Kit Wilkinson - Plain Secrets

“I thought you didn’t want to work the case.”

“I don’t. But I can’t help being a little curious.”

“The notes here explain that the uncle, Thomas Nolt, called Chief McClendon, but by the time he arrived, the family had already changed the girl’s clothes and burned them. They claim there was no blood around her, only on her clothes. If they are telling the truth I think we can assume she wasn’t killed in the stable.”

“They are telling the truth…. What’s the story on the girl?”

“A perfectly good girl, as far as the family tells it. No evidence of drugs or alcohol.”

“But the family wouldn’t necessarily know what she’s involved in. She was probably on Rumspringa. Kids don’t have to tell their parents anything much during that time.” Eli sighed and glanced again at the horrid photos. “There’s bruising on her arms and neck in those pictures. A struggle before death? Abuse? I can’t imagine it of the Nolt family, but there are cases of abuse in the Amish community.”

“I don’t know. This is all we have.” The captain held up the thin file. “The only other information in here is that her stepmother, Hannah, is the one who found her in the milking stable. Maybe you could start by questioning her.”

Question Hannah? The woman who dumped me. No way. No Hannah. No Willow Trace. No investigation. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t have to be official about it. Just go and pay respects or whatever.”

“Why me? If you just want someone to figure out what’s going on, why not one of the local guys?”

“Chief McClendon says his own men aren’t always Amish-friendly. He’d heard of you, the Amish cop in the city, and thought the people would respond better with one of their own asking the questions.”

Eli shook his head—that made no sense. Very few people knew he was raised Amish. “They’d be even less likely to answer me—because they’d think I should know better than to ask. The Amish don’t seek revenge or restitution or even answers for unexplained events. They accept it as God’s will and move on. So they would have no reason to seek answers and therefore would have no interest in answering them. I can’t imagine the family even wants an investigation.”

“Well, they don’t. That’s why there was no autopsy. All we have are these pictures. And Chief McClendon took them himself. He thinks there’s something major going on here and that you’re our best shot at finding out what it is.”

Eli shook his head. “I haven’t seen these people in eleven years. I’m not one of them anymore. They won’t talk to me about any of this. They probably don’t even talk to each other about it.”

The captain frowned. “McClendon thinks you’ll have a chance.”

Eli groaned. He did not want to go back to Willow Trace. Not now. Not ever. “I’m sorry, Captain. But I can’t do this.”

“You have to.”

“But Tucci and I are right in the middle of a case against that officer in District Seven.”

“I’ll put someone else on it.”

Eli shook his head. “You don’t get it. I really cannot go back there.”

“You have to.” O’Dell folded up the record file. “I’ll be honest with you, Miller, I don’t quite get it, but this is way over my head.”

Eli narrowed his eyes on the captain. “What? How can it be over your head from the Lancaster County police?”

His boss crossed his arms over his chest. “The request came from Chief McClendon via the governor.”

“The governor?” Elijah stood and began to pace in front of his boss’s desk. “How does the governor even know I exist?”

“No idea, Miller. But when the governor asks for you, you go.”

* * *

An hour later, Eli was navigating the rolling hills of eastern Pennsylvania reluctantly on his way to Willow Trace. With every passing mile, the tension in him racked tighter and tighter. After eleven years, how would he be received? Would he be received? The only person who’d stayed in touch with him was his sister, Abigail. But even she did so in secret—their father, the local bishop, had told Elijah never to return if he chose to take up weapons as a part of his life and work.

Eli knew it was difficult for his family to understand the choice he’d made, not just to leave the community but to become a police officer. Yet the reasons for it went far back into his childhood. He’d only been about five years old when, during a trip to the city with his father, a crazy man on the train had kidnapped him and his sister, Abigail. If it had not been for the help of the Philadelphia police, Elijah and his sister would never have been reunited with their family. That incident had always made him admire and respect the police. When Hannah had chosen to marry Peter instead of him, Eli had felt certain that leaving the Amish community behind and becoming a policeman was what God had called him to do. Ironic that the very reason he’d never returned to Willow Trace since then was exactly the thing forcing him home today.

About as ironic as heading out to see Hannah—the woman he’d tried so hard to forget. They’d been so in love. Or at least he’d thought so. Then she’d married Peter. He’d felt like such a fool.

His thoughts rambled as he maneuvered his convertible through the hills and around the horse and buggies. He kept his head down and lifted a quick word. Guard me from their judgment, Lord. If there is a job for me here, then make me strong so I can do it. If not, let me return to what—

Eli looked up just in time to slam on the brakes as another horse and carriage crossed right into his lane while attempting to avoid a sleek black sedan speeding around the buggy on the right shoulder.

Crazy driver. Couldn’t slow down one second for a buggy. Good grief. Someone could have been seriously injured. He shook his head, remembering all too well the days of being in the buggy himself and having those sorts of incidents. They happened more frequently than they should. He patted the dash of his Mustang. He felt much safer in his convertible.

Checking his rearview mirror, he searched for the car, but the black sedan had already fled the area. Thankfully, the horse and buggy were recovered and back on their side of the road. Eli drove on.

Minutes later, he turned onto the dirt path leading to the Nolts’ farmhouse. A chill of unease rippled down his spine with the strangest feeling that he was being watched. He parked in the gravel turnaround in front of the quaint two-story stone cottage and stepped out of his car. The old house hadn’t changed. The sight of it flooded his head with hundreds of memories—gatherings, Sunday church, buggy rides.

A woman stepping onto the long white porch restored his mind to the present. She wore a blue frock with a black apron. Her raven hair had been tucked tightly away under a white prayer Kapp. She dried her hands on the skirt of her apron, then pressed away the creases, all the while studying him from the safety of the porch. At length, a soft, pleasant smile fell over her lips.

Hannah.

Eli froze to his spot on the front walkway. She was stunning as ever—her sweet face, her deep emerald eyes. As soft and beautiful as the last time he’d seen her so many years ago. She smiled wide, although from the redness around her eyes he guessed she’d been crying recently, no doubt over the loss of her daughter. Still, as she moved toward him, she was easy and natural. Seeing her felt like a cool breeze against his skin on the hottest of summer days. A lump the size of a stone grew into his throat, and his heart pumped four times its normal speed.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

“Can it be? Elijah Miller?” Her alto voice sounded smooth and rich. “After all these years?”