Plain Dead by Emma Miller Page B

in his direction. “He’ll have to go to every house in the valley. And not just Englishers. Amish, too. Hell, Saturday night on my way home I saw a buggy in Wagler’s parking lot. Everything was closed up and there was this horse and buggy tied there.”
    Rachel frowned. “What time was that?”
    He shrugged, still clearly aggravated, but he had lowered his voice again. “I don’t know. Late. Ten thirty, maybe?”
    â€œAre you sure there was a horse?” Rachel was certain he had to be mistaken. By that time of night, most Amish families were snuggled in their beds in the winter. And certainly during a snowstorm. “It wasn’t just a buggy?”
    He lifted his dark brows. “Just a buggy?”
    â€œBroken down? Maybe someone left it there with a broken wheel or something?”
    â€œI know what I saw, Rachel. I saw a horse and a buggy at Wagler’s, which is, what, a block and a half from Billingsly’s house?” Blade turned to walk away. “So if your boyfriend is going to check alibis of anybody in town Saturday night, you’d better start looking for whoever was driving that buggy.”
    Â 
    Rachel arrived at the ice rink at five thirty that evening, soon after Olympic hopefuls brother and sister Neal and Chelsea Katz of Allentown finished their figure skating demonstration. She hadn’t heard from Evan all day. She called his cell, but it went to voicemail and she left a message reminding him that she’d be at the Winter Frolic, first at the ice sculpture judging and then at the Amish supper.
    Again, there were far more people at the event, both English and Amish, than Rachel had ever expected, and everyone seemed to be having a good time despite the cold. The fire company had cleared the snow from the makeshift ice rink and carried portable bleachers from the softball fields so that visitors would have places to sit. There were skates available to rent, and one of the local scout troops was running a hot chocolate stand. Whole families were enjoying the novelty of a safe place to skate, and both expert skaters and novices shared the ice.
    To Rachel’s delight, Bishop Abner, as well as three other Amish men, had joined the open skate after the demonstration. The bishop’s old-fashioned skates were laced high over his ankles, a broad wool hat clamped firmly on his head. His hands were behind his back as he skimmed effortlessly over the surface of the pond.
    â€œLook at him,” Mary Aaron said, coming up to stand beside Rachel. “Did you know he could skate like that?” The bishop’s long beard and trailing scarf whisked out around him as he executed a graceful turn into the cold wind.
    â€œHe shows off, that one,” came the jovial comment of Naamah. Breath exhaling in great puffs, the bishop’s wife joined them. “I tell him, ‘Bishop Abner, some may think it shows hochmut, what them Englishers call pride, to skate so in front of all these people.’ And what do you think my goot husband says to me? He says, ‘Naamah, exercise is goot for the health. I cannot be responsible for what other people think, only what I think. And not always can I control that.’ Have you ever heard the like from a bishop?” She laughed, a deep and unrestrained outpouring of joy. “I did not know my Abner when he was in rumspringa, but I think that one, he was a handful to his parents. Ya? ” She tilted her head. “Of course, you know he was born in Wisconsin. Lots of ice and snow they have there, so he learned to skate almost before he could walk.”
    Mary Aaron crouched to unlace her boot and slip her foot into a white leather ice skate. “No one will say I’m showing off, and that’s the truth.” She looked up at Rachel. “Aren’t you joining us?”
    â€œNot tonight. Maybe tomorrow if I get time.” Rachel chuckled. “I’m as doplich as a sheep on the