Shamed (Kate Burkholder #11) - Linda Castillo Page 0,5
her.
She looks away, but not before I see a flash of pride in her eyes, the hint of a blush on her cheeks, and I think, Good girl.
I motion toward the fallen bales of hay. “Pull up to those bales, and Mona and I will toss them onto the wagon for you.”
The children giggle at the thought of two Englischer women in police uniforms loading their fallen hay, but they don’t argue.
I’ve just tossed the last bale onto the wagon when the radio strapped to my duty belt comes to life. “Chief?”
I hit my shoulder mike, recognizing the voice of my first-shift dispatcher. “Hey, Lois.”
“I just took a call from Mike Rhodehammel. Says there’s a horse and buggy loose on Township Road 14 right there by the old Schattenbaum place.”
“On my way,” I tell her. “ETA two minutes.”
I slide back into the Explorer. “You hear that?” I ask Mona.
“Yep.” She puts the vehicle in gear.
A few minutes later we make the turn onto the township road. It’s a decaying stretch of crumbling asphalt that’s long since surrendered to the encroaching grass shoulder and overgrown trees. There are two houses on this barely-there swath of road. Ivan and Miriam Helmuth own a decent-size farm, growing hay, soybeans, and corn. The other property is the old Schattenbaum place, which has been abandoned for as long as I can remember.
I spot the buggy and horse ahead. The animal is still hitched and standing in the ditch against a rusty, tumbling-down fence. The buggy sits at a cockeyed angle.
“No sign of the driver.” Mona pulls up behind the buggy and hits the switch for the light bar. “What do you think happened?”
“The Helmuths have a lot of kids.” I shrug. “Maybe someone didn’t tether their horse or close a gate.” I get out and start toward the buggy.
The horse raises its head and looks at me as I approach. The animal isn’t sweaty or breathing hard, which tells me this isn’t a runaway situation. I peer into the buggy, find it unoccupied, three old-fashioned bushel baskets in the back.
“Well, that’s odd.” I look around and spot a red F-150 rolling up to us.
“Hey, Chief.” Local hardware store owner Mike Rhodehammel lowers his window. “Any sign of the driver?”
I shake my head. “Might belong to Mr. Helmuth down the road. I’m going to head that way now and check.”
He nods. “I thought someone should know. Hate to see that horse get hit. I gotta get to the shop.”
“Thanks for calling us, Mike.”
“Anytime, Chief.”
I watch him pull away and then start back toward the Explorer. “Let’s go talk to the Helmuths.”
I’m in the process of sliding in when I hear the scream. At first, I think it’s the sound of children playing, but the Helmuth farm is half a mile away, too far for voices to carry. Something in that scream gives me pause. I go still, listening.
Another scream splits the air. It’s high-pitched and goes on for too long. Not children playing. There’s something visceral and primal in the voice that makes the hairs at the back of my neck prickle.
Mona’s eyes meet mine. “What the hell, Chief?”
“Where is it coming from?” I say.
We listen. I step away from the Explorer, trying to determine the direction from which the voice came. This time, I discern words.
“Grossmammi! Grossmammi! Grossmammi!”
Panic and terror echo in the young voice. I glance at the Schattenbaum house, spot a little Amish girl running down the gravel lane as fast as her legs will carry her.
“Grossmammi! Grossmammi!”
Mona and I rush toward her. In the back of my mind, I wonder if her grandmother had an accident or suffered some kind of medical emergency.
I reach the mouth of the lane. The gate is open. The little girl is twenty yards away, running fast, darting looks over her shoulder as if she’s seen a ghost—or a monster. She’s about five years old. She looks right at me, but she doesn’t see.
“Sweetheart. Hey, are you okay?” I ask in Deitsch as I start toward her. “Is everyone all right?”
When she’s ten feet from me, I notice the blood on her hands. More on her face. On her dress. A lot of it. Too much. A hard rise of alarm in my chest. I glance at Mona. “I got blood. Keep your eyes open.”
The girl’s body slams into me with such force that I stumble back. She’s vibrating all over. Mewling sounds tearing from a throat that’s gone hoarse.