Material Witness (22 page)

“
Ya
, we’ve heard of storybook quilts,” Esther said.

“But I’ve never seen one.” Melinda cocked her head.

Deborah frowned.

Everyone leaned forward and stared at the blocks of each quilt — four squares across and five down.

“What if the money is hidden?” Deborah asked softly. “And what if these pictures tell us a story of sorts, a story of where the money could be found?”

“A story?” Esther asked.

“Oh, good grief.” Shane sank back against the couch and allowed his eyes to close.

“Storybook quilts …” Callie began pacing again.

Melinda had never been good at puzzles — not like Deborah and Callie. The only puzzle she’d ever cared about was the one regarding her son’s health.

What did she need to do to help him through each day?

Would this food bother him in some way?

Would that food make him stronger?

But as she gazed at the quilt squares laid out in front of them, she understood Deborah might be on to something. If she was, then it was up to Melinda to figure it out.

She needed to figure it out, or the killer would keep attacking her son and Callie.

She needed to figure it out, or they could all be in danger.

Of the people in this room, she’d been closer to Mrs. Hochstetler than anyone else.

She should be able to unravel this. Her son’s safety depended on it. She needed to focus — ignore the fear coursing through her veins, and focus.

Deborah had been staring at the quilts, but she noticed when Melinda practically turned to stone beside her.

“Was iss letz?”

Melinda finally tore her eyes from the quilt.

When she did, the desperation in her friend’s eyes nearly broke Deborah’s heart. She hadn’t forgotten what was at stake here — not exactly. But as usual, she’d become caught up in solving the mystery. She’d lost sight of the human element. She’d lost sight of her friend’s suffering.

“Everything will be fine.” She put an arm around Melinda. “We’ll figure this out — together. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is going to happen to Aaron.”

Tears filled Melinda’s eyes, slipped down beneath the rim of her glasses. “First the murder, then the car, and I wasn’t there to
protect him either time. But this, if I could figure this out, then maybe it will all be okay again.”

Pulling her into a hug, Deborah reached for the handkerchief Esther offered, slipped it into Melinda’s hand. “We will figure this out. All of us together. Look at how hard Callie is concentrating. Her hair is starting to stick out from the effort.”

“Hey!”

“I only bring it up to point out to Melinda that we’re all focused.” Deborah smiled.

Melinda nodded as she swiped at her cheeks.

Shane looked relieved when his phone rang. “I’ll take this outside.”

“Maybe we’ll crack the code while he’s out of the room,” Callie said. “That’ll show him we really might be on to something.”

“Can’t blame him for being skeptical. It probably sounds farfetched to anyone who doesn’t work with quilts.” Esther stood and walked slowly around the three quilts. “Do the pictures in the blocks look familiar to anyone?”

“Nope.” Melinda’s voice sounded calmer.

“Uh-uh.” Callie patted her hair.

“Wonderful stitching.” Deborah knelt closer, her nose nearly touching the quilt, but she still couldn’t find anything recognizable.

“Stand up. All of you stand back here with me.” Esther’s voice left no room for argument, so they followed her directions with some groans about growing old and tired bones.

“Now? Anything look familiar?”

Everyone shook their heads no.

“Think of the game the
kinner
play.”

“Uno? Like where they match the cards?” When they all turned to stare at Melinda, she pushed on. “I’ve never seen a quilt pieced together this way, but they remind me of cards in a deck, shuffled randomly.”

“That’s not bad.” Esther walked over to her cup of tea, which had long since grown cold. She took a sip and grimaced. “I was leaning more toward Dutch Blitz, what with the four decks you have — pump, carriage, pail, and plow.”

“Okay, I see why your mind would head that direction.” Deborah was still cocking her head, looking at the quilts with an odd expression. Then she leaned over, reached out, and ran a finger along the quilt squares. “There’s a pump house and a carriage.”

“And I see a pail and a plow!” Callie smiled as if she’d earned an
A
on her lessons.

Esther lowered her cup of tea slowly, afraid she would drop it now that the puzzle was beginning to fall into place.

“Not any plow. That’s Mrs. Hochstetler’s plow,” Melinda commented.

“Huh?” Callie moved closer, a frown wrinkling her forehead.

“Look. See the broken piece here? See the flowers growing around it?”

“I wondered about that. Thought it was a way of adding color to the quilt.” Esther was on the floor with them now. “I remember noticing the plow when I walked by her garden, when we were there a few weeks ago for the reading of the will.”

“Her plow sits in her garden?” Callie looked from Deborah to Esther.

It was Melinda who answered. She sat on the far side of the three quilts, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle as if she were very cold. “The old rusty plow has been there for as long as I’ve known her. I asked her why once, and she said the iron helps the flowers grow taller and bloom brighter. She said when it broke years ago and couldn’t be fixed, she asked Mr. Hochstetler to move it there for her.”

“How many years ago, Melinda?” Deborah could practically hear the first real piece of the puzzle clicking into place.

“When she was but a young woman. She said her first
boppli
was just born. Must have been in the early 1940s.”

“Before she sewed the quilts then.”

“
Ya
. I imagine so.”

“So these squares, they could be a picture of her land.”

“Why though? Why would she want to put her farm on a quilt?” Esther reached for the strings of her prayer
kapp
, ran her fingers from the top to the bottom as if doing so would produce answers to questions they all needed.

Deborah knew they were close to those answers. She could feel them in the air around them.

The night sounds deepened, and they heard Shane’s footsteps as he walked across the front porch.

He stepped into the room when Deborah found the answer that had been lurking at the corner of her mind.

“Maybe it’s not a picture or a story. Maybe it’s a map.”

S
HANE SNAPPED THE PHONE SHUT
as he walked into the house. Things were moving quickly now. The knowledge of it thrummed through his veins, and he wanted to be out in the Buick chasing down the leads.

But he knew he needed to be here.

He needed to confirm what Trent had found.

And he needed to be certain Callie was okay before he left. Callie and Aaron. Fear tightened around Shane’s heart like a belt cinched too tightly, but he pushed it away. He was not going to allow anything to happen to either one of them.

Deborah was talking about something being a map.

“Maybe what’s a map?” he asked.

“The quilts. We think they’re a map of Mrs. Hochstetler’s place.” Callie twirled her hair around her finger. “The squares seem to represent different places on her farm — possibly.”

“So maybe she liked sewing what she saw out her window? You know, like we take a picture.” Shane stood over the quilts, trying to see the women’s point of view. After all, they’d been right about the newspaper article.

“That’s not the Amish way, Shane.” Esther’s voice was soft, gentle, and he was reminded of the times he’d spent trying to coax details from her regarding Seth’s death.

The people who killed Seth still hadn’t been brought to trial. It rankled him that the case was one of the few he’d been forced to walk away from, at the insistence of his superiors. But he’d always known Esther wanted the case closed without a conviction.

Callie had tried to explain it to him once, during one of their late-night phone conversations. She said it had to do with forgiveness and grace. Shane knew about grace. He’d been raised submerged in a healthy dose of it. But that type of forgiveness? No. That was beyond what he could imagine. His training didn’t allow him to imagine it.

Esther was still fingering the material in front of her. “We wouldn’t quilt a picture of our own place anymore than we’d take a photograph. It would feel like boasting, and we strive to be humble.”

“
Ya
, Esther’s right,” Melinda said. “Elizabeth Hochstetler wasn’t one to brag either. No, I think if she quilted a scene, there was a reason for it — it wouldn’t have been an idle venture.”

“So what could her reason have been?” Shane struggled to understand what was happening, what the girls were trying to tell him, and what Mrs. Hochstetler could have been thinking.

“Perhaps she was trying to tell someone something. Or maybe she wanted to leave a record.” Callie’s hands were out now, waving in front of her as she tended to do when she was excited. “Storybook quilts are a controversial topic. Some insist that as far back as the Civil War, quilts were used to guide folks, like runaway slaves.”

“A code?” Shane’s voice went up a notch, in spite of his determination to remain neutral.

“Yes. But others argue that no such codes existed. I’ve done a little reading on it, but not nearly enough. The point is that no one knows if such a code did exist, because the people who did the quilting are long dead and can’t attest to their true intentions.”

“Same is true of Mrs. Hochstetler and these quilts,” Deborah said.

“But the patterns are unusual, and it could be she quilted them for a reason. I never knew Elizabeth to do something on a whim.” Melinda’s voice was low, thoughtful.

“So you think the pictures might be … what? Like a treasure map?” Shane couldn’t keep the note of incredulity out of his voice now. He had a thug to catch, and it felt like the women were wasting his time chasing fantasies.

“Let’s consider the interior borders again now that we’re looking at the actual patterns in a different light.” Deborah walked around the quilts as she spoke. “The border connecting the first and the second says —”

“An industrious
fraa
is the best savings account,” Melinda recited the words.

“And what about the one connecting the second and the third?” Shane asked.

“A handful of patience is worth more than a bushel of brains.”

Shane met the gaze of each woman before speaking. He was willing to admit they were on to something. That much was clear. But what? And did it really have anything to do with the killer?

No one spoke as Deborah’s words faded into the night. Both proverbs were apparently everyday sayings, common among the Amish community. Both could be interpreted to focus on wealth or prosperity.

Shane decided they’d have to move on what they knew. Time was running out, and he didn’t want to give their killer any additional advantage. “I just spoke with Trent. There was one article in the
Gazette
mentioning Callie in the past three months. Actually it mentioned Mrs. Hochstetler in the same piece.”

“The reading of the will —” Callie’s eyes widened.

“Yes. I have the wording right here.” Shane pulled out his phone, thumbed through a few messages until he found it. “The
reading of Mrs. Hochstetler’s last will and testament took place yesterday, September 14. Most of her belongings were left to friends and family, but in one surprise request, a special gift was made to Miss Callie Harper, who wasn’t available for comment at the time we went to print.”

“Oh, my gosh. That could sound like she gave me a million dollars. I barely knew the woman.”

Silence once more filled the room as the fire crackled.

“We’re getting closer. We know why this person might think you have money. And you ladies seem to think the answer is right here in front of us.” Shane stood and pulled Callie to her feet. “Get your jacket.”

“Where are we going?”

“To Levi Hochstetler’s farm. We need some answers, and he may be the one who has them.”

While Callie grabbed her jacket, found her purse, and stopped by the bathroom, Shane peeked in on Aaron. The boys appeared to be asleep, but that didn’t fool him for a minute. He’d heard them whispering before he opened the door.

At least they were safe though. They were safe for now.

It would have to be enough.

Aaron tried holding his breath while Shane stood in the doorway. Then he realized he should look like he was sleeping, and sleeping boys were probably in the habit of breathing. So he took deep breaths, hoping the covers would rise and fall and convince the detective he was out cold.

He’d played possum before. Wasn’t like this was his first time, but it had been a while. Now that he was older, his
mamm
and
dat
helped him to his room, helped him out of his chair, and didn’t check on him again.

They trusted him to stay put.

Unlike many of his
freinden
’s houses, Aaron’s house was a single story. Hannah’s room was near the front of the house, next to his parents’. He shared a room with his
bruder
at the back of the house — past the kitchen. Some nights, when he couldn’t sleep, he’d hear his parents walking back and forth, between their own room and Hannah’s. They’d left him a special bell next to his bed in case he ever needed anything, but he’d never used it.

For one thing, Matt was always in the bed across from his. If he needed anything, Matt was there for him. Aaron didn’t need a bell. He’d tried explaining that to his
mamm
. She’d smiled and said she felt better leaving the bell there all the same. He could no more have understood the reasons for the things his
mamm
insisted on than he could have understood why the chickens walked in a circular motion when he threw out the food or why Creeper had chosen Fall Festival to disrupt their lives.

“Are you asleep?” Matt asked.

“‘Course not.”

“Sure sounded like it to me.” Joseph began laughing and threw something at Jacob, starting a pillow fight — albeit a somewhat quiet one.