They’d reached the crest of the mountain and had begun the steep descent on the far side. The brakes on the motor home ahead of them were grinding. Traffic was backing up behind Evan and Rachel because this was a no-passing area for the next several miles.
“How about scuba-diving lessons?” Evan suggested. “It’s something neither of us have done before. I’ve read that you really can’t appreciate the beauty of the island without seeing the fish and . . .”
Rachel knew she should be paying attention to Evan, but she kept thinking of the expression on Moses’s face when he’d said that he’d shot Daniel. He’d sounded desperate, but, to her, he hadn’t sounded guilty . . . at least not guilty of murder. A hunting accident was probably the most logical answer, but if so, why not explain it that way? And it bugged her that she didn’t know why the authorities were so certain that Daniel hadn’t killed himself. Suicide wasn’t unknown among the Plain people, although it was abhorrent to their beliefs. Of course, Daniel could have been depressed or mentally ill. Why did the investigation point to—
Abruptly, Evan’s tone jerked her out of her thoughts.
“Rachel? Are you listening to me?”
“I’m sorry.” She struggled to remember what he’d been saying. “You wanted to know if I think we should take scuba lessons?” She glanced around, realized that they’d moved onto a larger road, and that the annoying RV was nowhere to be seen.
“We moved on from that. I was telling you about this evening cruise I’ve made reservations for. A sailing ship. Dinner on the boat. It’s supposed to be very romantic, couples only. I think we get free champagne because we’ll be newlyweds.”
She wasn’t much for champagne or any sort of alcoholic beverage; the Amish didn’t drink. Against Evan’s mother’s protests, there would be no champagne toast at the wedding reception. She smiled anyway. “It sounds great.”
“But not great enough to hold your interest.”
“No, really,” she insisted. “It will be the trip of a lifetime. I’m looking forward to it.”
“I hope so,” he said. “I want it to be special for you. For both of us.”
“And it will be,” she promised. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to zone out. I don’t want to mess this up for Moses.” She offered Evan an apologetic smile. “I’ll feel better after I talk to him.”
“And then, that will be the end of it?”
“Definitely,” she said. “Well . . . probably.”
* * *
The room was small and windowless, no more than eight by eight, the walls painted institution gray to match the cement floor. There was one table, secured to the floor, and two plastic chairs that had seen better days, also immovable. Beneath the table, on the floor, was a metal ring; there was another attached to the table. The rings, she suspected, were to secure wrist and ankle cuffs of violent or dangerous inmates. No pictures on the walls, not even any graffiti. The décor was definitely lacking in charm. She’d seen more style in Amish outhouses.
It was warm in the tiny room, despite the cool temperatures outside the prison. It smelled of disinfectant and hospital floor wax. Rachel wondered how long they’d been waiting. Fifteen minutes? Thirty? She’d left her cell phone in the SUV and never wore a watch. Evan had come in with her, but now he was outside in the hall speaking with one of the guards. She hated prisons. Hated them. The sound of metal doors closing behind her always gave her the creeps. It was such a sad sound.
Rachel thought about what would have happened if something had kept her from meeting with Moses Studer. If she were forbidden to talk with him, what would she say to his mother? She couldn’t imagine a young man who was used to fresh air and quiet being imprisoned in this gloomy tomb with all the other inmates. Unable to sit still, she rose from the chair and began to pace. She hated being cooped up in tight places, without a window . . . without being able to see the sky. The air seemed stagnant, and she was conscious of the sound of her own breathing.
How long would they have to wait?
She paced the room, from one side to the other, five more times, and then at last, the door opened and Moses walked in. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit and looked as out of place here as a live lamb in a supermarket. Fortunately, he was not in handcuffs or ankle chains.
Evan peered in. “Make it short,” he said before the door closed behind Moses. “We’ve got to be out of here in twenty minutes.”
She nodded and motioned to the table and chairs. Moses sat down and she took the seat across from him. He appeared frightened and didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. He stared down at them, then hung them at his sides. By the time she’d straightened in her chair, Moses had laid his hands flat on the table, flexed them, and dropped them limply into his lap.
“Hello, Moses,” she said. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—”
“I know who you are,” he said, reverting to Deitsch.
He didn’t make eye contact with her, which was a little awkward in such a small room.
“I’m not stupid,” he added.
Rebuffed, Rachel took a deep breath and tried again. “Your mother sent me.”
He didn’t respond, just stared down at his hands. His thin lips were drawn tight.
She’d never known an Amish person with Asperger’s, but she’d worked with a brilliant accountant, Travis Crane, who never looked at anyone directly, and he was straightforward to the point of rudeness. As she remembered, Travis was socially awkward in much the same way as Moses seemed to be. Everyone in the office had said Travis had
