Page 99 of A Gathering of Secrets

“Where’s the gun?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” she cries. “I dropped it. In the car.”

He’s a few feet away from her. The cuffs are in his left hand. He’s reaching out to cuff her left wrist when her right hand drops.

Skid sees it at the same time I do. “Get your hand up!” he shouts. “Get it fucking up!”

As if in slow motion, Edna Lambright turns, still on her knees. In the glare of the headlights I see a black weapon in her right hand. Coming up. Her eyes on Skid.

“Drop it!” I scream. “Drop the weapon! Drop it!”

Skid is too close to her for me to fire the shotgun. I see his gun hand move upward.

“Drop it!” he shouts.

The gunshot freezes everything in place. I see a tremor pass through Skid. The Amish woman on her knees, twisting around, facing him. Face contorted. Her right arm straight, the weapon pointed at him.

Two more shots in quick succession are like an explosion in my brain. Edna Lambright pitches forward, falls facedown on the asphalt.

“Skid! Skid!” I lower the shotgun, dart over to him.

He backs up a couple of steps, nearly runs into me. I set my hand on his shoulder. “Are you hit?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure? Check, damn it.” But my eyes are already moving to Edna Lambright.

“I’m okay.” He takes another step back, lets out a sigh that shudders. “Might’ve crapped my pants, though.”

I don’t have my radio, so I look at Skid. “Ten-fifty-two.”

He’s already making the call and giving our location.

I kneel next to Edna Lambright. She’s lying prone with her head turned. She’s alive, her eyes open and blinking. She’s not moving, but I can see the rise and fall of her back as she breathes. There’s blood on her dress. A hole in the fabric where the bullet struck her.

I touch her shoulder. “An ambulance is on the way, Edna. Just stay calm for me. You’re going to be all right.”

“Neva,” she whispers.

“Neva will be fine,” I say. “You, too. Just hang on.”

She closes her eyes. “I set the fire.”

“I know. We’ll deal with that later.”

“No. The Gingerich fire. I set it. I did it.”

I look at Skid. He heard it, too. I look down at her, but the Amish woman is gone.

* * *

Never doubt in the dark what God has shown you in the light.

The words were one of my mamm’s favorite sayings, especially in the face of tragedy, and I heard it often growing up. When my grossmudder passed away. When a neighbor was killed in a buggy accident. The day I was attacked by Daniel Lapp. The axiom reflects the Amish tenet of maintaining faith in times of heartbreak. One of many reasons I never fit in.

Edna Lambright was pronounced dead at the scene a little after ten P.M. It took the fire department an hour to extinguish the blaze. Because the incident included an officer-involved shooting, I called Tomasetti. Somehow, he made the thirty-minute drive from Wooster in under twenty. At that point, BCI assumed control of the scene. Sheriff Mike Rasmussen showed up a short time later along with the BCI crime scene unit truck, and the technician set to work, photographing, videotaping, and collecting evidence. Later, Bob Schoening with the fire marshal’s office arrived and I spent another half an hour or so answering questions.

I stuck with Skid throughout. He’s my officer and, at the moment, my number-one priority. We stayed on scene until the coroner pulled up. That’s when Tomasetti offered us a ride to the police station. We accepted the offer. Of course neither of us had a choice.