Page 84 of Fallen

The warm cinnamon aroma of the doughnuts fills the interior of my rental car as I make the turn onto the township road and idle past the Bontrager farm. I look for garbage cans at the end of the lane, but like most Amish, the Bontragers burn their trash. No help whatsoever in terms of my gaining a DNA sample.

Half a mile down the road, I make a U-turn and pull onto the shoulder. I don’t expect any problems with Ben or Loretta, but it’s always prudent to let a fellow officer know where you are no matter how benign the assignment.

I call my on-duty officer, Skid. “Where are you?” I ask.

“I just stopped Ron Zelinski’s kid,” he tells me. “Caught him doing ninety out on Township Road 89. Claims he was late for school.”

That particular stretch is smooth, flat, and wide, which makes it a favorite spot for all sorts of illicit driving activities, everything from street racing to car surfing. Two years ago, a sixteen-year-old was thrown from a pickup truck and sustained a serious head injury.

“Now he really is going to be late,” I say. “Don’t cut him any slack.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Kid’s a shit.”

Like his dad, I think, but I don’t say it. “Look, I’m about to swing by the Bontrager place. I shouldn’t be there more than twenty minutes or so. I’ll call you when I finish up.”

A beat of silence and then, “Something going on, Chief?”

“Fishing expedition, mostly.” Because I’m not sure of any of my suspicions—because I’m dealing with the welfare of a minor child and the reputation of a well-thought-of family—I keep it vague. “I need to talk to them about the Schwartz case. There are a couple of things that don’t add up. I’m not sure I got the whole story from them.”

“You want me to meet you out there?” he asks. “I can tie this up in two minutes.”

“With their being Amish, I think they’ll be more apt to speak openly if I’m alone. I don’t expect things to go south—I just want you to know where I am.”

“If I don’t hear from you in twenty, I’ll call out the posse.”

“Roger that.”

I pull onto the road and make the turn into the Bontrager lane. The horse I’d seen Fannie riding a few days ago grazes in the field to my right. I continue on past the house and park in the gravel area between the house and barn. The reek of manure drifts on the breeze as I take the sidewalk to the front porch. I’ve barely knocked when the door swings open.

“Katie! Hello!” Loretta motions me in. “Kumma inseid.” Come inside.

“I won’t take up too much of your time.” I hold up the bag of doughnuts. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Oh, how nice.” She smiles. “The Butterhorn Bakery. Fannie’s favorite.” She laughs and touches her backside with her hand. “Mine, too, as if you can’t tell. What brings you to our neck of the woods this morning?”

“I’m about to close the case and I wanted to tie up a couple of loose ends.”

Her expression turns thoughtful. “This has been a dark time for all of us. I’m glad it’s over. I reckon you are, too.” She glances over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “I’ve got bone broth on the stove. We can sit in the kitchen if you’d like.”

I follow her through the living room, to a big typically Amish kitchen. Cabinets painted robin’s-egg blue. Formica countertops. The cast-iron woodstove throws off a little too much heat. A kerosene-powered refrigerator vibrates in the corner. Ahead, a doorway leads to the mudroom. There, I see the coat tree, laden with kapps and a man’s flat-brimmed hat.

“Bone broth smells good.” I set the bag of doughnuts on the table and pull out the three paper plates and napkins I brought with me.

“It’s my mamm’s recipe. An old one.” At the stove, she stirs the broth and replaces the lid. Mild surprise registers in her eyes when she sees that I’ve set out plates and napkins. “Well then, while Ben’s in the barn, maybe the three of us will just sneak a few of these doughnuts.

“Fannie!” she calls out, and then to me, “Kaffi?”

“Dank.” Using a napkin, I set doughnuts on the plates.

Fannie appears in the doorway. She’s wearing a green dress. White kapp. Gray sneakers. I’m surprised to see the pediatric sling that secures her left arm in place across her chest.

“Hi, Chief Burkholder,” she says with a smile.

“That’s a nice-looking sling you’re wearing,” I say to the girl. “What happened?”

Loretta pours coffee from a percolator, looks at us over her shoulder. “Snuck out of the house to ride that horse last night is what happened.” She clucks her mouth. “Going too fast, I imagine. Fell off down by the creek. Broke her clavicle.” She carries two cups to the table, sets one in front of me. “We knew she was going to get hurt sooner or later.”

I look at Fannie. “You weren’t speeding, were you?”