“That’s why we questioned Baker. The detectives, not me. Because the death happened on his land.”
“Why do you think that Alma and Mary Rose would say it was their farm?” Rachel asked.
“Maybe they didn’t know. I doubt if they came up here. It’s quite a hike, and steeper coming from the direction of the farmhouse. People say all kinds of things, especially during times of stress. It doesn’t necessarily mean she was intending to lie to you.”
Rachel followed him a few hundred feet farther up the slope to the spot he chose for their picnic. “This is lovely,” she said, turning around to take it all in. A trickle of spring water bubbled through a crack in the remains of an old stone wall, creating an enchanting spot under a grove of oak and hemlock trees. Instead of weeds and dried grass, the ground was carpeted in thick, velvety moss that cushioned their steps. “Beautiful,” she murmured.
Evan spread the blanket on the moss. Rachel knelt on it and opened the top of the wicker basket. The smells that drifted up were wonderful. “Fried chicken and peach hand pies,” she said, closing her eyes and sniffing the delicious aromas. “Deviled eggs and pickles and—I don’t remember what else.”
“Cheese,” Evan supplied, holding it up. “Sharp cheddar. Made in Belleville.”
Rachel chuckled, opened her eyes, and began to remove dishes, forks, and spoons. Ada had even tucked in a small jug of sweet cider. “She thinks of everything.”
“Ada is a treasure, but she’s twice as fussy as my mother.”
“Maybe not twice as fussy,” Rachel teased. “But she can be difficult.”
“You’re telling me. I’m a little scared about moving in with you after the wedding,” Evan admitted.
She laughed. “It’s going to be fine.”
He glanced uphill and pointed again. “Up there. See the tree with the crows sitting in the top branch? That’s the deer stand where Daniel Fisher was murdered.”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t show me until after we finished eating,” she teased.
“I know you. You won’t be able to enjoy your lunch unless I give in a little.”
“You’re really very sweet, Evan Parks.”
“And you are a woman who always manages to get your own way.”
Rachel shook her head. “Not always.” She hesitated. “I do have a question.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Be serious, Evan. Daniel’s death, first thought to be an accident, is now a murder. But you’ve never told me why.”
“Why what?”
“Why the police are so certain that Daniel was murdered. If he was hunting from a deer stand, isn’t it possible that he accidentally dropped his shotgun and it went off?”
“Two bullet wounds.”
“Right. He was probably hunting with a double-barreled shotgun like most Amish in this valley. He fell and both barrels went off.”
“Nope,” Evan said firmly. “That’s definitely not what happened. Mr. Fisher was struck twice with twelve-gauge deer slugs, both wounds being potentially fatal, but those shots didn’t come from his weapon. Ballistics proved that. Secondly, the two shots were fired from different angles. Whoever killed him shot him once, probably knocked him out of the stand, and then put a second slug into him.”
The enormity of that information took a few seconds to sink in. Rachel took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?” she asked softly.
“Because it was confidential, information not meant for the general public. At least not at the time.”
“And you feel comfortable sharing it with me?” she asked. Evan usually talked to her about his job, but he’d never given her inside information before without her really, really pressing him. And then he never broke the law, just walked very close to the line.
“May as well. Some idiot leaked the medical examiner’s report to a reporter. It’ll be on the local nightly news and probably in the papers by Monday.” He held up his finger. “You’re not to breathe a word until it comes out.”
“I won’t.” She shivered, despite the warmth of her fleece-lined ski jacket. She couldn’t believe someone had been callous enough to shoot Daniel, and then, as he lay bleeding, shoot him a second time. “What kind of person would do such a thing?” Rachel murmured, trying to imagine Moses Studer aiming a shotgun at his dying brother-in-law and pulling the trigger again. It wasn’t possible. Asperger’s or not, Moses wasn’t a murderer.
“Let’s not think about all that now.” Evan offered her a saltshaker to season her chicken leg. “We don’t get that much time alone. Let’s talk about something fun. I booked a kayak eco tour. Lunch on a deserted beach is included.”
“I just keep thinking that there’s something I haven’t found out about yet,” Rachel said, barely hearing him. She gestured toward him with her drumstick. “Something the detectives haven’t discovered yet, something that will make them realize Moses couldn’t have done it.”
“Not much chance of that.”
“Why not?”
“Because the investigation is over. The district attorney has a confession. As far as he’s concerned, Moses Studer confessed, and that makes him guilty. The case is closed.”
“But why?” Rachel asked. “What if later down the road they find out that Moses didn’t do it? Where will their case be then?”
Evan sighed. “It’s about money, hon. The state has only so many resources and a lot of cases to bring to trial. Cases where the answers aren’t clear-cut. It’s not the best scenario, because you’re right, years down the road, we sometimes find out we’ve put the wrong man or woman in jail. But it’s how our system works. Unless DNA turns up or someone else confesses, your Moses Studer is going to be convicted for this crime. And there’s little you can do about this.”
“I can’t accept that.”
“Rachel, you can’t solve the world’s problems. Can’t you let this go?”
She met his gaze. “Maybe . . . I think so . . . just not quite yet.”
Chapter 11
Alma was standing at the
