Shamed (Kate Burkholder #11) - Linda Castillo Page 0,61

patch that grew along the side of the house. Tearing off a few leaves, she dropped them into a mug and poured hot water from the teapot she kept simmering on the stove. Mint tea always calmed her. This morning, with her mind in turmoil, she figured she might need two cups.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the English policewoman who’d come to her, asking questions, digging up things she had no business digging into. The woman had no idea what she was doing. If she wasn’t careful, Kate Burkholder was going to unearth something awful. Something dangerous. Dummkopp, she thought. Idiot. It was a harsh judgment; the woman was just doing her job. She had no way of knowing that the truth would only make things worse. That some questions were best left unasked.

The exchange haunted her throughout the night. If only she could hurl the memories into the water and let them be sucked into one of those eddies to be buried in the mud and darkness. Perhaps the stroke had been one of God’s tender mercies. In His eternal kindness and wisdom, He would erase the memory of that night, of what she’d done. What they’d done. He would ease her pain. Forgive her. Restore the peace she’d lost seven years ago.

Thanks to Kate Burkholder, it was all coming back.

Clutching the mug of tea, Sadie shuffled through the kitchen, down the hall, and entered her bedroom. She set the cup on the night table next to her bed, lit the lantern, and opened the drawer. The sight of the notes sent a shiver through her. She picked them up anyway and read.

It is mine to avenge; I will repay. In due time their foot will slip; their day of disaster is near and their doom rushes upon them.

The Bible quote was from Deuteronomy 32:35. She’d found it in her mailbox the morning after Bishop Schwartz was killed. Most people would have laughed at such a thing, imagining some harebrained teenager playing tricks. Not Sadie. She’d known right away it was no joke. She knew who’d written it, and she knew why.

She flipped to the second note.

If a thief is caught breaking in at night and is struck a fatal blow, the defender is not guilty of bloodshed …

The threat was not lost on Sadie. The question foremost in her mind was: How did they find out? Only a handful of people knew what had been done. None of them would have talked about such a thing. Not by choice.

A seven-year-old little girl is missing. She’s Amish. Innocent.

Those were the words she couldn’t get out of her head. The words that were a knife to her heart. Sadie cursed Kate Burkholder for saying them. She cursed herself for what she’d done. For what she’d let happen. For not having the courage to tell the truth.

“You are with me, Lord, so I won’t be afraid. What can human beings do to me when I have You?” She recited the psalm from memory as she tucked the notes into the envelope. Untying the strings of her winter bonnet, Sadie slipped it from her head and set it on the rocking chair in the corner. Picking up her mug, she blew out the lantern and left the bedroom.

She knew the English policewoman would be back. Kate Burkholder didn’t have a timid spirit. Next time, Sadie would tell her the truth. She would end this. Deliver that sweet child from evil—if it wasn’t already too late.

Sadie was midway down the hall when she felt the cold air wrap around her ankles. She stopped, listening, her heart jumping in her chest. Door’s open, she thought, and she knew.

“Du dauerte iahra,” came a whispered voice from the living room. You took her.

She saw him then, a silhouette in the dim glow of lantern light. A mountain of a man, standing there, stone still. Eyes like tiny fires.

“I saved her life.” Despite the fear crawling over her, Sadie held her ground. “You’d best take her home.”

“She is home.” He started toward her. Purpose in his strides. Intent in his eyes.

Dear God.

Sadie turned and ran. But she was old. Two steps and he was upon her. A predator on prey. No chance of escape.

“I was trying to help you!” she cried.

The first blow fell upon her, sent her to her knees. Pain streaked across her scalp. The cup flew from her hand, warm tea splashing on the wall, her dress, her legs. Then she was on the