samuel had gotten his soft-spoken demeanor. “I can take the girls to the service. Denki.” The Pennsylvania Dutch word for thank you slipped out of her mouth so naturally it caught her off guard. She’d take the horse and buggy, something she hadn’t done for years.

Hannah thought she detected a low chuckle from Willard, and her cheeks immediately fired hot.

“We look forward to seeing you there.” The bishop tapped the earth with his cane to emphasize his point. “You cannot live in two worlds.”

“I’m doing my best,” Hannah said. “My priority is caring for my nieces.”

Willard picked up the bucket and turned it over, studying the graffiti. “You found this in the barn?”

Hannah swallowed around a knot in her throat. “Yes, seems someone wants me to leave.”

Willard hung the bucket back on the post. “Shame to ruin a perfectly good bucket.” He turned and looked at Hannah. “Is my son doing the chores to your satisfaction?”

“Samuel’s been a big help, thank you.” Hannah felt the need to defend Samuel, and she wasn’t sure why. “I hope his helping me here hasn’t caused you more work on your own farm.”

“You need the help. John will be home soon, then Samuel will be back on my farm.” Willard said it so matter-of-factly, she wondered if he knew something she didn’t.

Unexpected emotion rolled over Hannah. She lowered her voice. “I do hope John comes home soon and this—whatever this is—is all cleared up.”

“He will,” the bishop said. “It’s best if you follow the Ordnung while you are here. I do not want my granddaughters to be influenced by worldly things. I will pray that once you are settled, you will decide to bend a knee.” The bishop made a few shuffle steps to turn around. He picked each step deliberately as he walked toward the house. A knot twisted her stomach. Would she ever be ready to be baptized in the Amish church?

Lester stepped forward. His features softened, yet the angle of his mouth seemed strained. “Fannie Mae and I will raise Emma and Sarah. Gott has not yet blessed us with children.”

A mix of relief, apprehension and dread washed over Hannah. Lester had offered her a way out.

“This life isn’t for you. You can return to Buffalo. We’ll take care of the girls.” Lester hesitated a fraction. “Until John is back and fit to care for them.”

Uncomfortable, Hannah glanced behind Lester and noticed Spencer sitting on the porch steps talking animatedly to the girls. They had bright smiles on their faces, the first she had seen since returning to Apple Creek.

Hannah refocused on Lester. “If I left the girls in your care, could I visit them?”

A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “Neh. Your life in the outside world would only confuse them. Raising her children here was important to Ruth. Ruth is gone, but don’t take her children away from everything that is important to them.”

Hannah hated Lester’s message, but she knew he was right. She backed away from him and made a show of swiping imaginary hay from her skirt. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Fannie Mae will be a good mem to them.”

Hannah’s gaze drifted to Lester’s wife, standing apart as Spencer played with the two girls. Perhaps the woman didn’t know how to interact with children because she didn’t have any of her own. Indecision weighed heavily on Hannah, sucking the air out of her lungs.

“You should give this serious consideration.” Lester adjusted his straw hat by its brim. “I believe Gott has bigger plans for me in this community. I don’t want my family distracted by the outside world.”

“Gott decides such things. Not man. Be humble,” Willard scolded Lester.

Lester bristled. Perhaps Lester, like Hannah, had forgotten Willard was standing within earshot.

Hannah ran a hand across the back of her neck. “You want me to leave and to leave quietly?”

Lester’s dark eyes bored into her. “I want what’s best for my brother’s children.”

“My sister would want me to be their guardian.”

“The children still have a guardian. Their father.” Lester’s eyebrows disappeared under his hat.

“I will be their guardian until that matter is settled.” Hannah bustled past Lester and strode up the hill. The ache in her brain pounded in time with her racing heart.

“Everything okay?” Spencer stood when Hannah reached the porch. The compassion in his eyes diffused a fraction of her anger. Six-year-old Emma jumped to her feet to stand next to Spencer, looking up at him with big blue eyes as trusting as her mem’s.

Hannah glanced at Fannie Mae quickly, then back at Spencer. “Everything is great. Girls, would you like some fresh-baked muffins?” Hannah wanted to make up for the lumpy oatmeal from earlier, but feared her baking skills were also rusty.

Emma and Sarah raced Hannah inside. The screen door slammed in its frame, shutting out the outside world, even if only temporarily.

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