Page 95 of The Hidden One

“We were never close … but we’re Amish.” He shrugs. “We’ve had worship at our place a time or two. It’s possible.”

“So he knew it was there. He either went into your house when no one was home, or at night, while everyone was sleeping. He used it to kill Ananias and left it at the scene, so it would be tied back to you.”

His brows knit. “What about the hand bones?”

“He was afraid fingerprints would identify his father, not as the Amish man he claimed to be, but a German soldier with a shady past—or worse.” I give another shrug. “We’ll never know the whole story.”

Jonas shoves his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know how you did what you did, but I’m a thankful man. You went through a lot and even though you were hurt, you didn’t stop.” He slants a look at me and smiles. “You still play to win, no?”

“I’ve been accused of being persistent.”

“A time or two.” Thoughtful, he looks out across the water. “You’ll be going back to Painters Mill. To that man you’re going to marry. Your life as a police chief.”

I offer my best smile. “All of the above.”

His gaze shifts back to me and the space between us charges, like the air in the seconds before a lightning strike. For a fleeting instant, I’m that fifteen-year-old Amish girl again. The one who’d loved him with all my woman’s heart and missed him so much I wanted to die.

“I’m a happily married man,” he says after a moment.

“I know that,” I tell him. “It suits you.”

His eyes hold my gaze captive so that I can’t look away. “I thought about you a lot over the years,” he says quietly. “What might’ve been if my parents hadn’t left when they did. I wondered how things might’ve turned out if I’d stayed. For a long time after I left, I wondered what it would be like to see you again.”

“We were too young,” I tell him.

“I almost came back for you.”

“Jonas—”

He starts to speak over me, but I raise my hand and press my fingers against his mouth. “Some things aren’t meant to be,” I say quietly.

His expression intensifies, as if he’s seeing me for the first time after a long separation, and he isn’t quite sure I’m really there or if I’m the same person and he desperately needs to find out if I am. “I would have married you,” he whispers. “I wanted to.”

It’s the last thing I expected him to say. I sure as hell didn’t expect the words to touch me so deeply—or to hurt. My relationship with Jonas is ancient history. A sweet spot in my past that will forever remain just that. A memory that’s been cleaned up by time. The messiness and pain erased. Time, the great healer.

“Everything worked out the way it was supposed to,” I tell him.

“Tell my nineteen-year-old self that.”

He leans toward me, reaches out to cup my face, but I gently grasp his wrist and stop him. We both know such an intimate touch would be considered inappropriate for a married Amish man. He may be willing to take the risk, but I’m not.

A smile whispers across his features.

And he walks away.

CHAPTER 31

I’ve closed my share of cases over the years. A few were major crimes that required in-depth investigation, dogged determination, and gobbled up hundreds of hours—everything I had to give. Most were lesser offenses that entailed the same only on a smaller scale. No matter the type of case, the one thing I always appreciate at the end is the sense of closure. The satisfaction of knowing a bad guy is off the street. The gratification that comes with a solid resolution and the knowledge that you did your job.

While this wasn’t an official “case,” a murderer was taken off the street. An innocent man was cleared of wrongdoing. Though I didn’t participate in a law enforcement capacity, I played a major role. Despite all it, there’s little in the way of closure. There are too many unanswered questions. Too many loose ends. Who was Ananias Stoltzfus really? Where was he from and what did he do? How much did Mia know? And how did Henry discover his identity?

They are questions that will likely take weeks or months to answer—if they’re answered at all. The only thing I have at this point is conjecture. The one thing I am certain of is that Ananias Stoltzfus was not a good man and may have very well been an evil man. That his son took matters into his own hands and destroyed his own life in the process is a far cry from justice.

I’m standing at the entrance of the old mill, watching the paramedics heft the bag containing Henry Stoltzfus’s body into the rear of an ambulance. It’s nearly noon now. Jonas and I gave our statements. Henry’s family has been notified. The crime scene unit pulled out twenty minutes ago. I should have left hours ago. I could have been showered, packed, and on my way to Painters Mill by now.

So why are you still here, Kate?

“Chief Burkholder!”