back. I wasn’t in the mood for sparing with Todd and indigestion was only part of the reason. “For every burger I eat at Nancy’s, you eat two.”
“Yeah, but at least I have Heather back at the house cooking some decent meals during the week. Do you even cook?” Todd raised a brow.
Bobby snorted. I ignored him.
“I make do just fine in that department, thank you very much. I know all about Heather’s cooking skills. I’ve eaten at your house enough times to know that her meals aren’t that much different from what we eat at the diner.”
Todd opened his mouth to protest when Bobby promptly shut him up.
“Don’t you think we should focus on the call that just came in and not worry so much about everyone’s eating habits? I swear the two of you are more like squabbling siblings than the sheriff and deputy of Blood Rock.”
I glanced over my shoulder and forced a smile. Bobby should have retired by now, but he loved his job, despite his constant complains. I figured that spending all day, every day, with his wife was a lot worse than working full time with dead bodies. I wouldn’t say it out loud, but I was glad for his troubles at home. I couldn’t imagine what I’d do without the grumpy wisdom he dispensed on a daily basis.
“The death of a woman while having a home birth doesn’t sound like sheriff’s business to me.” I shrugged, facing forward.
The argument I’d had with Daniel that morning had my stomach rolling more than the burger. His stubborn ways had flared up again. The last thing I wanted to deal with on this cloudy afternoon was Amish intrigue.
“That’s not exactly what Bishop Aaron Esch said on the phone…” Todd trailed off when I flashed him a withering look.
“Amish drama. That’s all this is.” I made a cutting motion with my hand to signal the end of the conversation.
The historic brick buildings, neat sidewalks and ornate street lamps disappeared as we left the city limits. The trees beyond the car’s windows still had the fluffy, yellowish look of budding leaves. The fields were plowed and miles of dark, churned earth spread out on either side of the road. Yellow flashes of daffodils and forsythia bushes began as we passed farmsteads.
The improved weather was the only thing that kept my foul mood in check. It was difficult to be grouchy when the snow had finally melted and birds were chirping. I rolled down the window a few more inches and tilted my face to the rush of warm air. Every year, the first spring days in Indiana felt heaven sent. It was a relief to be at winter’s end.
“What do you make of it, Bobby?” I reluctantly asked.
My last meeting with the bishop was still fresh on my mind. Two months earlier, when I’d gotten back from my insane trip up north to help with the arson investigation in the Poplar Springs’ Amish settlement, Bishop Esch had stopped by my office to complain about the arrival of a new family. I’d listened to the bishop talk about vague healing practices that sometimes went awry. He’d given no specifics. No crimes had been committed as far as I could tell. I’d sent the tall, elderly man on his way, explaining as best as I could that law enforcement couldn’t arrest someone who hadn’t committed a crime. We weren’t in the business of running people out of town, either.
“From what Aaron said, the young woman was hiding her pregnancy from her family and the rest of the community. She was only midway into her second trimester. It seems shedied while having a miscarriage, which is not very common, I might add,” Bobby said.
I continued to gaze out the window at the newly mint-green world, frowning. I certainly wasn’t an expert on pregnancy. Maybe Bobby was on to something.
“Is the bishop implying that her death is a homicide?” I asked. A quick glance at Todd showed his expression was grim.
Without looking back at Bobby, I knew he was twirling the end of his mustache whiskers between his fingers. When he spoke,
Kurt Vonnegut, Bryan Harnetiaux