Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3 Read online

  She peered at me and held out her hand. “Miss Humphrey?”

  I nodded and shook her hand.

  “I’m Appleseed Creek’s Chief of Police, Greta Rose. You can call me Chief Rose. Can I ask you a few questions?”

  I glanced back at Timothy and the deacon, still deep in conversation. “Will it take long? Timothy, Becky’s brother, and I need to get to the hospital to see her. Becky was the driver of the car.”

  “I know who the driver was, and I know Timothy is her brother too. My questions will only take a few minutes. Let’s walk over here.” With a manicured nail, she pointed at a huge briar bush on the side of the road, far from where the Amish men stood.

  “You are Chloe Humphrey, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  She pulled a printout from her pocket and scanned it. “The vehicle in the accident is registered to you.”

  I nodded.

  “And the car is insured.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I’m going to need to see proof of that.”

  I bristled. “Is my insurance responsible for the accident?”

  Her eyebrows peeked out over those huge glasses. “Someone will have to pay for the damage and injuries.”

  My throat tightened.

  “Amish don’t take out insurance policies on their buggies, and Miss Troyer was an uninsured motorist. Since it was your vehicle involved . . .”

  My chest constricted. “I’m not responsible for the accident.”

  “It’s your vehicle. I’d advise you to contact your insurance company.”

  “I wasn’t driving the car,” I insisted. “Becky was.”

  “Are you saying she stole your car?” She removed her sunglasses, revealing peridot-colored eyes highlighted by black eye liner and heavy mascara. She trained her gaze on me like a green laser beam.

  I jerked back. “No . . . she borrowed it.”

  Chief Rose ran her hand through her brown curls, her tone all business. “An unlicensed driver doesn’t borrow a car. Did you allow her to take it?”

  “No! I had no idea. I wouldn’t let her drive my car without a license.”

  She folded the printout and stuck it back in the pocket of her navy uniform. “If she drove it without your permission, that’s stealing. There may be an additional charge against Becky.”

  “If I say she stole the car, which I don’t.”

  Chief Rose shrugged as if it made no difference to her. “I need to see that insurance card now.”

  “It’s in my purse inside Timothy’s truck.”

  “I’ll wait for you to get it.”

  I nodded.

  “I’d like to see your registration too,” she called out.

  My back stiffened as I wove through the crowd to Timothy’s truck. Many of the Amish men had left. Three stood around the bishop’s horse, trying to convince the frightened animal to step into the back of a trailer. At first I thought the horse unharmed, but now that I had a clear view of the animal, I saw a long gash on her left shoulder. I knew nothing about caring for farm animals, but I prayed the animal would make it. One tragic loss was more than enough.

  “Miss Humphrey! The insurance card, please.”

  I glanced back at Chief Rose, who stood in the middle of the road, tapping her foot.

  The truck was unlocked, and my purse lay on the passenger side. I grabbed it.

  Chief Rose took the registration and insurance card from my hand. “I’ll give them back to you in a minute, then you will be free to go. Do you plan to go to the hospital to see your friend?”

  “Yes.”

  She ambled to her cruiser parked on the side of the road. Leaving the cruiser door open, Chief Rose logged onto the computer between the driver and passenger seats. Fear trickled through me. How would I pay for the accident if I was held financially responsible? Would Bishop Glick’s family sue me? Do the Amish sue? My stomach roiled. Would I have to ask my father and Sabrina for help? They had the money, although Sabrina would deny it. My stepmother would let me go to jail first.

  Becky, the nineteen-year-old would-be artist, was in much more trouble than I. Nearby, Timothy and the deacon continued to argue in their own language. What did the deacon mean about Timothy’s father being a preacher?

  Chief Rose returned and handed me my insurance card and registration. “You know, Miss Humphrey, you might want to rethink the company you keep.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She cocked her head at Timothy before slipping her sunglasses back on. “Your insurance company will know what to do about the accident. Sadly, this is not the first time we’ve had a buggy and auto collision in Appleseed Creek—and it won’t be the last.”

  Timothy jogged toward them. “Chloe, are you ready to go to the hospital now?” It was the first time I’d heard Timothy say my name, and despite the tragic circumstances, I liked the sound of it.

  “Yes, I’m ready.” I adjusted my purse strap on my shoulder.

  “Hello, Timothy,” Chief Rose said. “Staying out of trouble?”

  Timothy’s jaw twitched. “Nice to see you, Greta.”

  “You can call me Chief Rose.”

  “Do you two know each other?” I don’t know why I was surprised. Knox County was so small.

  Greta nodded. “We have mutual friends.”

  Timothy winced.

  My stomach tightened again. What did I walk into when I moved to Appleseed Creek?

  Chapter Eleven

  Becky stepped out of the hospital, hugging her right arm to her chest. The doctors had set the arm in a hot pink cast. My breath caught as the deputy led her away from Timothy’s side to his cruiser, her eyes wide.

  I slipped the screwdriver back into Timothy’s tool belt and slid to the passenger’s side as he opened the driver’s door. “How is she?”

  He shook his head.

  The cruiser pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Shouldn’t we follow him?”

  Timothy started the truck. “I know where the sheriff’s department is.”

  My brow knit together. First a confrontation with Becky’s harassers, and now Timothy’s surly demeanor. I was relieved that the sheriff’s department was a short drive away.

  At the station, the deputy and Becky waited in a hallway before they entered the department. Tears rolled down Becky’s cheeks. I wanted to reach over and give her a hug, but I wasn’t sure that was allowed.

  “What’s going to happen now?” Timothy asked.

  “We’re waiting for the desk sergeant to be ready for us. Another case came in just before we got here. When he’s ready, Becky will be fingerprinted.”

  Becky started to shiver.

  “It won’t hurt, Becky,” I said. “They are just going to put ink on your fingertips and make a copy on a card.”

  Becky looked at the fingertips on her left hand like she’d never seen them before.

  The deputy smiled. “That’s basically it, but now it’s all electronic. Takes half the time and no mess.”

  A crash followed by scuffling sounds and a string of swear words bellowed from a nearby room. I suspected Becky had never heard words like that before.

  The deputy peeked into the room but appeared unconcerned. “This may be a while.”

  Becky stared at her shoes and continued to shiver. Timothy reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his truck keys. “Chloe, why don’t you go home?”

  I cocked my head. “How will you get home? Will you call me to pick you up?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll have my housemate Danny pick us up. He knows where the sheriff’s office is. I don’t want you to get lost trying to find your way back here.”

  “But Becky—”

  “I’ll take c
are of Becky,” he said. “She’s my sister.”

  I glanced at Becky, her head leaning against Timothy’s shoulder. Although his dismissal stung, I took the keys from Timothy’s hand. “Okay.”

  While exiting the parking lot, I took a wrong turn and found myself on a road behind the hospital. How would I find Appleseed Creek? Timothy’s truck wasn’t equipped with GPS—not that Pepper would be much help to me on the tiny roads in Mount Vernon. I winced. The last time I saw Pepper had been in my car, which was now totaled.

  I checked the rearview mirror, keeping an eye out for the green pickup, then shook my head. Rapping Brock on the knuckles with a screwdriver might not have been the best idea I’d ever had. I hoped I wouldn’t come to regret it.

  I continued down a narrow county road, hoping my sense of direction would kick in soon. The oak trees lining the edge reached across the road like an overhead bridge to the opposing trees. Hot air blew through the truck’s open window, and the back of my bare legs stuck to the leather seats.

  I approached a street sign that read Butler Road, and slowed down. How did I end up back here? I continued forward. Men in white jumpsuits picked up debris from the road. A tow truck driver hitched chains onto my car and rolled it back onto its tires. This must have been the same corner that Bishop Glick had rounded.

  The Amish men were gone, as was the horse. The mangled buggy lay on its side in the back of a flatbed truck. One of its taillights hung over the side of the flatbed. Sunlight broke through the trees and reflected a red circle onto the spot where the buggy had once been. It was easy to see why the bishop had not survived. That the horse could still stand upright was a miracle.

  One of the white-suited men approached me. “Sorry, Miss, this road is closed. You’re going to have to turn around.”

  I swallowed. “Can you direct me to Appleseed Creek?”

  “Sure thing.” He rattled off the directions.

  As I turned the truck around, I spotted Chief Rose leaning against the hood of her cruiser, arms crossed in front of her chest. She waved, her expression somewhere between a grin and a grimace.

  GIGABYTE YOWLED A GREETING when I entered the house. His dark brown tail swished back and forth on the hardwood floor. I bent to pick him up, but he slipped out of my hands and jumped onto the back of the only chair in the house. I’d give him a few minutes. Eventually, he’d forgive me for the audacity of leaving him.

  The tap of my heels on the hardwood echoed through the unfurnished home. The large house didn’t feel safe to me. Becky had left the front window open, and the curtains rolled in and out with the breeze. I kicked off my shoes and hurried over, shutting and locking the window in one movement.

  Gig paced the arm of the lone chair. I picked him up and carried him around as I checked the rest of the house. When I was satisfied that I was truly alone, I pulled out my cell phone and called my insurance company.

  “You ran into a horse trailer?” He asked the same question three times. Apparently the insurance agent could not wrap his mind around an auto and buggy collision.

  A half hour later, I hung up with no firm answers to my questions, then debated calling my father for help. Chances were he wouldn’t answer the phone, and I’d end up more upset than I already was. Usually I would turn to Mr. and Mrs. Green for advice, but since they were in Italy, there was no point in worrying them or Tanisha until I had all the facts.

  There was a knock on my front door. Gig jumped straight up in the air and fled up the stairs, his claws scratching the wooden steps. Would my landlord notice? Since he rented me a house without a working front door, we’d call it a draw.

  Through the peephole I saw a young Amish girl, so I opened the door. “Hi.” The girl wore a navy dress with pleated skirt, and a full-body black apron. Dirt marred the bottom of her skirt. Over her white-blonde hair she wore a black bonnet, its ribbons untied. I recognized her as the girl from Becky’s painting.

  She blinked at me with huge blue eyes the same color as her siblings’.

  “Are you Ruth?” I asked.

  She dropped her gaze to her black sneakers. “Is my sister here?”

  I stalled. “You’re looking for Becky?” Does she know about the accident? “I’m Chloe,” I said. “Becky’s friend.”

  “I know. Timothy told Daed about you. He said you were a good Englisch girl and Becky lived with you. Daed was upset. He wants Becky to come home. We all do. We miss her.”

  My cheeks warmed. A good English girl? What does that mean? I stopped myself from asking Becky what else her brother had said.

  “I want to see my sister.” She stamped her foot.

  “She’s not here.”

  Ruth peered up at me, fighting tears. “Because she is in jail?”

  I swallowed, avoiding her questions. “How did you know to come here? Did Timothy tell you where Becky lived?”

  “Timothy wouldn’t tell me, but I know he told Mamm and Daed. Becky sent me a letter from this address, and I found it on my own.” She put her hands on her hips. “Now, where is my sister?”

  “She’s with Timothy. Do you want to come inside?”

  “No, I want to get my sister and go home.” She pointed at her brother’s blue truck. “Isn’t Timothy here?”

  I shook my head. The door’s hinges creaked as I pushed against it.

  “Is Becky in jail?” She tugged at her bonnet’s black ribbon.

  I glanced up and down the street. No buggy. No Amish in sight. No one at all. “Are you here alone?”

  “Our Englisch driver drove me in from the farm to take eggs to Amish Bread Bakery in town. That nosy Esther Yoder told me about the buggy accident. I didn’t believe her at first, but when her mother came out and didn’t say hello to me, I knew something was wrong.” Her eyes welled up with tears. “Is it true? Is Bishop Glick dead?” She took a shaky breath. “Did Becky kill him?”

  I steeled myself. “There was an accident, and the bishop was killed.”

  Ruth’s small white hand flew to her mouth. “Is Becky safe?”

  I nodded. “She has a broken arm and a few cuts and bruises. She was lucky.”

  “Daed say there is no such thing as luck, just providence.” She put the end of her ribbon in her mouth and bit on it. “Where’s my sister? I want to see her.”

  “As I said, she’s with Timothy.”

  “Where are they? Are they coming here?” The wet end of the ribbon clung to her cheek, and she flicked it away with her hand.

  “I don’t know.” I hadn’t asked Timothy where he would take his sister after the police station—if he was allowed to leave with her. Part of me had expected them to come back here, but why would they? I let out a sigh. “I left them at the sheriff’s department in Mount Vernon.”

  “I want to go there.”

  “That’s not a good idea. Your parents wouldn’t like it.” I peered over her shoulder again. “Is your driver waiting for you at the bakery?”

  “He’s not.” She shook her head. “I told him I had another ride home.”

  I looked at her, brow furrowed. “And do you?”

  “No.” Her face flushed. “I know I shouldn’t lie, but he wouldn’t leave unless I told him that. He would never bring me here. He knew Daed would be angry.”

  “I don’t know if Becky’s coming here, and if she does how long it will be. Your parents will be worried.” I stepped back into the house. “Let me grab the truck keys. I’ll take you home.”

  This time she didn’t argue.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ruth directed me onto an unnamed gravel road. The old truck jostled over every pebble, shaking loose my vertebrae. When was the last time Timothy had the shocks checked? How much worse the ride must feel in an Amish buggy. Are the buggies’ ceilings padded? For that matter, are the seats?

  Out
of the corner of my eye, I saw Ruth’s hands folded neatly in her lap. Her knuckles were milk white, the black ribbon back in her mouth.

  “Do you start school soon?” I asked.

  The ribbon fell out of her mouth. “What?”

  “School? Are you starting soon? I work at the college, and we’re getting ready for a new school year there. It starts in a few weeks.”

  “In her letter, Becky told me you worked at the college. She said you are in charge of the computers.”

  I smiled. “Among other things, but yes, that’s basically my job.”

  “I used a computer once,” she whispered, as if confessing.

  “Where?”

  “At the library. My friend Alex took me there. Alex is a girl,” she added quickly. “Her father is a dairy farmer too. Their farm is a few miles from ours. She doesn’t have any brothers or sisters.”

  I suppressed a smile at her serious tone.

  “It’s my last year,” Ruth said.

  “Your last year of school?” I knew the Amish didn’t go to high school, but Ruth looked to be no more than eleven.

  Ruth wiggled in her seat. “I’m almost thirteen,” she said as if she read my mind. “About the computer, we didn’t do anything really. I was just looking at Alex’s pictures from her family’s vacation. They went to the Grand Canyon. Have you ever been there?”

  “I have.” As a teen, I drove across the country with the Greens on their family vacation, stopping at the St. Louis Arch, the Rocky Mountains, the Grand Canyon, and California. We’d hoped Sabrina and my father would meet us in San Diego when we arrived, but according to Sabrina, “It was a bad time.”

  “Is my sister going to prison?”

  As she asked the question, a white utility truck barreled around the curve in front of me. I pulled to the side to let the driver pass, and as I did, Timothy’s truck rolled through a crater-sized pothole. “Uff,” I said, wincing from the impact. Ruth’s bonnet bounced off of the truck’s ceiling.

  “Becky will be fine,” I assured her. In the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of the words MATHEWS REAL ESTATE DEVELOPMENT stamped on the back door of the speeding truck.