Could it be possible that Mary Rose’s little brother, Lemuel, had murdered her husband? To protect her? To protect himself? To just make the physical abuse stop?
George had pointed out that often the killer was the person who claimed to have discovered the body. Lemuel had told her that he hadn’t been the one to find Daniel, and yet that’s exactly what the police report indicated. Had a mistake been made in the police report? Because the mistake wasn’t hers. She knew what Lemuel had said; he told her he didn’t know who found Daniel. Had he lied to her? Had Daniel been murdered by a fourteen-year-old boy? Because if Lemuel had killed Daniel, it all made perfect sense, Moses lying to cover for the person who had actually committed the crime. Especially knowing that his sister and little brother had been abused. Maybe he even feared for his mother and niece.
Rachel sighed and turned away from the window.
She couldn’t stand not knowing if Lemuel had lied to her, and she couldn’t face the hours of waiting until it was time to dress for the church. She couldn’t just sit here when so much was at stake.
Without considering the matter any further, Rachel pulled on jeans, a sweater, and a thermal vest, taking care not to muss her hair. She wouldn’t be long. She’d just sneak out the front door, bypassing the kitchen that soon would be a beehive of activity if it wasn’t already. She’d drive out to the Studer farm, speak to Lemuel, and be back before anyone realized she was gone. If the police report was wrong, that might make all the difference to Moses’s defense. And if it wasn’t . . . if it wasn’t, then Lemuel had some explaining to do.
Chapter 19
As she drove up the lane to the Studer house, Rachel spotted fresh horse and buggy tracks heading out. So maybe she’d wasted a trip; maybe Lemuel had gone somewhere with his family. She pulled into the yard to find it quiet. The only sign of life was smoke drifting from the kitchen chimney.
Glancing over at the buggy shed, she saw that one carriage was missing, but she wasn’t sure if it was Alma’s or Mary Rose’s. It was possible some of the family members were gone but others had stayed. It was worth knocking on the door to find out.
A dog barked when she got out of the Jeep, but she still didn’t see anyone. There was a stiff breeze coming off the mountain, funneling the wind between the barn and house. Fearing damage to her elaborate hairdo, Rachel patted the back of her head, hoping that Debbi had put in enough pins. She paused to inhale deeply again, enjoying the bracing mountain air with its smell of pine, hemlock, and cedar. It was a scent she never tired of, and one she’d missed terribly when she’d lived in the city.
Now that she was here, Rachel felt a little foolish, sneaking out of her house and driving up here on the morning of her wedding. Maybe Evan was right. Maybe she had become a little obsessed by this investigation. But a few more words with Lemuel and she was certain she could straighten out the mix-up, and then she could put all this behind her and enjoy her special day. She hated leaving dirty dishes in the sink, and she couldn’t abide untidy endings. If the police report was in error, she needed to find out the truth and see that Lemuel’s name was removed. And once it was all straightened out as to who actually found the body, maybe—
No. One way or the other, her investigation was ending here today. Now. Because today she was getting married and she and Evan were starting a new life together.
A shovel stood by the back door, and the sidewalk had been freshly scraped clean of snow. More snow was drifting down in big flakes, but Rachel didn’t think it would amount to much. The Weather Channel had said that they’d have less than an additional inch today, with more to come the following afternoon. And she and Evan were leaving early in the morning for the airport in Harrisburg, where they’d make their connecting flight in Philadelphia to the island of Provo in Turks and Caicos.
Rachel shivered in the icy wind, glad she’d put on her wool socks and flannel-lined jeans. It was hard to believe that in two days she’d be lying on a tropical beach, listening to the sound of ocean waves and seagulls. Lying on a beach, a married woman . . .
She knocked on the farmhouse door. When there was no answer, she tried again, knocking louder. She was about to turn away and go home, in resolute defeat, when she heard footsteps inside the house. The door opened a crack; Lemuel peered through. When he saw her, he didn’t seem surprised. She wondered if he’d been watching out a window.
“May I come in?” she asked. “I won’t keep you long.”
“Is my brother all right?”
“As far as I know, Moses is well.” There was no sense in telling a fourteen-year-old that his brother was depressed.
Lemuel frowned. “Did you come to see Mary Rose? She isn’t here.” He stood planted in the doorway, his thin frame blocking the entrance.
“Ne, actually, Lemuel, I came to see you.” She forced a smile. “It’s about something in the police report concerning the day Daniel died. I think there’s been a mistake.”
“What kind of mistake?” he asked.
“Is your mother here?”
He hesitated, then slowly shook his head.
She hugged herself for warmth. The goose down vest was warm, but not made for the only outer layer on a day like this. “It’s awfully cold out here, Lemuel. Would you mind if we talked in the kitchen?”
As usual, his straight hair stuck out at all angles. He
