Page 29 of Fallen

She said nothing.

He continued as if he didn’t expect a response. “You never want anything bad to happen to them when they’re that age. Scars, you know. The girls especially. I think little girls need their moms even more than the boys, you know?”

“All children need their parents,” she said, hating it that her voice was shaking, the words little more than a whisper. That he had the power to frighten her—that there wasn’t anything she could do about it—disturbed her so much she could scarcely breathe.

“All I’m saying is that kids are a lot less likely to have trouble in their lives if their parents are around to raise them. You know, to guide them through their teen years and all.”

Loretta didn’t know what to say to that. He was talking in riddles and she wasn’t sure what he meant or where the conversation was heading. All she knew was that she didn’t want to talk to him. He hadn’t threatened her, but the way he looked at her, the things he said, the way he said them, terrified her. She didn’t want him to talk about her daughter. She didn’t want Fannie exposed to him. She didn’t feel safe on this back road alone with him.

She picked up the leather lines. “I have to go.”

“Reason I stopped you.” He leaned slightly closer. “Did you hear about what happened to your old friend?”

Loretta clucked and jiggled the lines to move the horse forward, but he grabbed the leather and held them taut so the horse remained stopped. “The one used to be Amish. The blonde. What was her name? Rachael?” He nodded. “Yeah, Rachael Schwartz. The pretty one.”

She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about Rachael or what had happened to her. She sure didn’t want to discuss it with this pig of a man. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not to you.”

He turned his head, his eyes scanning the road behind her and in front of the buggy. She stared at his profile, seeing the muscles in his jaw work. Anger, she thought, and another layer of fear settled over her. When his eyes landed on hers, the light in them startled her.

“I heard she told some lies about me,” he said. “Maybe she told you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, in that case, why don’t I bring you up to speed?” He leaned closer. “Whatever she said, it ain’t true. Nothing happened. Do you understand?”

She stared at him, unable to speak, barely able to manage a jerk of her head.

“If you’re smart.” He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. “If you care about that pretty little girl in the back seat, you’ll keep your goddamn mouth shut. Do you understand me?”

She swallowed, jerked her head. “I don’t know anything.”

“Your friend was a liar,” he said. “She made things up. Ugly things that weren’t true. We both know that, right? Everyone in this town knows it. Even the Amish know it, for God’s sake. Whatever she told you is a damn lie. You need to forget it. Put it out of your head. You got that?”

Her heart pounded so hard she could barely hear his voice over the roar. Her throat was tight and so dry she almost couldn’t get the words out. “She didn’t tell me anything.”

“I didn’t think so.” His eyes drifted to the girl in the back seat, then back to hers. “I’d hate to see something bad happen to you or, God forbid, your kid.”

“Please,” Loretta whispered.

Grinning, he released the lines and stepped away from the buggy. “You ladies be careful out there.”

Loretta’s hands were shaking so violently, she could barely snap the lines. “Kumma druff!” Come on now.

The horse startled and launched into a trot.

Loretta felt his eyes on her as she maneuvered the horse around his vehicle. She didn’t dare look at him as she passed him, but she felt the threat.

CHAPTER 14

It’s ten A.M. when I park outside the emergency room portico of Pomerene Hospital in Millersburg and take the sidewalk to the double glass doors. The volunteer at the reception desk waves as I cross to the elevator and punch the button. I return the greeting, but my smile feels grim. When the doors swish closed, I slide the tube of Blistex from my pocket and smear a dollop beneath my nose. By the time the doors open, I’m shored up and ready to face what comes next.

The reception area is nicely furnished with light blue walls, gray carpet, a pretty cherrywood desk, and a scattering of brightly patterned chairs.

“Hi, Chief Burkholder.”

Carmen Anderson has worked in an administrative capacity for Doc Coblentz for several years now. She’s professional, good at what she does, and cheerful despite the fact that she spends much of her day in such close proximity to the dead. This morning, she’s wearing a floral wraparound dress with a red belt, black blazer, and not-quite-sensible pumps.

“Hi.” I stop at her desk and sign in. “You know you’re one of the best-dressed women in Painters Mill, right?”