Page 18 of Blood Moon

Mrs. Lambright clucks. “We’re sorry if he caused you any problems, Chief Burkholder. I know it’s an odd thing, but we’ve grown quite fond of him.”

“Elmer has kept us a little busy overnight,” I tell her.

The Amish man winces. “Where is he?”

“If all goes as planned,” Tomasetti says, “Elmer is about to be trapped by a wildlife officer with the Department of Natural Resources.”

Mrs. Lambright puts her hand over her mouth, her eyes darting to her husband. “Du sedda anna-gay.” You should go. “Greeya eem.” Get him. “Bringa eem haymet.” Bring him home.

I can tell by his expression he’s concerned, not only about his pet swine, but traveling to Painters Mill via buggy or wagon in the fog.

“I’m assuming you have a livestock trailer to transport him?” I ask.

“Got a nice wagon we use to haul all our livestock,” he tells me. “Built it myself.”

I divide my attention between the two of them. “It’s likely going to take a few hours to get Elmer corralled,” I tell them. “With all this fog, it might be better to hold off on picking him up. I can call your business number when we’re ready.”

The woman nods. “I’ll be working right here next to the phone all morning.”

I look from Lambright to his wife. “The hog wounded an Amish man earlier. You may have some medical expenses or, if you carry insurance, you might want to check to see if that sort of thing is covered.”

Even as I explain the potential liability issue, I acknowledge the fact that the Amish rarely have insurance—or get involved with any sort of litigation. Likely, Mr. Lambright will seek out Mr. Beachy and offer to pay his medical bills.

“We’ll take care of it,” the woman says. “It’s our fault, after all.”

“Don’t like it that someone got hurt.” The Amish man tsks. “I’ve been meaning to trim those tusks.”

“We’d appreciate it if you did,” Tomasetti tells him.

Nodding, the Amish man turns his attention to me and sticks out his hand, his gaze steady. “Thank you for driving all the way here in the fog, Chief Burkholder.” He nods at Tomasetti. “Thank both of you for safeguarding such a cantankerous animal.”

“We’re sorry he caused so many problems,” his wife adds.

I nod. “As long as you get that pen repaired and pay for any medical expenses, I think we’re good to go.”

Mrs. Lambright comes up beside her husband and takes my hand in both of hers. “We’ve heard you’re a good police chief, Kate Burkholder, even though you’re no longer Amish. Now that we’ve dealt with you in person, we know that for a fact.”

It’s 5:30 A.M. when Tomasetti and I arrive back in Painters Mill. I cruise through a deserted downtown to Horseshoe Bend to see the emergency lights of Skid’s cruiser still flashing. A second truck hauling a livestock trailer has arrived on scene. Officer Hooper, another Wildlife Officer, and Skid are standing outside Hooper’s truck, staring down at a glowing monitor the size of an iPad.

“Good timing, Chief Burkholder,” Hooper says in a low voice.

“Just now got the camera working,” Skid whispers.

I look over the men’s shoulders to see a screen that shows the monochromatic image of a steel corral that’s been set up in a clearing.

“How far away is that?” Tomasetti asks.

“Hundred yards or so,” Hooper replies.

I tell them about the Amish couple who own the hog. “They’ll pick him up once we have him corralled.”

“Elmer, huh?” Shaking his head, Hooper whistles. “That’s one hell of a mascot.”

The other wildlife officer glances over at me. “We’re happy to deliver him to that couple if that would help them out, Chief Burkholder.”

“I’m sure they’d appreciate it very much,” I tell him. “Especially with all this fog.”

“Any sign of the perp?” Tomasetti asks.