“No, you wait here. I’ll be back in a flash.” And she was. Two minutes later she returned to the room with coffee and cookies on a tray. “There’s creamer in the little pitcher, and sugar as well,” she said.
Hannah stirred creamer into her coffee and tried to think how she might bring up the subject of children. Maybe just show Mary the picture. She could ask if Mary had seen the child. She sipped the coffee, then put it down on the table and picked up her handbag. “I wondered if you might be able to help me.” She pulled out the picture and handed it to Mary.
Mary took it and glanced at it. Her smile turned plastic. “What a cute little girl. Who is she?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” She launched into the story of how she came to have the picture. Mary listened intently, but her expression didn’t betray what she was thinking. “I’ve got to find out if this child is mine,” she said. “Do you have any idea who she could be? You said you didn’t have children?”
Mary handed back the picture. “Not now. I had a little boy, but he died when he was a week old.”
Which explained the sadness in Mary’s face when Hannah had first asked. So this little girl might still be Hannah’s daughter. Elation made her voice raise. “Have you ever seen this child?”
Mary shook her head. “I’m sorry, no. Do you believe Reece? He would have needed help hiding the baby from you and the police.”
Had Reece been with her every minute after her tumble down the stairs? She vaguely remembered drifting in and out of consciousness, and he’d been by her bedside every time. “Maybe he had an accomplice. I’m going to ask him to explain it the next time he calls.”
She and Matt finished their visit, then managed to get away from Mary after promising to come back when Hannah could stay longer.
“You ready to go home?” Matt asked.
“I want to go see Irene,” Hannah said. “We’ve still got enough time.” A frown crouched between his eyes, and she wondered what had made him so quiet and grumpy.
“I guess,” he said. “But let’s not stay long. I’ve got things to do this afternoon.” He hesitated. “Just to warn you, Irene can be a little strange. She’s got some mental issues and may seem a bit off now and again.”
Hannah nodded. She hadn’t seen Irene in over ten years and had never known the woman well. “I might ask her about my mother as well as using the quilts,” she said. Ajax thrust his nose in her hair, and she rubbed his muzzle.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to her about the murders,” Matt said. “She knew all the victims well. I didn’t realize that until recently.”
Matt parked on the street in front of a two-story house with a rounded brick turret on the front. Oak trees shaded the quaint house, and hyacinths lined the brick walk to the front door. Hannah’s pulse quickened, but she didn’t know why. There should be nothing dangerous about talking to Irene.
Matt let Ajax out, then went around to Hannah’s door, but she’d already exited the vehicle and stood looking at the red front door. Before they reached the door, it swung open and a smiling Irene knelt to pet Ajax, who had leaped forward to greet her. With a final pat, she stood. Nearing sixty, she had only a little gray at the temples of her short dark hair. She was still slim and attractive in her capris and sleeveless top. She had a greenhouse in the yard like so many people in the area did.
“What a nice surprise,” she said, hugging first Hannah and then Matt. “I didn’t even realize you two knew each other.”
“We’ve known each other for over ten years,” Matt said.
Hannah glanced at him, then away. That was stretching it a little, but maybe only a little.
“Come in. I just made chocolate chip cookies, and they’re still warm.” Irene led them to the living room and went to kitchen.
“I’ll help you,” Matt said. He hurried after her.
Hannah heard the low tones of his voice but couldn’t make out any of the words. He sounded intense. The exchange wasn’t any of her business. Clearly he wanted to talk to his aunt in private. She glanced around the room. Pictures from years ago covered one wall. She got up and studied them. One in particular caught her attention. Irene, Nora, and Hannah’s mother stood with their arms around each other. They all had hair that reached their waists, parted in the middle and held in place with a headband that encircled their foreheads. They wore caftans.
Someone had drawn red horns on Hannah’s mother’s head. Hannah gulped, then found her voice. It would probably be rude to mention the horns. Maybe a child had gotten hold of the picture. “Why isn’t Aunt Nora dressed Plain? Was this during her rumspringa?”
“Yes, her brief stint with freedom.” A flush ran up Irene’s neck and cheeks as she and Matt came back. She didn’t look at Hannah. “Here we go. Would you like some coffee? Or maybe milk?”
“I just had coffee. Two cups, in fact. A cookie is fine.” The day was going to make her gain five pounds. Hannah gestured to the picture. “Where was this taken?”
“We had a commune out near Sugar Creek.” Irene came to stand beside her. “We lived there for about a year. It wasn’t a free-love kind of place like you hear about. We grew our own vegetables, were one with nature.”
Hannah peered closer. “Is that a peace symbol on the shed in the background?”
“Yes. We thought if everyone lived as we did, there would be no war.” Her smile turned sad. “We were so young and naive.”
Hannah turned to go back to the sofa and caught sight of another photo out of the corner of her eye. The two young people weren’t touching in the photo, but Irene was gazing at Hannah’s father, Abe, with longing. Hannah said nothing. The last thing she wanted was to embarrass Irene.
Hannah selected a cookie and bit into the warm chocolate. “Do you have any of my mother’s quilts?”
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t. I have four of your grandmother’s, though, one for each bed plus an extra. I bought them when your grandmother was still making quilts. Why do you ask?”
Hannah barely remembered her grandparents. They and Luca’s parents had died in a buggy accident when she was five. “I’d love to photograph them for an Amish quilt book I’m working on.” They would be a nice addition.
“I read your first one. Lovely book. I was so proud of you. What a lovely tribute to your father. And, ah, your mother.” She cast a wary glance at Matt.
Surely he wouldn’t have told his aunt not to talk to Hannah about her mother. Hannah frowned at him, but he smiled in her direction.
“I’m sorry about your cousin and aunt,” Irene said. “Such a nasty business. Why do people show such prejudice? The Amish are good people, the best. Remember that time someone torched your barn, Hannah?”
She didn’t care to revisit that memory. Something about Irene’s tone seemed flippant too. “My rabbits died in the fire,” she said. Even now, her chest hurt when she remembered it.
“But you forgave the kids who did it.”
“Only because Datt made me,” she blurted out. It should have been a clue to her true nature. “I’m still angry about it. It was so senseless.”
“That’s terrible,” Matt said.
She pressed her lips together. “About Moe and Aunt Nora. Aunt Nora sent me a picture.” She fumbled in her purse for it. “I realize she’s likely not my daughter, but when Nora sent it, she knew it would draw me back here. She suggested later that she shouldn’t have sent it, that someone was angry she had.” She held the picture out to Irene.
The picture trembled a little in Irene’s hand as she looked at it. She handed it back. “Darling child.” She didn’t look at Matt or Hannah.
What was wrong? Hannah couldn’t figure out the tense air swirling in the living room. “Yes. But about Moe and Nora. What could Nora have known that she wasn’t supposed to tell anyone? Could it be something she knew about this child that caused her death?”
Irene shrugged. “I don’t know, Hannah. Your mother and I went our separate ways long ago. And I rarely talked to Nora once she returned to your community.”