“I’m a happily married man,” he says after a moment.
“I know that,” I tell him. “It suits you.”
His eyes hold my gaze captive so that I can’t look away. “I thought about you a lot over the years,” he says quietly. “What might’ve been if my parents hadn’t left when they did. I wondered how things might’ve turned out if I’d stayed. For a long time after I left, I wondered what it would be like to see you again.”
“We were too young,” I tell him.
“I almost came back for you.”
“Jonas—”
He starts to speak over me, but I raise my hand and press my fingers against his mouth. “Some things aren’t meant to be,” I say quietly.
His expression intensifies, as if he’s seeing me for the first time after a long separation, and he isn’t quite sure I’m really there or if I’m the same person and he desperately needs to find out if I am. “I would have married you,” he whispers. “I wanted to.”
It’s the last thing I expected him to say. I sure as hell didn’t expect the words to touch me so deeply—or to hurt. My relationship with Jonas is ancient history. A sweet spot in my past that will forever remain just that. A memory that’s been cleaned up by time. The messiness and pain erased. Time, the great healer.
“Everything worked out the way it was supposed to,” I tell him.
“Tell my nineteen-year-old self that.”
He leans toward me, reaches out to cup my face, but I gently grasp his wrist and stop him. We both know such an intimate touch would be considered inappropriate for a married Amish man. He may be willing to take the risk, but I’m not.
A smile whispers across his features.
And he walks away.
CHAPTER 31
I’ve closed my share of cases over the years. A few were major crimes that required in-depth investigation, dogged determination, and gobbled up hundreds of hours—everything I had to give. Most were lesser offenses that entailed the same only on a smaller scale. No matter the type of case, the one thing I always appreciate at the end is the sense of closure. The satisfaction of knowing a bad guy is off the street. The gratification that comes with a solid resolution and the knowledge that you did your job.
While this wasn’t an official “case,” a murderer was taken off the street. An innocent man was cleared of wrongdoing. Though I didn’t participate in a law enforcement capacity, I played a major role. Despite all it, there’s little in the way of closure. There are too many unanswered questions. Too many loose ends. Who was Ananias Stoltzfus really? Where was he from and what did he do? How much did Mia know? And how did Henry discover his identity?
They are questions that will likely take weeks or months to answer—if they’re answered at all. The only thing I have at this point is conjecture. The one thing I am certain of is that Ananias Stoltzfus was not a good man and may have very well been an evil man. That his son took matters into his own hands and destroyed his own life in the process is a far cry from justice.
I’m standing at the entrance of the old mill, watching the paramedics heft the bag containing Henry Stoltzfus’s body into the rear of an ambulance. It’s nearly noon now. Jonas and I gave our statements. Henry’s family has been notified. The crime scene unit pulled out twenty minutes ago. I should have left hours ago. I could have been showered, packed, and on my way to Painters Mill by now.
So why are you still here, Kate?
“Chief Burkholder!”
I turn to see Deputy Kris Vance stride toward me. The wariness is gone from his expression. Now that the case has been solved, he isn’t concerned about associating with me or my pressing him with questions he shouldn’t be answering.
“You need a ride back to your vehicle?” he asks.
We shake hands. “I’m parked at the Hershberger place just through the trees,” I tell him.
“It’s on my way. Save you a walk up that hill.” He motions to his vehicle and we start down the steps. “It’ll give me a chance to apologize.”
“Your superiors didn’t exactly make it easy for you to share information,” I say.
“There is that. But I was a jackass. I’m sorry I wasn’t more helpful. You were right. We were wrong.” His smile is contrite. “Lesson learned.”
I smile at him over the top of his cruiser as we get in. “I won’t hold my breath waiting for a call from the sheriff.”
“Just between us, he’s a bigger jackass than me.” Grinning, he puts the vehicle in gear and starts down the muddy lane. “I thought you’d want to know: The state police will be sending the remains to the forensic lab for DNA testing.”
“Positive ID would go a long way toward tying up a lot of loose ends.”
“No one figured Henry Stoltzfus for the crime,” he says. “All these years and he was right under our noses. Nice guy. Family man. Spotless record. He was never on the radar.”
“At some point, Henry must have figured out who or what his father was.” I shrug, trying to work through the logistics of it, coming up short. “He didn’t like what he found and just … lost it.”
“I suppose even the Amish have their limit.” He makes the turn into the Hershberger place and parks behind my Explorer.
“In any case, Chief Burkholder, I mainly wanted to apologize for shutting you out of the investigation. You’re a damn good cop and with your knowledge of the Amish, you would have been a good resource had we given you the chance.”
I open the door, get out, and bend to look at him. “Keep me posted on that DNA?”
“You bet.”
I slam the door, give a wave, and then he’s gone.
I stand in the driveway, vaguely troubled, and watch him pull out. I fish the fob out of my pocket, walk to the Explorer, and open the door. But I don’t get in.
I expect the Amish will be arriving shortly, to support Mary Elizabeth and her husband in their time of grief, to keep the farm up and running, and the household chores done. I’m probably the last person she wants to see, but I’d like to keep a line of communication open between us. In the coming weeks, much more information about her father will be forthcoming. At the very least, I can offer my condolences—and leave the rest to her.
I close the door of the Explorer and walk to the house, take the steps to the door, and knock. I wait, getting my words in order, but no one comes. I’m on my way back to the Explorer when I notice the barn door standing ajar, so I head that way.
I pause at the doorway, stare into the dimly lit interior. The smell of smoke lingers. I hear the cattle bawling at the rear. Dim light filters in through the windows ahead. To my right, stairs lead up to the hayloft. Gardening tools hang on the wall—a shovel, pitchfork, and hoe. Livestock stalls line the aisle on my left. I keep going, stop a few yards in, give my eyes a chance to adjust to the murky light.
“Mary Elizabeth?” I call out. “It’s Kate Burkholder.”
“What are you doing here?”
I glance left, see Mary Elizabeth in silhouette against the window behind her. Long dress and apron. The strings of her kapp hanging down. Black oxfords. Even with her face in shadow, I can see that she’s been crying.