Authors: Lisa Harris
Taken (19 page)
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.”
Copyright © 2015 by Alison Stone
ISBN: 978-1-474-01397-0
TAKEN
© 2015 Lisa Harris
Published in Great Britain 2015
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
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