Plain Truth (18 page)

“Catch a ghost.” At her shocked expression, he grinned. “You ever use dowsing rods? I guess not. People play around with these to find water, or even gold. But they'll pick up on energy, too. Instead of pointing down, you'll see them start to quiver.”

He began to walk around the cement pylon so soundlessly that the water barely whispered over his legs. His hands curved around the rods, his head bowed to his task
.

She could not imagine her parents doing what John and Edye had done in the extremes of love. No, if a spouse died, that was the natural course of things, and the widow or widower went on with his business. Come to think of it, she'd never seen her Dat even give her Mam a quick kiss. But she could remember the way he kept his arm around her the whole day of Hannah's funeral; the way he'd sometimes finish his meal and beam at Mam like she'd just hung the moon. Katie had always been taught that it was similar values and a simple life that kept a husband and wife together —and after that, passion came privately. But who was to say it didn't come before? That sigh pressing up from the inside of your chest; the ball of fire in the pit of your stomach when he brushed your arm; the sound of his voice curling around your heart —couldn't those things bind a man and a woman forever, too?

Suddenly Adam stilled. His hands were shaking slightly as the rods jumped up and down. “There's something … right here.”

Katie smiled. “A cement pillar.”

A dark shadow of disappointment passed over Adam's face so quickly she wondered if she had imagined it. The rods began to jerk more forcefully. Adam wrenched away from the spot. “You think I'm making this up.”

“I don't—”

“You don't have to lie to me. I can see it on your face.”

“You don't understand,” Katie began
.

Adam thrust the rods at her. “Take these,” he challenged. “Feel it.”

Katie curled her hands over the warm spots his own hands had left. She stepped gingerly toward the place where Adam had been standing
.

At first it was a shiver that ran up her spine. Then came an unspeakable sorrow, falling over her like a fisherman's net. Katie felt the rods tugging, as if someone was standing at the other end and grabbing onto them like a lifeline. She bit her lower lip, fighting to hold on, understanding that this restlessness, this unseen energy, this pain —this was a ghost
.

Adam touched her shoulder, and Katie burst into tears. It was too much —the knowledge that the dead might still be here on earth; that all those years, all those times she'd seen Hannah, Katie hadn't been losing her mind. She felt Adam's arms close around her, and she tried to hold herself at a distance, embarrassed to find herself sobbing into his shirt. “Ssh,” he said, the way one would approach a wild, wary animal. “It's all right.”

But it wasn't all right. Was Hannah carrying around the same despair that Katie had sensed in Edye Fitzgerald? Was she still calling out for Katie to save her?

Adam's lips were warm against Katie's ear. “You felt her,” he whispered with awe, and Katie nodded against his palm
.

Katie felt the quivering again, but this time it was coming from inside her. Adam's eyes were bright, the blue you see when you twirl in a cornfield and fall dizzy onto your back to gaze up at the sky. With her heart pounding and her head spinning, she thought of Edye and John Fitzgerald. She thought of someone who would love her so, he'd spend eternity calling her name. “Katie,” Adam whispered, and bent his head
.

She had been kissed before; dry, hard busses that felt like a bruise. Adam rubbed his mouth gently over hers, so that her lips tingled and her throat ached. She found herself leaning into him. He tasted of coffee and peppermint gum; he held her as if she was going to break
.

Adam drew back suddenly. “My God,” he said, taking a step back. “Oh, my God.”

Katie tucked her hair behind her ear and blushed, staring at the ground. What had gotten into her? This was not the way for a Plain girl to carry on. But then, she wasn't Plain now, was she? Wearing these clothes Jacob had gotten her; with her hair English-styled loose and free, she felt like someone entirely different. Someone who might believe in ghosts. Someone who might believe in love at first sight, in love that lasts forever
.

Finally, gathering her courage, Katie looked up. “I'm sorry.”

Slowly, Adam shook his head. His mouth, his beautiful mouth, quirked at the corner. He lifted her palm and kissed the center of it, a token to hold tight and slip into her pocket as a keepsake. “Don't be,” he said, and took her into his arms again
.

Ellie stormed into the bedroom she shared with Katie, slamming the door behind her.

“Did she leave?”

The question stopped Ellie in her tracks. “Who?”

“The detective. The woman who drove up before.”

God, she had completely forgotten about Lizzie Munro roaming the farm. “As far as I know she's out interviewing the goddamned herd,” Ellie snapped. “Sit up. You and I, Katie Fisher, are going to have a talk.”

Startled, Katie curled from her bed into a sitting position. “What—what's the matter?”

“This is what's the matter: The investigator for the prosecution is downstairs getting a precious commodity—facts— from your friends and relatives. And me, I've been cooling my heels here for a week, and can't even get a straight answer out of you.” Katie opened her mouth, but Ellie silenced her by raising her hand. “Don't. Don't even think about saying that you've already told me the truth. You know that baby you didn't have? Your boyfriend Samuel just told me that you didn't sleep with him to conceive it.”

Katie's eyes went wide, so that a ring of white shone around the blue irises. “Well, no. I wouldn't do that before taking marriage vows.”

“Of course not,” Ellie said sarcastically. “So now we have a virgin birth.”

“I didn't—”

“You didn't have a baby! You didn't have sex!” Ellie's voice rose, shaking. “God, Katie, how do you expect me to defend you?” She stood above Katie, her anger flowing over the girl like heat. “You have a guy walking around out there devastated to find out that he's not your one and only. You duck your head and
yes, yes
the bishop when he suggests that you might have had intercourse. But you sit here like some damn block of cement, unwilling to budge the tiniest bit to give me something to work with!”

Katie bent back under the force of Ellie's wrath. She crossed her arms over her stomach and turned away from Ellie. “I love Samuel, I do.”

“And who else, Katie?
Who else?”

“I don't know.” By now she was sobbing. Her hands crept up to cover her face; her
kapp
became unpinned and fell to the floor. “I don't know. I don't know who it was!”

“We're talking about a sexual partner, for God's sake—not what cereal you had for breakfast a week ago. It's not something that you typically forget!”

Katie wound herself into a fetal position on the bed, crying and rocking her body back and forth. “What aren't you telling me?” Ellie asked. “Were you drunk?”

“No.”

“High?”

“No!” Katie buried her face in the pillow. “I don't remember who touched me!”

Katie's cries wound around Ellie's chest, squeezing so tightly she could barely find the strength to breathe. With a groan of surrender, she sat down on the mattress and gathered the girl close, stroking her hair and whispering words of comfort.

Katie felt like a child in her arms. An overgrown toddler who'd knocked over a vase with a ball, never knowing that she'd done something that would make the rest of the world rear up and roar. A big child, but one just as lost, just as needy, just as desperate for forgiveness.

A terrible suspicion began to rise in Ellie, filling her heart and lungs and mind with a powerful and sudden rage. She clamped it down, calming herself before she lifted Katie's chin. “Did someone rape you?”

Katie stared at her, her swollen eyes drifting closed. “I don't remember,” she whispered.

For the first time since meeting Katie, Ellie believed what she was saying.

“Oh, Christ.” Lizzie lifted her loafer and stared at the muck and manure stuck to the sole. They just weren't paying her enough for this interrogation, and Aaron Fisher could go hang for all she cared. She raised her head and sighed, then started off across the field again. Fisher, seeing her approach, pulled his team of mules to a stop.

“If you are looking for the way home,” Fisher said in accented English, “it's that way.” He pointed toward the main road.

Lizzie bared her teeth at him. Just her luck to find an Amishman who fancied himself a stand-up comic. “Thanks, but I've already found what I've been searching for.”

That brought him up short. Lizzie let him stew a minute, imagining all the grisly pieces of evidence that might turn up in a murder investigation. “What would that be, Detective?”

“You.” Lizzie shaded her eyes. “I wonder if you've got a minute.”

“I have many minutes, all of them used toward a common purpose.” He clucked to the horses, and Lizzie jogged beside them until the farmer stopped again.

“Care to share it with me?”

“To run my farm,” Aaron said. “If you will excuse—”

“I'd think you might be able to spare a few precious seconds to save your daughter from going to jail, Mr. Fisher.”

“My daughter is not going to jail,” he said stubbornly.

“It's not for you to decide.”

The farmer took off his hat. He looked tired, suddenly, and much older than Lizzie had originally thought. “It's not for you to decide either, but for the Lord. I trust in His judgment, as does my daughter. Good day, now.” He tapped the reins, and the mules jumped forward in unison, the plowing equipment groaning through the earth.

Lizzie watched him go. “Too bad God won't be sitting on that jury,” she murmured, and then began the long walk back to the farmhouse.

Ellie finished wiping up the last of the pickling spices that dusted the kitchen table. It was beastly hot in the kitchen— God, what she'd do for air conditioning, or an electric fan—but she had promised Sarah she'd take care of the cleanup detail, since she'd missed a good portion of the actual canning work while she was consoling Katie.

And what was she to make of that last confrontation? Mysteries were beginning to fall into place in her mind, as neatly as tumblers in a lock—Katie's selective amnesia, her denial of the pregnancy and the birth, Samuel's stunned expression when they'd last spoken. For the first time since she'd arrived at the farm, Ellie did not feel revulsion at the thought of the neonati-cide Katie had committed, but pity.

As a defense attorney she'd supported her share of clients who'd committed heinous crimes, but she instinctively worked harder when she could make herself understand what had brought them to that point. The woman who'd murdered her husband in his sleep was less of a monster when you factored in that the man had beaten her for thirty years. The rapist with a swastika tattoo across the bridge of his nose was far less intimidating when you thought of him as a boy being abused by his stepfather. And the Amish girl who killed her newborn couldn't be forgiven, but certainly understood, if the father of the child had sexually assaulted her.

On the other hand, it was the final nail in Katie's coffin. In terms of motive, it made very good sense for a young woman to want to kill the baby conceived in an act of rape. Which meant that—no matter how much Ellie might sympathize with Katie, no matter how much she hoped to get her counseling—no mention of rape would ever be made during her defense.

Ellie wrung out the sponge in the sink. She wondered if Katie would start to confide in her now. She wondered if she ought to go upstairs again, so that Katie would not awaken alone.

At the sound of the door opening behind her, Ellie shut off the faucet and wiped her hands on the voluminous apron she'd borrowed from Sarah. “I'm glad you're back,” she said, facing away from the door.

“I must say, that's a surprise.”

Ellie whirled around to find Lizzie Munro standing there instead of Sarah. The investigator's gaze traveled from Ellie's sweat-soaked hair to the hem of her apron.

Folding her arms across her waist, Ellie straightened, trying to look as commanding as possible given her attire. “You ought to get that crime scene tape down. There are people here trying to get on with their lives.”

“It's not my tape. Call the state police.”

“Give me a break, Detective.”

Lizzie shrugged. “Far as I'm concerned, they should have taken it down days ago. We have everything we need.”

“You think you do.”

“This case will be won on forensic evidence, Ms. Hathaway. Clear away the smoke and mirrors, and there's a dead baby left behind.”

Ellie smirked. “You sound like a prosecutor.”

“Professional hazard.”

“Interesting, then, that for such an open-and-shut case you'd feel the need to interview the Fishers.”

“Even here in the shadow of Philadelphia, we know how to cover our asses during an investigation.”

Ellie took a step forward. “Look, if you think this is about pitting a big-city legal operation against a small-town county attorney, you can tell George right now—”

“Tell George yourself. I'm not a courier.” Lizzie glanced up the stairs. “I'd like to speak to Katie.”

Ellie laughed out loud. “I bet you would. Personally, I'd like a margarita and central air.” She shrugged. “You knew when you came here I wasn't going to let you near my client. And I'm sure George will understand when you tell him you couldn't get a statement from the defendant
or
her father.”

Lizzie's eyes widened. “How did you—?”

“Inside advantage,” Ellie said smugly.