Page 5 of Shamed

I shake my head. “Might belong to Mr. Helmuth down the road. I’m going to head that way now and check.”

He nods. “I thought someone should know. Hate to see that horse get hit. I gotta get to the shop.”

“Thanks for calling us, Mike.”

“Anytime, Chief.”

I watch him pull away and then start back toward the Explorer. “Let’s go talk to the Helmuths.”

I’m in the process of sliding in when I hear the scream. At first, I think it’s the sound of children playing, but the Helmuth farm is half a mile away, too far for voices to carry. Something in that scream gives me pause. I go still, listening.

Another scream splits the air. It’s high-pitched and goes on for too long. Not children playing. There’s something visceral and primal in the voice that makes the hairs at the back of my neck prickle.

Mona’s eyes meet mine. “What the hell, Chief?”

“Where is it coming from?” I say.

We listen. I step away from the Explorer, trying to determine the direction from which the voice came. This time, I discern words.

“Grossmammi! Grossmammi! Grossmammi!”

Panic and terror echo in the young voice. I glance at the Schattenbaum house, spot a little Amish girl running down the gravel lane as fast as her legs will carry her.

“Grossmammi! Grossmammi!”

Mona and I rush toward her. In the back of my mind, I wonder if her grandmother had an accident or suffered some kind of medical emergency.

I reach the mouth of the lane. The gate is open. The little girl is twenty yards away, running fast, darting looks over her shoulder as if she’s seen a ghost—or a monster. She’s about five years old. She looks right at me, but she doesn’t see.

“Sweetheart. Hey, are you okay?” I ask in Deitsch as I start toward her. “Is everyone all right?”

When she’s ten feet from me, I notice the blood on her hands. More on her face. On her dress. A lot of it. Too much. A hard rise of alarm in my chest. I glance at Mona. “I got blood. Keep your eyes open.”

The girl’s body slams into me with such force that I stumble back. She’s vibrating all over. Mewling sounds tearing from a throat that’s gone hoarse.

“Easy.” I set my hands on her little shoulders. “It’s okay. You’re all right.”

“Grossmammi!” Screaming, she claws at my clothes, looks over her shoulder toward the house. “Da Deivel got her!”

“What happened?” I run my hands over her. “Are you hurt?”

The girl tries to speak, but ends up choking and crying. I kneel and ease her to arm’s length, hold her gaze, give her a gentle shake. “Calm down, honey. Tell me what happened.”

“Da Deivel hurt Grossmammi!” the girl cries. “She’s bleeding. He’s coming to get me, too!”

“Where is she?” I ask firmly.

Choking, she lifts a shaking hand, points toward the old house. “In the kitchen. She won’t wake up!”

I look at Mona. “Get an ambulance out here. Call County and tell them to send a deputy.” I ease the little girl over to Mona. “Stay with her. I’m going to take a look.”

Normally, I’d take Mona with me, but this child is too young and too panicked to be left alone. I don’t expect anything in the way of foul play. Chances are, Grandma had an accident, a fall or heart attack or some other medical episode. Of course, that doesn’t explain the blood.…

I hear Mona hail Dispatch as I jog toward the house. I notice the buggy-wheel marks in the dust as I run. A burlap tote someone must have dropped.

I reach the back of the house. No movement inside. No sign anyone has been here. I go to the porch, spot a single footprint in the dust. The door stands ajar. The hinges squeak when I push it open the rest of the way.

I smell blood an instant before I see it. An ocean of shocking red covers the floor. Spatter on the cabinets. The sink. The wall. Adrenaline burns a path across my gut. I slide my .38 from its holster. A female lies on the floor. She’s Amish. Blue dress. White kapp. Older. Not moving. There’s no weapon in sight. All I can think is that this was no accident or suicide, and I may not be alone.