Rachel repeated what he said in Deitsch, but didn’t repeat it in English because now she was just translating directly.
Sharpe studied the family and then looked to Evan. “Do they understand English?” he asked. “Is it necessary for Ms. Mast to translate?”
Mary Rose, her brothers, and mother made no response. Sharpe might have just announced the weather report.
“They understand what you’re saying,” Rachel said. “They’d just prefer hearing the information in Deitsch. You’re going to get more information out of them, if they have any information, if you let me ask the questions.”
Sharpe turned his attention to her, looking her up and down. “I thought you were here as a translator.”
“More of a cultural translator,” she supplied.
Sharpe grunted and Rachel thought to herself that while he might be an excellent detective, he had all the personality of a rusty hammer. He seemed to be regarding her and Daniel’s family as if they were aliens from Mars. Her first inclination was toward resentment, but then she reconsidered. She had a tendency to make quick judgments of people sometimes, too. It was human nature. Maybe if she gave Detective Sharpe a little time, he’d prove himself competent.
“You must have questions,” Sharpe said.
Rachel looked at him. “What makes you think Daniel was shot by someone else? I assume it was something in the autopsy report.”
Sharpe looked at Rachel, then Evan.
“Rachel,” Evan said quietly.
“What? How can they have any questions if they haven’t been given any information?”
“Right now, I think we’re just fact finding. I think what Detective Sharpe is saying is that if they have any information that might help him find who did this, now would be the time to speak up.” Evan then pointed, indicating she should repeat the information to the family.
Rachel exhaled loudly, then spoke in Deitsch, repeating what Evan had just said.
Mary Rose tightened her grip on the baby and shook her head rapidly.
“No,” Rachel said in English. “She doesn’t.”
“What about her brothers?” Sharpe asked. “Either of them have anything to tell me? Anything I should know? Any questions?”
Lemuel shook his head. Moses said, “Ne,” in a barely audible voice.
“What did he say?” the detective asked.
“No,” Rachel translated. “He says, ‘No.’ ”
Sharpe looked from one impassive face to the other. “Mrs. Studer? Does anyone have anything to add? Any thoughts as to who might have a grudge against Daniel? Any physical confrontations? Heated arguments with a neighbor?”
Again, Rachel translated, even though she knew very well the family understood every word the detective had spoken.
Mary Rose shook her head. “Ne. Daniel . . . He . . .” She choked up and buried her face in the handkerchief again.
“Everyone liked him,” Alma said in Deitsch.
Rachel translated again, and the room went silent.
After a minute or two, Sharpe announced, “This meeting doesn’t seem very productive. I may need to speak with all or some of you later.” He stood. “My condolences. I’m sorry for your loss.” His delivery seemed rote and as unemotional as Moses’s face.
“Can we go?” Alma asked Rachel in Deitsch, her expression unreadable.
“She wants to know if they’re free to go,” Rachel repeated in English.
Detective Sharpe made his way out of the room and the house without commenting.
“That’s all for now,” Rachel said softly in Deitsch. Then Evan, Lucy, and Rachel followed Sharpe to his unmarked car, which he’d left locked and running.
“What do you make of that response, Trooper Mars?” Sharpe asked as he opened the driver’s door with a key. “Nobody seemed surprised. Did they know he’d been murdered?”
“I don’t think so, sir,” Lucy answered. “No matter how shocked they were, they wouldn’t have shared their surprise with us. I’ve seen similar reactions when dealing with the Amish. Some of these people are more isolated from our world than we realize. I imagine they were frightened.” She went around the car and got into the passenger’s side and fastened her seat belt.
“Or in shock,” Rachel suggested, although she had been troubled by the family’s response as well. She looked at the detective. “Trooper Mars is right. The Amish are a private people. They don’t demonstrate emotion in public, especially to outsiders. And they’re all grieving. Mary Rose just buried her husband this morning. And the suggestion that Daniel died from unnatural causes would be extremely upsetting to all of them. To all of us.”
“To the state of Pennsylvania,” Sharpe said, turning the heater on full blast. “Thank you, Ms. Mast.”
“Rachel. Please call me Rachel,” she replied, forcing a tight smile. “Especially in front of the Amish. They don’t approve of titles. I’d suggest that if you interview them, they’ll feel more at ease if you use first names rather than Mrs. or Mr.”
He glanced up at her, one hand on the steering wheel. “I’ve been with the Pennsylvania State Police seventeen years. I have my own code of conduct. Our procedures are done according to rules, not cult preferences.”
Rachel knew that her reaction to the word cult must have shown in her eyes because Evan gave her a quick look that contained a silent plea for forbearance.
“Trooper Parks,” Sharpe said, “I believe you have duties.” The detective closed the car door and drove out of the yard.
“Charming fellow,” Rachel quipped. She looked up at Evan, one hand on her hip. “Are you having second thoughts about surrendering your detective’s badge?”
“Not on your life,” Evan said. “This is the kind of case that I hate.”
“But you had a knack for getting to the truth.”
“Maybe you do,” he answered quietly. He met her gaze. “Now, you get in the house before you catch pneumonia. The detective is right, I need to get back on the road.”
Rachel pressed her lips together, hugging herself for warmth. “Do you really think Daniel was murdered?”
Evan considered. “There’s obviously evidence or Sharpe wouldn’t have come.”
“What evidence?”
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. The detective didn’t say when he asked me to
