Page 24 of The Hidden One

“Could it have been a neighbor or friend who borrowed it?”

“We asked. No one did.”

“Can you show me where you kept it?”

“Sure. We walked right by it on the way in.” She gets to her feet. “Mudroom. Come on.”

I follow her to the narrow porchlike room I passed through upon entering. A row of windows on the outside wall lets in a generous amount of sunlight. A big chest freezer rattles against the opposite wall. There’s a shelf unit littered with canning jars and a few gardening tools. Next to it, hooks set into the wall for hats and jackets.

“Kept that old gun right there in the corner.” Dorothy points. “Propped against the wall.”

“Loaded?”

“I don’t think so. To tell you the truth, I don’t even know.”

“Do you keep your door locked?” I ask. “I mean, at night?”

She smiles tiredly. “No one in Belleville locks their doors.”

I stand there a moment, taking in the proximity of the place where the gun was stored in relation to the door. It wouldn’t take much for someone to slip inside unnoticed and snatch it up.

“Was Bishop Stoltzfus having problems with anyone else in the community?” I ask.

“Well, Ananias was strict. He was tough on anyone who broke the rules.” She purses her lips. “Now that you mention it, there might’ve been a time or two when someone got their back up.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“Duane Mullet. That one was trouble from the day he was born. His poor mamm. He talked like a demon with all the cursing and taking the Lord’s name in vain. Drank like a fish. The bishop wouldn’t have it and put him under the bann straightaway. Duane was just twenty years old and he sure didn’t take it sitting down. Cussed out the bishop right in front of everyone.”

“Did the police question Mullet?”

“He was a truck driver at the time, and he was up in Alaska when Ananias disappeared.”

I write down the name anyway. “Is he still around?”

“Lives up in the hills last I heard. Still a roughneck from what I hear.”

“Anyone else?”

“Roman Miller comes to mind. That boy was as cute as a speckled pup. He’d been courting a nice Amish girl. Going to the singings and whatnot. Rumor had it, he was messing around with a Mennonite girl up to Lewistown at the same time. I don’t know how the bishop got involved; someone probably saw Roman with the girl and told him. Ananias came down hard.”

“Did Roman come around?”

The Amish woman scoffs. “Got mad is what he did. Roman’s a firebrand. He denied all of it. Refused to confess. Kept on seeing both them girls. Strutting around like a rooster. Believe me, he was no catch. Ananias finally put him under the bann.”

“How did that go over?”

“Didn’t like it one bit. Roman’s a farrier, you see. Lost all his Amish business. From what I hear, it put him into financial ruin.”

“So he was more worried about the financial impact than being ousted from his friends and family,” I say.

“Tells you something about the man, doesn’t it?” she replies.

“How long ago did this happen?” I ask.

“A few months before Ananias went missing.”

The timing makes the back of my neck itch. “Does he still live in the area?”