Page 10 of Shamed

“No,” the woman says, looking startled. “She went with—”

He cuts her off. “Search the house. I’ll look in the barn.”

He trots toward the barn. The woman shoots a worried, questioning look my way, then disappears inside.

I get out of the Explorer and open the door for the girl in the backseat. She’s not making a sound, but her cheeks are shiny with tears. I notice the dried blood on her hands again, and a quiver of sympathy moves through me. “Let’s go inside, sweetheart.”

Taking her hand, I walk with her to the back door. We enter a mudroom with dirty plywood floors and a wall of windows to my right. An old wringer washing machine squats in the corner. A dry sink against the wall. A clothesline bisects the room at its center, half a dozen pairs of trousers hanging to dry.

Annie and I have just stepped into the kitchen when the screen door slams. Footsteps pound and then Ivan Helmuth enters the room. “She’s not in the barn,” he says breathlessly.

I hear shoes in the hallway and then Miriam enters the kitchen. “Elsie’s not upstairs. She’s not in the cellar. Why are you looking for her? What’s happened? Where’s Mamm?”

“Elsie’s missing.” Ivan’s voice breaks. “Mary is … gone.”

“Gone? But … what do you mean? You don’t know where she is? Ivan, Mamm is with the children. They were—” The Amish woman’s gaze lands on Annie; her eyes go wide when she spots the blood. “Mein Gott.” She rushes to the child, falls to her knees, and takes the girl into her arms. “Are you hurt? How did you get that blood on you?” she asks in Deitsch.

“Da Deivel,” the little girl whispers.

Miriam pales; even her lips go white. “What is she saying?” She pushes her daughter to arm’s length to get a better look at her. “Whose blood is this? Where did it come from?”

As she clutches the little girl, the Amish woman’s eyes dart to her husband, then me, her voice rising with each word she utters. “Chief Burkholder? What’s happened?”

“Mrs. Helmuth, I need to speak to you and your husband privately.” I let my eyes slide to the little girl.

Taking the girl by her hand, the Amish woman rushes from the kitchen, goes to the base of the stairs, and calls out. “Irma!”

A girl of ten or eleven clatters down the steps, but slows upon spotting us, her eyes flicking from her mother to me and back. “What’s wrong?”

“Take Annie. Get her cleaned up.”

The girl’s eyes widen when she sees the blood. “Oh!”

“Go on now. Get her washed up. Quick.”

When the children are gone and we’re seated, I tell them everything.

“Mamm passed? But…” Miriam leans forward, covers her face with her hands, and begins to rock. “Elsie. Gone? Mein Gott. It’s too much. I can’t believe it.”

Ivan looks at me. “Who would do this terrible thing?”

“Did your mother-in-law have any enemies?” I ask. “Any disagreements or arguments with anyone?”

The couple exchange looks, as if the answer lies in the other person’s face. “No,” Ivan says after a moment.

“Maybe it was something that didn’t seem important at the time?” I press, trying to get them to work through the shock of grief and fear for their daughter and think.

“No.” The Amish man shrugs. “Nothing.”

“Has anything unusual happened to Annie or Elsie recently? Any strange incidents? Maybe while you were in town? Shopping? Running errands? Maybe someone said something that struck you as odd?”

He shakes his head adamantly. “No.”

“Any problems with family members? Or neighbors? Any arguments or bad blood? Money disputes?”

“No,” he tells me. “Nothing like that.”

“Have you had any workers here at the farm? Day laborers? Repairmen?”