Her mouth tightens with disapproval, and I wonder if people still talk about my abandoning my roots, or maybe someone has recently mentioned me in an unflattering light. “Mattie was very distraught after the funerals and is lying down upstairs.”
She’s trying to find a way to deny my request without being openly rude. “I wouldn’t ask to see her at a time like this if it wasn’t important.”
“Maybe you could come back later?”
I look beyond her to see a stout older woman with a dish towel draped over her shoulder marching toward us, her practical shoes like jackhammers against the floor. Recognition flickers and I realize I knew her back when I was a preteen; she was an assistant teacher at the school I attended. Mattie used to call her Leih, the Pennsylvania Dutch word for cow, mainly because even though she was only a few years older than us, she was already a large woman and enjoyed bullying anyone smaller or younger or weaker.
“Mattie is sleeping and asked not to be disturbed,” she informs me in Pennsylvania Dutch.
“Hello, Miriam,” I begin. “Nice to see you.”
She doesn’t smile. “Come back in the morning like a decent person.”
I push open the door. Both women move back to avoid me when I step inside. The younger woman’s eyes widen as I brush past her. Miriam isn’t deterred and blocks my path. “You just hold your horses right there, Katie Burkholder.”
“This is official police business,” I tell her. “I’m not leaving until I speak with Mattie.”
“In that case I’ll bring you a pillow and you can sleep on the porch.”
In the back of my mind, I know this is funny. Especially because she’s serious and I’m getting pissed. Under different circumstances I might have laughed, or at least enjoyed the comedy of it. But my sense of humor has shriveled to the size of a pea in the last couple of days and I’m tired of people making my job difficult. “Get out of my way or I will arrest you. Do you understand?”
“Where’s your sense of decency?” Miriam asks crossly. “Can’t you see the poor girl’s mourning?”
“Katie?”
I glance through the kitchen to see Mattie standing in the doorway, looking as pale as a ghost, as inanimate as a mannequin. She appears physically ill, depressed, and utterly lifeless.
Miriam casts me an I-told-you-so look. Her eyes don’t soften when they fall on Mattie and I wonder if she remembers the name calling from when we were teenagers. “Back upstairs with you,” she says none-too-gently. “Go on now. You need your rest.”
“It’s okay, Miriam.” A tremulous smile touches Mattie’s lips. “Katie and I are friends.”
The woman shoots me a disapproving look, her eyes lingering on my uniform. “Sie hot net der glaawe.” She doesn’t keep the faith. Catching the eye of the younger woman, she motions toward the kitchen and then they leave us.
For several seconds, Mattie and I contemplate each other. She looks too raw to partake in a long question-and-answer session, especially when none of it’s going to be pleasant. I don’t have the luxury of sparing her.
“Leih,” I whisper. Cow.
Mattie chokes out a laugh, but tears fill her eyes. “She’s only trying to help.”
I nod, my temper fading. “I’m sorry to bother you so late and so soon after the funerals.”
“It’s okay. I know you’re only doing your job.” She tilts her head. “Has something happened?”
“I talked to Dr. Armitage at the Hope Clinic today. He told me you’re the one who usually takes the children to their appointments.”
She seems confused by the statement, as if she doesn’t comprehend its significance. “Ja. That’s true.”
“Is there a reason why you didn’t mention it?”
“I guess I didn’t think of it. I didn’t know it was important.”
“Mattie, the crash that killed Paul and your children wasn’t an accident. Someone did it on purpose. We thought Paul might have been targeted. That’s why we were looking at people who might’ve had a falling-out with him.”
“But I told you, Katie. He didn’t have any enemies.”
“Mattie.” I step closer to her, reach out, and take both of her hands in mine. Her fingers are cold and clammy; it’s like touching a dead person. “If you’re the one who drives the children to the clinic every week, you may have been the target.”
“But … I don’t understand. I’m a nobody. An Amish woman and her children? Why would someone do such a thing?”
“I don’t know.” I study her face, but all I see is the weight of grief in her eyes, fatigue, and the sharp edges of a burgeoning realization.
“Mattie, I need to ask you all the same questions I asked about Paul. Do you have any enemies? Have you been involved in any disputes or arguments? Anything you can think of that might have led to this?”
“No, of course not.”
“Any problems related to the children? Or money perhaps?” I think of her beauty and add. “Any jealousy?”
“No, Katie. None of those things.”
“What about strangers? Have you seen any strange vehicles or buggies in the area? Driving by too often? Anyone watching you or the house or the children?”