Hannah got out of the car, and her gaze swept the house. “It’s charming.” She sounded surprised.
“I’ll let you in.” He opened the gate to the picket fence and walked to the door, which he unlocked and pushed open. “After you.” The women stepped past him into the foyer. He’d just cleaned it on his day off in hopes of renting it, and he could still smell the Lysol in the air. “Where’s your luggage?”
“At my aunt’s.”
“I’ll go get it for you. I don’t want Reece following you here.” His mind still raced about how to hide Caitlin now that he knew Hannah was looking for her. And what was Reece’s game? By now Reece knew where his sister lived. At least she lived with a sheriff’s detective.
“Oh, my cats are there too.” Hannah bit her lip. “I—I should probably go back there instead.”
“Cats? I hate cats.” The thought of the sneaky creatures strolling through his house made him wince. “Can’t your aunt keep them for you while you stay here?”
“She just lost her son. I don’t want her to have to worry about them. I need them with me. It will take Reece a while to figure out where we are.”
“If he’s as guilty as you say he is, he might have been the one to throw the Molotov cocktail through the window. Just how many of them are there?”
“Four.”
At least she had the grace to look a bit ashamed. “You have plenty of litter? And food?”
“Yes, I brought all their things with me. The stuff is at my aunt’s too.”
Now that he looked a little closer, he saw that her eyes were almost catlike. The golden brown color and the almond shape reminded him of a tabby’s eyes. As he’d often told Caitlin. He shoved the thought away. “I’ll go get the felines. They can stay here.”
“Are you sure? Will Ajax be okay with them?”
Ajax looked up at the mention of his name and came to sit at Matt’s feet. “I’ll leave him here for now. Anyway, Ajax loves cats. It’s his one flaw.”
She smiled then, and he thought she should do it more often. The flash of white teeth and the light in her eyes made him smile back in spite of the way he wished he could boot out the felines.
“Maybe I should go with you. They’ll be out of sorts in a strange place without me around.”
He knew the feeling. Leaving the two women in his house made him want to stalk around and swish his tail too—if he had one. “I can handle it. I don’t want him watching your aunt’s house and following you back here.”
He stopped to get Blake to help, then drove out to the Honeggers’. Buggies still lined the road and the driveway. “I wish we had something new to tell Mrs. Honegger,” he told Blake as he parked and got out. He nodded to several Amish men sitting around smoking on the front porch. Another woman came to the door when he knocked, then Mrs. Honegger pushed through the crowd to step out onto the porch with him and Blake.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“I apologize we don’t have any news yet, ma’am.”
“We wait on the Lord’s will, son.”
“We plan to see justice done, Mrs. Honegger. I’ll track down the killer.”
“When you do, let me know. I need to go to his family.”
Did she plan a tongue-lashing? “Why do you want to see his family, ma’am?”
“I will accept this from the Lord’s hand, young man. I’ve already forgiven the one who did this, and I want to comfort his family.”
Matt didn’t understand how she could be so calm and accepting of what had happened, but her attitude intrigued him. “I’m here for another reason. Your niece and her friend were followed today by Reece O’Connor. And someone tried to run Hannah down in the buggy on her way to the grave site. I’m having them stay at a home close to the sheriff’s station.”
Mrs. Honegger put her hand to her mouth. “Hannah! Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. She escaped without incident.”
“Oh dear. I need to talk to Hannah, explain what’s happening.” The woman literally wrung her hands. “I should never have sent her the picture.”
“Tell me, do you know who threw the explosive through your window?”
She looked up at him, her brow smoothing. “I’ll talk to Hannah. It’s not your concern. It’s a family matter.”
“If you know something, it’s your duty to tell me.”
“I’ll talk to Hannah only.”
He scribbled down the address and phone number where Hannah was staying. “Here’s her contact information. Don’t wait too long. I believe she’s in danger.” He pressed it into her hand. “I’m here to get her luggage and cats.”
Relief flooded her face. “They’ve dug up my flower bed trying to get some poor chipmunk.”
“You let them outside?” He had a vision of trying to corral four cats. It wasn’t pretty.
“I had no choice. They stood at the door and meowed until I wanted to cry.” She stepped through the door, and he followed. “Their carriers are on the back porch.”
He saw them stacked in the corner. “I’ll get them.” He grabbed two. Might as well get started. One black cat with white paws sat licking its paws in the flower bed. He approached with caution. “Hey there, kitty.” The animal looked up with obvious disdain in its green eyes. Matt set the animal containers on the ground and opened the doors. “Want to go see Hannah?” He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. Like the dumb things could understand.
To his surprise, the feline gave one last lick, then calmly walked into the closest cage and curled into a ball. He clicked the door into place before the cat could change its mind. Glancing around, he spied a white cat under a blooming crabapple tree. He scooped up the second carrier and walked toward the cat. The animal scampered away and leaped onto a branch about face high, where it hunkered down among the white blossoms that gave off a sweet scent.
He set the cage down, then scooped up the cat. It meowed and squirmed, but he managed to stuff it inside and get the gate closed. When he turned around, Blake came toward him with the other carriers.
“I’ve got them,” he said.
Matt caught a glimpse of a calico face and a ginger tabby. At least he didn’t have to chase them down. Once they loaded the cats and the girls’ luggage in the SUV, he nodded toward the woods. “Let’s take another look around while we’re here.” He ran the windows down and headed out back.
The crime scene tape still marked off the area in the clearing. He ducked under it and glanced at the spot where they’d found the body. The technicians would have gone over that area with a fine-tooth comb. But maybe something else was here. Birds scolded from overhead as the men picked their way through the underbrush.
He caught a glimpse of movement between the leaves. “Hey!” he yelled.
A man’s face peered through the foliage. Ruddy cheeks bloomed above his black beard laced with gray. Matt guessed him to be about forty. Dressed in jeans and a bright red shirt to alert hunters to his presence, he stepped from the concealing bushes and came toward them with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a GPS unit in the other. A woman about the same age followed. Her jeans had muddy patches on the knees, and she wore a red long-sleeved blouse. Her long hair, streaked with white, held twigs and leaves. A plethora of patches covered their vests.
Once he got nearer, Matt recognized the man as the geocacher who’d found Moe’s body. Kevin Brainerd.
“Is there a problem, Detective?” Kevin asked. He stood with his feet planted apart.
“You live near here?” Matt asked.
Kevin shook his head. “Me and my wife”—he thrust a thumb at the woman—“we got a place on the other side of the county.”
“I’m surprised you’re back over here considering what you found the other day.”
Kevin shifted and glanced at his wife. “With all the hoopla, we never found the cache we were looking for.”
“Did you know the victim?” Matt asked.
Another quick glance at his wife. “W
ell, we bought vegetables from his mom every summer, and we talked to him occasionally.”
“Find your cache this time?”
Kevin smiled then. “Yep. A nice assortment of coins and DVDs. We took a coin and left a shirt patch.” He pointed to a patch on the shoulder of his shirt. “Had them specially made.”
“All right, then, stay clear of the taped-off area.”
“Yes, sir.” The two headed north, away from the meadow.
Matt turned to Blake. “If they found the cache, what are they still doing here?”
TWELVE
“The Postage Stamp Quilt is a beautiful example of intricate work. And you might be surprised to know that many Amish love to travel. They hire drivers to take them on vacation. They refuse to fly and will only travel by boat, train, or automobile.”
—HANNAH SCHWARTZ,
IN The Amish Faith Through Their Quilts
Reece stalked the roadside, kicking at dandelion blossoms and other blooming wildflowers. All he wanted to do was talk to Hannah, but she thwarted him at every turn. She never even gave him a chance to say he was sorry.
The kid was the key. He knew his wife, and she’d do anything for a child.
Her gentle nature had attracted him, but once he’d married her, he’d found her tough as shoe leather under that sweet smile. She had a way of defying him that most people wouldn’t notice because of its subtlety. Who would have thought she could have hidden herself away from him so completely for five years? She had to have had help.
But now he’d found her. He’d been so lonely without her. No one else looked at him with stars in her eyes. No one else turned to him for love and protection. She’d always made him a bigger man than he was. He wanted her to love him completely again. It was her duty anyway. The minute he’d met Hannah, he’d known she was the missing piece of his soul. If anyone could understand the demons that sometimes took him, it was her. She’d disappointed him, though. Sorely. But things would be all right again. He could explain, make her see he was only thinking of her and of their marriage.
He turned his thoughts back to the kid. Maybe they really could be a family. His head filled with notions of throwing a baseball on Saturday afternoons and taking her for ice cream. Fatherhood might not be so bad. They’d be the perfect little family. But he’d have to make sure this was the only kid. No more. He couldn’t handle a bunch of screaming brats.
Hannah hadn’t believed that he’d joined the Amish church. He really was trying. Their religion was a bunch of mumbo-jumbo to him, but at least he was giving it an effort. She should give him credit for making the attempt.
THE SMALL HOUSE radiated cleanliness. Hannah wondered about that. Most guys didn’t notice things like the soap dishes at the sink, but Matt’s were spotless. Did he have a cleaning service that kept this place up even when it wasn’t rented?
When she went back to the living room, Angie was stretched out on the sofa with her shoes off. Ajax lay beside her, his face a picture of contentment as she stroked his ears. Hannah dropped into the oversized chair and propped her feet on the ottoman.
“Nice place Mr. Detective Man has,” Angie said. “Fully furnished too. Wonder why he has a rental?”
“It’s pretty,” Hannah agreed. “It’s definitely a man’s place, though. The furniture is oversized and a little big for this room. No pictures on the walls. Nothing on the tables but lamps.”
Angie chuckled. “A woman’s touch would change that. Still, it’s nice. And everything is so organized in the kitchen.”
Hannah heard the sound of a vehicle, then a dog barking. Ajax’s ears perked, and he got off the couch and stretched before padding to the door. “I think he’s back.” She went to the door just as it opened.
Matt entered, lugging two cat carriers. His partner came behind him with two more. All four cats hissed when the dog barked. “It’s going to be a zoo,” he said, setting the carriers down on the tile floor in the entry. He appeared tense, and irritation hunkered in his eyes. “Have I mentioned that I hate cats?”
“Is that right?” It was all Hannah could do to keep a straight face. She knelt before the first carrier and opened the door. With a yowl, Spooky rushed out. Every hair on end, the black cat leaped over Ajax, who was crouched down peering into the cage. The outraged feline disappeared under the sofa.
“He won’t come out for hours,” Hannah said. “Maybe I’d better take the rest of them to the bedroom and let them out.” She lifted the carrier containing Marmalade and started down the hall. Matt followed with the other two carriers. “Thanks for getting them for me,” she told him.
He grunted in response, and her smiled vanished. “Look, I know it’s a trial to you. I’m sorry. You want us to go to a hotel or back to Aunt Nora’s?”
“No, you stay here. It’s just that I hate cats.”
“I think I heard that somewhere.” She smiled. When he didn’t respond, she gave a mental shrug. “Why do you have a rental anyway?”
“It was my first house. I got too good a deal to throw it away, so I’ve rented it out, and it’s paid off now. A good investment.”
“It’s a nice place. But I really don’t mind staying with Aunt Nora.” Hannah was dying to find out what her aunt knew, but she wanted to give Nora at least a day of grieving space. “Maybe we can go back in a day or so.”
“She said something about needing to tell you what’s been going on. But what’s her role in this?”
It was a piece that didn’t fit. “I wish I knew. Reece sent her the picture of the girl, and she mailed it on to me. Maybe he called her or something. Maybe he threatened her. Like you said, maybe he threw the Molotov cocktail in the window and she knows he did and why.”
He set the two carriers on the floor and opened them before answering. The cats poked their noses into the room before stepping daintily out onto the carpet. “I’m frustrated,” he said. “I’ve got no real direction on this murder. The guy who found the body was back at the scene today. I’ll follow that and see where it goes, but there’s no obvious motive.” He glanced at her. “I shouldn’t be saying anything about the case, but you’re easy to talk to.”
The warmth in his gaze brought heat to her cheeks. “Here I thought you hated me.”
“I’d like to,” he said softly.
The heat in her face kicked up a notch, and she looked away from the interest in his gaze. “About the murder. Maybe it’s a case of prejudice. The day I met Reece, some kids were throwing rotten tomatoes at me. He chased them off and took me for a soda.” If only she’d known then that his rescuer persona hid a controlling personality as well.
Matt stashed the carriers in the depths of the closet and backed out. “It’s possible. But murder is a far cry from pranks.” His tone went back to impersonal.
“Arson isn’t a prank,” she pointed out. “Remember those fires that took place before Mamm and Datt died? When you’re a farmer, that’s your livelihood.”
They walked to the living room. The back door was open, and Hannah could see Angie outside throwing a stick to Ajax.
“Did they ever figure out who was behind the rash of attacks?” he asked.
“No. This was about a year before my family was murdered. Before you got on at the sheriff’s department.”
“I’ll check out the old records. Maybe there will be a lead.”
She gestured to the couch, then curled up in the chair. “Have you reopened the investigation on my family?”
“It was never closed—it just went cold. But yeah, I’m trying to look for similarities. I always thought Long had to have an accomplice.” Her lips pressed together, and he knew who she thought that person had to be. “Tell me again about that night.”
“Reece was late that night. So late that I was attacked in the bridge.”
His head jerked up. “I never heard about that. What happened?”
“He got there in time to run them off.” A slight smile lifted her lips. “Always the rescuer.” She wanted to tell
Matt her suspicions about Reece, but maybe it was anger and bitterness, not truth, that made her wonder if Reece could have been her parents’ killer. The more she’d thought about it over the years, the more convinced she’d become.
She eyed Matt. Would he even believe her? “I’ve wondered if Reece had something to do with the murders. Especially after he began to demonstrate his violent side.”
“Long was seen making the cookies,” Matt said.
“What about the symbol on the wall and the quilt?”
“What about it?”
“How did that relate to Cyrus? And what was his motive?”
He shrugged, but uneasiness flickered in his eyes. “I don’t know. We never found a motive or a connection to the peace symbol.”
“Well, I researched it. Wait here a minute.” She got up and went to the bedroom, where she dragged out the folder she’d kept all these years. When she got back to the living room, she opened it and flipped through it. “Here. I found the symbol and the Greek word. The word was anathema.”
“Anathema. Weird word. What’s it mean?”
She knew what it meant firsthand, but she kept her tone cool and clinical, though it took major effort. “It’s a person or thing cursed and devoted to destruction. It can also be a formal ecclesiastical curse involving excommunication. Early on, the Catholic Church adopted the word anathema to signify the exclusion of a sinner from the society of the faithful, but it was pronounced mostly against heretics. And it can mean something that is completely destroyed for the glory of God. I think it’s someone who hates the Amish.”
“And the peace symbol?”
At least he was listening. She flipped to another page and pointed to the symbol. “It’s a peace symbol, like you said. But it’s also called Nero’s Cross. In this case, I think it’s meant as a warning to Christians. Nero used it to symbolize the destruction of Christianity. I think the killer meant it as a warning to exterminate my family.”
His eyes widened. “You mean the symbol we use for peace began as a hate symbol against Christianity?”
She nodded. “It was a visual representation of the way Nero crucified Christians upside down.”