The child grins. I see those little baby teeth again and I’m reminded of just how young she really is. How much she’s suffered and lost …
“Go on now. Gather up your brothers and tell them to get washed up. I want teeth brushed, too. Scoot.”
Giving me a final smile, the girl heads to the back door and lets herself out.
“Poor little thing,” Rebecca says, shaking her head.
I take the same chair Joseph used just two days ago. I still feel the energy of him in the room; I can’t seem to stop looking around. At the wall where there was blood spatter. The floor where he died. The table where we sat together and remembered.
“How much did they see?” I ask.
“Too much.” She settles into the chair across from me. “Sadie and Becky saw all of it. They’d been sitting at the top of the stairs when the police shot him down.”
Her voice breaks. Her face screws up. She presses her hand to her mouth, unable to speak. After a moment she composes herself. “Don’t know why they had to do that.”
I don’t respond.
“The social worker people told Daniel and me that the two girls came down to ‘wake him up.’ Mein Gott. They had his blood all over their little hands.” She shakes her head. “Honestly don’t know if I’ll be able to forgive Joe for putting them through that.”
“What about the other kids?” I ask.
“They saw Joe lying there on the floor like a shot deer. But they didn’t see it happen, which is a blessing for them I guess.” She closes her eyes tightly. “I can’t imagine the things that went through their little minds.”
“I’m sorry, Rebecca.”
“It’s all part of God’s plan.” She says the words because it’s what she was taught to believe. But she’s not convincing.
“The social worker people kept the kids away from us for almost two days,” she tells me. “Acting like Daniel and I did something wrong. Those kids needed to be home with their family.”
I pick up my mug. “I’m glad they’re home with you now.”
“The police talked to us a lot. Asked us all sorts of questions about Joe. Now that he’s dead, they don’t come around much.”
“How are you and Daniel holding up?” I ask.
She softens at the question and reaches out to pat my hand. “We’re all right. Still trying to get used to the idea of Joseph being gone. Hurts my heart the way it happened. Even after what he did. The poor lost soul.” Her eyes flick to the floor where he’d lain dead. “Just knowing what happened here. Feels … strange.”
“It’s going to take some time.” I sip some of the coffee, trying to get my words in order. “Rebecca, when I was here that night with Joseph and the kids, Sadie told me she saw a stranger in the house the night Naomi was killed.”
The Amish woman’s eyes jerk to mine. “We’ve heard the story,” she says. “That’s all it is. A story told by a little girl who shouldn’t be thinking of such things.”
“I’m sure you know I spent a couple of hours with Joseph that night, Rebecca. We talked a lot during that time. I realize this isn’t a good time to bring this up. I know all of you are still hurting. But do you think it’s possible there was a stranger in the house that night?”
The Amish woman takes her time answering, twirling her spoon in the date pudding, but not eating. Finally, she looks at me and sets her napkin on her lap. “I think whatever happened that night is done and over with, Kate Burkholder. I think those poor babies have been through enough. Enough blood. Enough death. Enough pain. Enough lying. I know you were fond of Joe and all, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go dredging all of that up again.”
“Don’t you want to know the truth?”
“The truth.” She says the word as if it’s a vile thing. “What will your precious truth accomplish? Will it bring back Naomi? Will it bring back Joe? Will it change any of what’s happened?”
“Rebecca, if there’s a possibility Joseph didn’t murder your sister.” Leaning forward slightly, I lower my voice. “If that’s true; if I find proof, that means whoever killed her is still out there.”
“I don’t believe it.” She stares at me for an interminable moment. “Not for one minute.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“Were all those police wrong?” she snaps. “Was the jury wrong?”
“I think mistakes were made.”
“It’s over and done. Finished. I’d just as soon not revisit any of it. I sure don’t want those children having to relive it.”
“Don’t you care about justice?” I say.
“Justice for whom exactly, Kate Burkholder?” For the first time she looks angry. “Will Naomi get justice? Will she get her life back? Will those children get their mother back? I think not.”
I’m about to say something about the reputations, the legacy that will be left for the children, but Rebecca gets to her feet and motions toward the door. “I think it would be best if you left before the children come back inside.”
“Rebecca—”
“I’ll walk you out.”
* * *
I’m standing at the stove, pushing stir-fried vegetables around in a skillet, when Tomasetti arrives home. I’ve already broken the seal on a bottle of cabernet. I’m midway through my second glass when he comes up behind me and puts his arms around my waist.
“Tough day?” he asks, pressing a kiss to my neck.
I tilt my head, giving him access, trying to decide how to break the news about my being placed on restricted duty. Of all the people in the world, Tomasetti will understand. He knows me inside and out. And while he knows better than anyone that I’m fallible and sometimes I push too hard, he also knows that I’m a good cop, a good chief, and that I will pursue justice to the end.
“Want a glass?” I ask.
“You bet.”
I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that he knows something is awry. Better to just lay it out and get it over with. “They put me on restricted duty.”
He makes a sound that’s part disappointment, part sympathy. “The King thing?”
“The photo.” It’s not like him to mince words. I say it because I know he didn’t want to.
“And a little politics.” He picks up the bottle and fills his empty glass with a little too much wine. Topping off mine, he goes to the table and pulls out a chair. “Sounds like it might be a two-glass kind of night.”
I follow him over and sink into it.
He sits across from me. “Lay it on me.”
I tell him about the scene in the town council chamber. “I handled it poorly and walked out. Tomasetti, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know you didn’t. Auggie knows it, too.” He takes a sip of wine, sets down the glass. “That said, you have rankled a feather or two over the years.”
“Apparently, that’s my specialty.”
“One of many reasons I’m crazy about you.”
I frown. “You’re not making it easy for me to be miserable.”
He fingers the glass stem, swirls wine. “So what else is bothering you?”
I pick up my glass and sip. “It’s scary how well you know me.”
“I think that’s supposed to happen when two people who care about each other live together for an extended period of time.”
Reaching across the table, I smack him on the arm. He smiles at me and we fall silent. He’s waiting for me to continue. I’m procrastinating, because I’m pretty sure he’s not going to like what I have to say.
“I’ll go first,” he says after a moment. “You don’t believe Joseph killed his wife.”
“The more people I talk to and the more I learn about the case, the more convinced I am that something is not right.”
“Have you decided what you’re going to do about it?”
“I thought I might poke around a little, talk to some people, see what I can find out.”
“People like who?”
“The lead detective,
for one.” I tell him about Sidney Tucker.
“He still with the sheriff’s department?” he asks.
“Retired.”
“And you’re going to do all of this while you’re on restricted duty.”
“You know how it is with me and rules.”
“They just get in the way anyway,” he says dryly, and then eyes me over the rim of his glass. “Kate … look, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I wouldn’t be doing my due diligence as the love of your life if I didn’t, so I’m just going to put it out there.”
“Okay.”
“Bear in mind … when Joseph King was killed, you lost a big part of your childhood. We see things differently when we’re young. We see people differently.”
“I’m aware,” I say.
“Maybe your opinion of him is skewed because of your past with him. Because he was a big part of your life and you cared about him.”
“Tomasetti, it’s been a long time since I was thirteen years old. I’m a cop and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a handle on any bias I might be experiencing.”
“I guess that means you’re not going to let me talk you out of this.”
I take my time answering, knowing it’s important to get the words right. “Five children are going to grow up without their parents; they’re going to grow up believing their father murdered their mother. I think there’s a good possibility someone out there got away with murder.”
“Will you do me a favor?”
“If I can.”
“If you have to walk into the lion’s den, watch your back, especially around Crowder.”
“I will. He wasn’t exactly subtle about his opinion of me.”
“Or King.”
We fall silent, both of us caught up in our thoughts.
“I wish I could let this go,” I tell him. “I wish I could walk away and forget about it. Tomasetti, I can’t.”
“If you did, you wouldn’t be you and I probably wouldn’t love you as much as I do.”
I nearly choke on my wine. “I think that’s the corniest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“You could be right.”
“But it’s working.”
He grins. “Maybe you should set down that glass.”
I do. “Turn off the stove.”
Dinner forgotten, I pull him to his feet. He takes me into his arms and presses his mouth to mine.
CHAPTER 17
There are certain moments in which time stands still. Moments when every emotion, every physical sensation—the breeze on your face, the smell of fall foliage, or the refrain of a song on the radio—is imprinted on your mind and remains crystal clear through the decades.
The spring storms came with relentless fury the year I turned thirteen. Four days of driving, torrential rain filled the gullies and turned even the smallest streams into raging rivers the color of creamed coffee. Painters Creek swelled to three times its usual size, the swift water tearing hundred-year-old trees from the earth and sending them downstream.
One of our mama cows and her newborn calf went missing that third day. Daisy was everyone’s favorite—sweet and personable with a star the shape of Ohio on her forehead. Datt and Jacob spent the morning looking for her. I wasn’t allowed, which I took as a personal affront because it was me who’d cared for her since she was just a calf. I knew Daisy better than anyone; I knew her favorite grazing spots, and I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to her, or God forbid, her calf. And so while Mamm was busy scrubbing the upstairs bathtub, I pulled on my jacket and slipped out the back door to look for her.
Daisy preferred to graze in the low area near the creek where the grass was lush and green and she had plenty of shade on sunny days, so that’s where I began. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes when I caught my first glimpse of the creek. It had transformed from a meandering stream to a raging brown torrent that cut into the bank and tore around the trees like a writhing, churning serpent.
I’d only walked along the bank a couple of hundred yards when over the roar, I heard Daisy bawling. I could tell by the pitch that she was scared. I ran toward the sound, which seemed to be coming from somewhere downstream. I knew about the dangers of high water. Instead of getting closer to the creek, I headed toward the high area we called “the cliffs,” where I would have a clear view and hopefully pinpoint her location.
I plowed through saplings and bramble, the stickers from the raspberry bushes tearing at my face and clothes. Finally, I was standing on the edge of the cliff, a place where the water had carved out a muddy cave right beneath me. Thirty feet down, the tops of the saplings swayed as brown water swirled past.
“Daisy!” I cupped my hands over my mouth. “Daisy!”
Through the saplings, I caught a glimpse of movement. The black and white of the cow’s coat. Squinting, I sidled closer to the edge of the cliff, and I got my first good look at her. Daisy and her calf were standing on a small rise surrounded by fast-moving water. Usually, the sandbar-like rise is an extension of the bank. The flooding had turned it into an island that was quickly being consumed by swift water. Both cow and calf were in danger of being swept away.
It hadn’t occurred to me to bring Daisy’s halter or even a rope. I had no way to get across the water. No way to reach her.
“Datt!” I looked around, but there was no one in sight. “Jacob! I found them!”
The next thing I knew the ground collapsed beneath my feet. One moment I was standing on the edge of the cliff in knee-high grass, the next it crumbled beneath me. I made a wild grab for solid ground, but I wasn’t quick enough. Dirt and grass flew at my face as I tumbled down the cliffside. Mud found its way into my mouth and eyes. Sapling trees punched me, their spindly branches tearing at my clothes and kapp. Then I plunged into the churning, ice-cold water, stinking of mud and fish and rotting foliage. My knee scraped the gravel bottom. The world went silent. Water in my eyes and ears and nose.
The current tumbled me end over end. Cold fists punching. I inhaled water and began to choke. Panic jetted through me. I kicked and my face broke the surface. I caught a glimpse of treetops and sky. A tree slammed into my shoulder, spun me around. Something scraped my leg. A tree root protruding from the bank banged into me. I grabbed for it, but the current ripped it from my grasp.
My feet lost purchase as I entered deeper water. A hard rush of panic clutched at me.
“Katie!”
I looked up, water streaming into my eyes. I couldn’t believe it when I saw Joseph King running along the bank, arms pumping, eyes on me. He hurdled a fallen trunk. Hands tearing through brush.
“Swim to the bank!” he shouted. “Go with the current! Don’t fight it! Let it carry you!”
I barely heard him over the roar of water. I floundered, my dress tangling around my legs, catching on submerged branches and roots. Water washed over my face. I sucked in a mouthful, choked it out. The current dragged me over a rock, knocking hard against my shin.
Please God. I don’t want to drown.
I clawed toward the bank. I lost sight of Joseph.
“Here!”
I looked over my shoulder. He was just a few feet away, standing in water to his waist, hand outstretched. “Come on! Swim! You’re a fish, remember?”
His name tore from my throat. “I can’t!” But I did. I swam as I’d never swum before, kicking, kicking.
Then my hand was in his. Fingers grasping my arm, strong and warm and safe. “I got you.”
He hauled me from the water, my knees and the tops of my feet scraping gravel and rock. He tripped over a large rock and landed on his behind. The water tried to take me again, but I crawled toward him, grabbed on to his pants leg. I lay there, facedown in the gravel and rocks, choking and gagging and trying not to cry.
I wake with a start, the smell of creek water and mud in my nostrils. The warmth of Joseph’s hand closing over mine. The knowledge that I’m not going to drown warming me from the inside out.
?
??Kate. Hey. Wake up.”
I open my eyes to see Tomasetti gazing down at me. “You okay?”
I push myself to a sitting position, shove the hair from my eyes, half expecting it to be wet, and I try to get my bearings. It’s still dark outside. I glance at the alarm clock to see it’s not yet five A.M.
“Sorry I woke you,” I say, but my voice is hoarse.
“Must have been a bad one.”
“It was … vivid.”
The back of my neck and my T-shirt are damp with sweat. I’m still breathing hard, so I make an effort to dial it down. When I let out a breath, it shudders. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Stop apologizing.”
I toss him a smile, grateful he’s there. “Yes, sir.”
He scoots back, props himself against the headboard. “You want to talk?”
Taking a fortifying breath, I relay the events of that long-ago day. “I hadn’t thought of it in years. Looking back as an adult, I honestly don’t know if I would have made it out of that creek if it hadn’t been for Joseph.”
“He saved your life?”
“I think so. But … we were so young … we didn’t know anything. Tomasetti, we didn’t know what a momentous act it was. We didn’t realize it was a big deal. We didn’t even tell anyone it had happened.” I laugh. “I think we were more worried about the cow and calf.”
“Did you get them out?”
“We did.”
“So it had a happy ending.”
Smiling, I snuggle against him and my nerves begin to smooth out. I set my head against his shoulder and listen to the slow and steady thrum of his heartbeat.
“Just so you know,” he says after a moment, “my opinion of Joseph King just went up a couple of notches.”
Even though I’m still shaken from the dream, I chuckle. “That’s something.”
Leaning closer, he kisses my temple. “I’m sorry for what happened, Kate. I know you cared for him. I know it hurts that things played out the way they did.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
“If it’s any consolation, I believe Ryan and Scanlon did the best they could.”