Page 100 of An Evil Heart
A surge of emotion seesaws in my chest. I close my eyes against tears, silently curse myself for letting them encroach. Needing something to do, I go to the table, pick up the mason jar, set it down. Lowering my head, I set my hands on the table and lean, feel those first dangerous tears squeeze between my lashes.
“Katie?”
My sister’s tentative voice sounds behind me. Knowing I’m busted, that I won’t be able to conceal or stop what I don’t want her to see, I raise my head, swipe at the tears, and then I turn to face her.
“You’re all right?” she asks, her voice gentle.
I see concern in her eyes. A tinge of confusion.
“I’m fine.” I choke out a laugh because it’s a lie and we both know it. I take another swipe at the tears.
“You’re not happy with what we’ve done?” She offers a smile. “We can change it. However you’d like. The food. The table—”
“It’s not that,” I cut in. “It’s…” Stupidly, I let the sentence dangle. Because I’m not sure how to finish. I’m not sure I can.
“You’re nervous, no?”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Sarah, I’ve been living with him for two years.”
“Oh… well.” She drops her gaze, then raises her eyes back to mine. “Then what?”
“It’s… this,” I stammer, motion toward the table, the kitchen doorway where the women have gone silent. “I’m… overwhelmed. I didn’t expect any of this. And I’m thankful.”
She blinks. “Oh.”
“I didn’t expect to… feel so much.”
“Good feelings, though, no?”
I nod. “I haven’t been Amish for almost twenty years. I haven’t been much of a sister or sister-in-law. I’m not sure I deserve everything you’ve done. And yet here you are. All of you. Putting together a wedding not everyone approves of or even cares about. It means something.”
“Well.” Crossing to me, she takes my hand in hers and smiles. “You know how the Amish are when it comes to weddings. Give us a reason to socialize and eat, and we’re all over it.” She pats my hand. “Now, come on into the kitchen, finish your iced tea, and let me finish those pies. We’ve got celery next and I think that’s going to take all afternoon.”
CHAPTER 27
It’s after fiveP.M.and I’m in my cubbyhole office at the station, making a final run through the myriad paperwork, reports, photos, and videos from the Karn and Rossberger murders. Earlier this afternoon, Sheriff Rasmussen referred both cases to the Holmes County prosecutor, who will likely charge Vernon Fisher with two counts of aggravated murder. I should be pleased; Fisher is behind bars. If convicted by a jury of his peers, he’ll be off the street the rest of his life.
Despite the little voice inside my head telling me I did my job, that I should chalk one up for the good guys, let it go, and get married, the case sits in the pit of my stomach like a rock.
I should have left for home hours ago. I have a thousand things to do before the wedding. And yet here I sit feeling out of sorts because I’m about to walk away from two cases that feel unfinished and…wrong.
“Chief?”
I glance up to see my second-shift dispatcher, Jodie, standing at the doorway of my office. “I’ve got Doc Coblentz on line two. Are you still here?”
“Always here for the doc.” I punch the blinking light on my desk phone. “Hey, Doc.”
“I figured you’d be gone by now,” he begins. “Don’t you have a wedding to get to?”
“Day after tomorrow,” I tell him. “What’s up?”
“I wanted to let you know, I heard back from the forensic pathologist at the BCI lab.”
I’m in the process of shutting down my laptop, folding the top down, giving him only part of my attention. “DNA?”
“That’s forthcoming.” He pauses. “Remember me telling you about the oily substance we found in and around both incised wounds on Aden Karn’s body?”
“I do.” I stop what I’m doing and give him my full attention. “I’ve since learned that some hunters and archery enthusiasts use wax or oil on their bolts in the theory that it improves the accuracy and increases the speed of the bolt as it travels.”
