Page 54 of A Gathering of Secrets

I cross to him. “When’s the last time you were in that shed?”

“Been so long I don’t even remember. Two or three months, maybe.”

“We found the mason jars,” I say quietly, watching him.

“Mason jars? What? Do I look like I can tomatoes?”

I say nothing.

“Look,” he says, “whatever crap’s in that shed don’t belong to me. That ain’t my car. Ain’t my junk. All of it belongs to the landlord.”

I think about asking him about the key, decide to keep that bit of information to myself. “Do you keep gasoline here on your property?”

The nasty smile falters. “I got a gas can on the back porch for my lawnmower. Mower’s broke and I think the can’s empty.” Some of his belligerence drops away, and for the first time, he looks worried. “What’s this all about?”

“Has anyone been in that shed, Mr. Martino? Landlord? Neighbor?”

“No one,” he tells me.

“Has anyone been on the property? Visitors?”

“No. I mean, not that I know of.”

“Have you had any prowlers out here? Any unidentified persons on your property? Strange cars? Anything like that?”

He lifts the beer, takes a long pull, watching me carefully. “What did you find in there? A dead body?”

I glance over at Skid. He gives me a thumbs-up, letting me know the CSU from BCI is on the way. I turn my attention back to Martino. “Look, we’re going to tape off this area. We’ve got a crime scene unit coming out here to take a closer look at the shed.”

“Crime scene unit, huh?” He laughs. “You people better not be aiming to hang anything on me.”

“The only way you’re going to get anything hung on you is if your prints turn up on those mason jars,” I tell him. “Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“I may want to talk to you again, Mr. Martino, so if you have to leave town for any reason, you need to let me know.”

“I ain’t going anywhere.” Taking a final, disgusted look at me, he sighs and heads back toward the house.

* * *

Shvetzah f’um da Deivel un du zayl da saund funn sei flikkels. Speak of the devil and you’ll hear the flap of his wings. It was one of her grossmudder’s favorite sayings. It basically means if you spend too much time thinking about the Devil, he’ll come your way.…

If Neva hadn’t been so scared, she might’ve laughed. She’d known he would come after her. For weeks, she’d been driving the car to and from work. She’d been careful. No stops along the way. Not even for gas. She didn’t take any chances. Didn’t tempt fate. She rarely left the house after dark. When she did, she was never alone. Mamm thought she was such a good girl. So focused on her job at The Mercantile that she had no interest in the things some of the other Beachy Amish girls were doing. If she only knew …

He’d bided his time, waited for her to let down her guard, make a mistake. Of course, fate had obliged. His rage, the darkness inside him, was a fear she’d lived with for months now. He might be Plain, but he hadn’t forgiven her. And he would never, ever forget.

Not that she’d done anything wrong. She hadn’t. Had she? She’d made one wrong decision. Just one. Dear God in heaven she was sorry for it. She couldn’t have known someone else would pay such a terrible price. By all accounts, it should have been her. If she could go back and change it, she would. If she could trade places, she would.

Too late now …

Earlier this afternoon, one of her little sisters had fallen out of a tree and broken her arm. Her parents had ridden to work together this morning, but Mamm had taken the car to the bank. Left without a vehicle, Datt took Neva’s, leaving her at the shop with nothing more than a bike. Of course her datt had no way of knowing he’d placed her in danger. But he had. And now, here she was, alone, out in the middle of nowhere, and it was almost dark. She’d been peddling as fast as she could for miles; she was breathless and sweating, looking over her shoulder like some scared rabbit.

He’d driven past her slowly the first time, his face a pale oval as he stared at her through the window. As far as she could tell, he was alone. That was bad, because it meant there was no one to pull him back. No one to calm him down. Or stop him. No, she thought, he’d be back, and she still had three miles to go.

The hiss of tires against asphalt sounded behind her, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. A glance over her shoulder revealed he was just twenty yards away, driving slowly, pacing her, watching her.

I didn’t mean it, she thought. Please leave me alone.…