Some, including his friend and fellow officer Lucy Mars, considered what he’d done to be career suicide, but Rachel hadn’t. She realized that it was important to Evan that he serve where he felt most needed and the most comfortable. He’d been a good detective, but his heart wasn’t in it, and she’d seen more of the old Evan since he’d returned to the work he loved. She knew a little something about making choices that didn’t seem completely rational, and she’d decided long ago that peace of mind meant more than a higher income or more prestige.
“I need you to help me speak to the family,” Evan said, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Actually, Detective Sharpe will be providing the information. He’s the one who took over my old position, but he’s from Philadelphia. He hasn’t had any experience with the Amish community—knows nothing about them. Sharpe asked for me to be there when he speaks with the immediate family, and I want you as well. Will you help me?”
Rachel grimaced. Since she’d returned to Stone Mill, she’d often found herself acting as a go-between when the Englisher police needed to communicate with the Amish. The Plain community was a closed one to the modern society. Keep apart from the world was the motto they lived by. They didn’t like or trust Englishers. And they didn’t like Englisher police in particular. Amish who didn’t want to cooperate with law enforcement or with state or national officials could suddenly lose their ability to speak or comprehend English. A violent confrontation with authority in the old country two hundred years before had taught them caution and suspicion. They didn’t always trust her because she’d left the order, but at least she understood their ways.
“Please, Rachel. This will go easier if you’ll help us out,” he urged.
“What can I do?” She looked at him and shrugged. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Just be there in the room. These people trust you. The family will know we mean them no harm if you’re there to reassure them.”
“Okay. Sure. I’ll do what I can,” she promised. “But why does the medical examiner think Daniel’s death wasn’t an accident? It’s not unheard of. A hunter drops his gun or catches the trigger on a branch and shoots himself. Remember John Knepp up the valley? His rifle went off when he was crawling under a fence. One blast, and it was over. Why not Daniel? What makes them think he was murdered?”
He glanced over her head, one hand on his wide leather gun belt. “I can’t discuss details, but they’re sure someone else killed him.”
“But maybe it was still an accident, even if Daniel didn’t do it himself. There are always hunters in the woods during hunting season. Someone might have accidentally shot him and never known it.” Of course, there had been cases of the Amish murdering, but not like this. The Amish were a peaceful people; besides, everyone had liked Daniel Fisher. Who could have possibly had a big enough problem with him to shoot and kill him?
Evan’s features softened. “It would be best you heard this from Detective Sharpe. I, he,” Evan corrected, “needs the immediate family. Just Mrs. Mary Rose Fisher, the mother-in-law. . . what’s her name?”
“Alma. Alma Studer.”
“Mrs. Studer, and Mrs. Fisher’s two brothers, Moses . . .” Evan paused. “He’s what, early twenties?”
“Twenty-four. At least that’s what I heard someone say at the funeral,” Rachel confirmed.
“And . . . Lemuel, isn’t it?”
“Ya, Lemuel is the younger. But he’s a child,” she reasoned. “Thirteen . . . fourteen at the most. Is it necessary to include him? This has to be so confusing for him. Amish kids aren’t like the English. Lemuel’s probably never seen television, and he certainly hasn’t seen any violent movies or any cartoon superheroes. My people shelter their children from violence.”
Evan shook his head. “Detective Sharpe was clear. He needs to speak to everyone who lives in the household.”
“I don’t understand, then. Moses doesn’t live at home. He has a job at the mill, and he lives there. Apparently, he’s doing so well that the miller is considering apprenticing him. My aunt said that Daniel got the job for him.”
Evan considered what she’d told him. “Maybe I misspoke. Maybe Detective Sharpe didn’t say anyone who actually lives in the home.” He exhaled. “Moses needs to be there.”
“Does it have to be today?” Rachel pressed her hand to her forehead, fearing she had a headache coming on. Her migraines were coming on more frequently and she wasn’t sure why. She didn’t think she was stressed, planning the wedding, but maybe she was. Something like this happening in the community was certainly stressful. “Mary Rose just buried her husband, Evan. Surely you could give her a day or two?”
“Rachel, this wasn’t my idea, and it’s not my case. I’m only trying to make things easier for everyone concerned.” A static sound came over the radio attached to his uniform. A voice. He ignored it. “And the sooner the investigation starts, the sooner we’ll find out who killed Daniel. Maybe it was someone he knew, maybe not. But if it was a random murder, then others are at risk.” The radio came on again. He tapped it and it went silent. “This isn’t my call or yours. There are procedures, and Detective Sharpe is the one who decides when and where to start. Either he can speak to the family here and now, or he could insist they all come down to the troop. I thought that having you here, it would be easier on the family. Translate for them if they’re not following. Is it possible for you
