Page 99 of The Hidden One

“I suspect it was Henry all along,” he tells me.

“He wanted to divert police attention away from him and his sister,” I murmur.

“Exactly.” He nods. “He was probably our tipster, too.”

“The hand bones in the well,” I say.

“He wanted us to focus on Bowman, so he piled on as much manufactured evidence as he could.” He grimaces. “Probably attacked you at the motel. Ran you off the road that day up on the mountain.”

I nod, remembering, and I realize the physical description of my attacker fits. “He was desperate,” I say. “He thought he could frighten me into leaving town.”

“I reckon that’s not the first time you’ve been underestimated.” He gives me a self-deprecating smile.

I smile back, liking him. Almost.

“Going to take a while to sort through everything.” He reaches beneath his cap and scratches his head. “We don’t even know at this point which one of them shot and killed Ananias Stoltzfus.”

“The answer to that might just lie with Mia Stoltzfus’s diary,” I tell him.

“Speaking of the diary.” Gainer’s expression turns grim. “We executed a search warrant earlier. I found the journal. Before logging and sealing it, I paged through. The thing went back decades. Some of it was written in German. But there was enough English for me to see that Mia Stoltzfus made some very serious accusations about her husband.”

“What kinds of accusations?”

“Things that happened, things he did. During the war.” His expression turns queasy, as if his breakfast is thinking about coming up. “Let me tell you something, Chief Burkholder, that diary is a thing of nightmares.”

I feel the same queasiness creep up on me. “Any idea how Mary Elizabeth got her hands on the diary?”

“I dug up the police report from the suicide of Mia Stoltzfus.” He grimaces. “The diary should have been returned to the surviving spouse. Inadvertently, it was given to Mary Elizabeth.”

Another piece of the puzzle snaps into place. “She knew what her father was,” I say.

Gainer stares at me intently. “If any of what I read in that diary is true, it’s enough to make anyone snap.” He shakes his head. “We’ll know a lot more once we sit down and talk to her. I suspect her brother was involved.”

I think about my final conversation with Henry. Family dynamics. “He was protecting her,” I say. “Even if Mary Elizabeth is the one who pulled the trigger, Henry helped her cover up the crime. He framed Jonas Bowman. In the end, he took the fall for his sister.”

He nods, looking at me intently. “At the risk of screwing up my reputation as an asshat.” A sheepish smile splits his face. “That was some damn fine police work you did. Thank you.”

“I had an advantage,” I tell him.

“You’re Amish.”

Now it’s my turn to smile. “I knew Jonas Bowman.”

He sticks out his hand and gives mine a firm shake. “Just don’t go running for sheriff around here next election.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I tell him, and I drive away.

CHAPTER 33

I’m not very good at goodbyes. I avoid them when possible. I prefer the see-you-next-time kind of farewell even when both of us know we’ll likely never see each other again. I considered skipping this one, but I didn’t want to leave things unfinished a second time. As I make the turn into the driveway of the Bowman house for the final time, I’m glad I came, even though I know it’s going to hurt. Such is the nature of life.

I park between the house and workshop. As usual, the shop door stands open. I exit the Explorer to the wail of a saw, the hiss of air through the lines, and the rumble of the diesel generator at the side of the building.

I enter to find Jonas and Reuben standing at a huge lathe, turning a wood spindle that will likely become the leg of a kitchen table. Junior sits cross-legged on the floor adjacent to six cabinet doors that are lined up against the wall. He’s staining the doors a two-tone maple and merlot. One down, five to go. Effie stands at the rear of the workshop, broom in one hand and dustpan in the other, looking a lot more interested in the machinery around her than sweeping up sawdust. Good girl, I think.

“Katie!”

I turn to see Junior trotting toward me. He’s grinning. A dribble of wood stain on his forehead. Sweat on his cheeks.