Her Last Breath: A Kate Burkholder Novel

the crowd falls silent. Bishop Troyer reads a hymn in Pennsylvania Dutch as the pallbearers lower each of the three plain pine coffins into hand-dug graves. When he finishes, heads are bowed, and I know the mourners are silently reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Instead of fighting the words that come with such ease, I lower my head and join them, something I haven’t done in a very long time.
    When the ceremony is over and the Amish start toward their buggies to return to their farms, I thread my way through the crowd toward the gravesites. I nod my respect to everyone who makes eye contact with me. Some nod back. A few offer grim smiles. Some of the older Amish, the ones who know I left the fold, give me a wide berth.
    It takes me a few minutes to find Mattie. She’s standing next to Bishop Troyer, David, and her parents while several young men shovel dirt into the graves. Her face is red and wet from crying. But she doesn’t make a sound. Her datt, Andy Erb, looks nearly as shaken as his daughter and grips her hand so tightly his knuckles are white. Her mamm, stoic-faced and tense, holds David’s hand just as tightly.
    This isn’t the time or place to speak with Mattie about the information I learned from Armitage earlier; I can tell from her expression she’s barely holding it together. But I can’t delay much longer, because if someone tried to kill her and failed, the possibility exists they’ll try again.

 
    CHAPTER 15
    Anyone who’s ever worked in law enforcement—or watched crime TV—knows the first forty-eight hours after a crime is committed are the most important in terms of solving it. Most cops work around the clock those first vital days, when the clock is ticking and their chances of achieving a solve diminish with every minute that passes. My tactic on this case is no different. I’ve been chasing the clock all day, and despite my best efforts, there’s no way I’m going to make dinner with Tomasetti. A law enforcement veteran himself, he’ll understand. That doesn’t mean he won’t be disappointed. It won’t alleviate my own disappointment. It will, however, give me a little more time to decide how to respond if he pushes the issue of my moving in with him.
    I call him on my way to the Borntrager farm and break the news.
    He takes it like a man. “I guess I’m going to have to drink this bottle of wine all by myself.”
    I chuckle. “Don’t get too close to the pond. I’d hate to find the empty bottle on the bank and you floating facedown in all that moss.”
    “Anyone ever accuse you of having a dark sense of humor?”
    “You’re the only one who appreciates it.”
    He pauses. “Any luck on the case?”
    I tell him about my meeting with Armitage and we cover the same ground Glock and I covered earlier. “Will you do me a favor?” I ask.
    “You know I will.”
    “Will you pull arrest records for hate crimes in the two-county area?”
    “I’m all over it.” In the background I hear a dull popping sound.
    “What was that?” I ask.
    “Breaking the seal. Going to let this breathe for a few minutes.”
    “I’m sorry I didn’t make it.”
    “Me, too.”
    I turn onto the dead-end road that will take me to the Borntrager farm. I can just make out the silhouettes of two buggies moving down the lane toward the house.
    “If you can get away tomorrow,” Tomasetti begins, “I’ve got a nice cabernet from California in the pantry.”
    “I’ll be there,” I tell him. “Come hell or high water.”
    “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”
    I’m smiling when I disconnect.
    *   *   *
    The Borntrager farm seems hushed as I park off the sidewalk at the rear of the house. The two buggies sit adjacent the barn. The barn door is open and I presume her neighbors have arrived to take care of the chores. Bishop Troyer is gone, probably home to rest and take care of his own affairs. Another family or neighbor will be looking after Mattie and David tonight.
    I take the sidewalk to the back door and knock. A young woman wearing a gray dress with a white apron and prayer kapp answers. Her eyes widen when she spots my uniform. “May I help you?”
    “Hi, I’m Kate Burkholder.” I show her my badge. “I’m here to see Mattie.”
    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