“You’re that sure, Murphy.”

  She nodded, teasing him with a smile.

  “Fine,” Angus said shaking her hand, “but if I win, I’ll cook you that steak at my house instead. Deal?”

  “Deal.” She slipped another glove back on her hand.

  “How is everything going with the move anyway?” she asked as she turned her attention back to the body.

  “I have a bit of unpacking ahead of me, but it felt good to finally empty my storage unit. It was like opening gifts on Christmas morning. I had forgotten about half the things I pulled out of storage. But I won’t lie, it feels great to have a place to call home again.”

  “I bet. I’d say you got yourself one special little home there, Angus. The Richardsons have lived in that house for as long as Weyport’s been in existence and Patty was one great homemaker. I’m sure you’re going to be very happy there.”

  “That’s kind of you to say, Murphy, thanks. I do feel like I struck gold. I was beginning to think I’ll never find a house in this town.”

  “It just shows you how everything works out exactly as it should, right? I mean, Patty and Daniel finally have the son they’ve always wanted and now they get a chance to get to know him. And who doesn’t want to live in Nashville?”

  “I don’t,” he winked. “I have everything I’ve always wanted right here in Weyport.”

  Murphy rolled her eyes playfully.

  “Don’t you have a murderer to catch, Sheriff?”

  “I don’t know, Doc, do I? You’re sure this guy didn’t die of natural causes.”

  The look in Murphy’s eyes was as serious as the dead doctor on the floor beside her.

  “I don’t yet know what killed this guy, Angus, but I have no doubt in my mind that whatever it was, was not natural. Dr. Fisher was definitely murdered.”

  Chapter Six

  By the time Angus stepped outside, it was starting to get dark and the modest town looked even more eerie. In the dim dusk light, he spotted a woman talking to the two Amish men across the road. A low grunt escaped from his throat when he instantly recognized her and he hastily crossed the road, not hesitating to interrupt them as soon as he was within earshot.

  “Excuse me for interrupting gentlemen. Hannah, a word please?” Angus closed his hand over her elbow and ushered her to one side, inviting more than one eyebrow from the two curious-looking men in black.

  But Hannah was as resilient and persistent as any newspaper reporter could be and ignored the harsh exit.

  “Just the man I was hoping to see,” Hannah Jackson started.

  “Not gonna happen, Hannah. You know better than to interview my witnesses in an on-going investigation.”

  “Witnesses? So, they saw the murderer? Have you arrested anyone, Sheriff Reid?” she asked, her tone more official.

  Angus merely replied with a squinty grin as he shook his head.

  “Come on, Sheriff. Give me something. It’s in the interest of the people to know what’s happening in their backyard. Can you tell me how Dr. Fisher was murdered?”

  “There’s nothing to report, Hannah, and we’ve not ruled it a homicide so don’t go writing up false stories in the Herald tomorrow. The last thing I need is a town thinking there’s a murderer on the loose.”

  “So, are you saying Dr. Fisher wasn’t murdered, Sheriff? Then how did he die? Is Dr. Delaney still with him?” She craned her neck, looking past his tall frame in search of Murphy.

  “I know you’re just doing your job, Hannah, but please, you know the drill. Until we have facts to substantiate anything, I cannot give you any information about the case. You have my word that you’ll get the full story as soon as I know what we’re dealing with, okay?”

  Hannah rolled her eyes and clipped her pen onto her notebook.

  “Not even off the record, Sheriff?”

  “Like I said, until the facts say otherwise, I have nothing conclusive to give you at this moment.”

  “Fine, but I will be printing an initial report in tomorrow’s paper, Sheriff. I stand by my viewpoint. The people in Weyport deserve to know that something criminal went down so close to their town.”

  “This isn’t exactly in Weyport’s backyard, you know, Hannah. And like I said, I have not concluded it a crime as yet. I prefer you rather don’t print anything until we have—”

  “I know…the facts. Don’t worry, Sheriff, I’ll be careful with my words. For now, I’ll put out a cultural post on this little town we didn’t even know existed. And perhaps something about the Amish community that seems to drive the commerce of this place.”

  “Fine,” Angus agreed. “As long as you stick to the facts in your article. You have my word that you’ll get an exclusive if the case suggests otherwise.”

  “I guess I’ll have to take that for now even though my nose tells me something weird is going on in this place. Do we even have a name for this little village, Sheriff?”

  “I am very certain I’ll know what it is when the morning paper hits my doorstep.”

  She smiled and started to leave before she looked back and said, “You’re sure you don’t want to throw me a bone, Sheriff? Even a tiny one? Who knows? I might actually help you catch the killer.”

  “Nice try, Hannah. I told you, I’m not ruling it a homicide yet so don’t go chasing fear into my county okay?”

  “If you say so, Sheriff,” she said as she walked off.

  When she was a safe distance away, Angus turned his attention to the two Amish men who seemed entirely undeterred by his interaction with the pushy reporter.

  “My apologies, gentlemen. Sheriff Reid,” he introduced himself. “If you don’t mind, I’d love to ask you a few questions.”

  The men nodded in unison, their faces remaining stark and lacking expression. Angus couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable by their aloof demeanor.

  “Thank you, I won’t take up much of your time. Did you know Dr. Fisher?”

  “He was our neighbor, and we took care of each other as our Father instructs us,” one of them answered.

  “Of course. How about today? Did you speak to him at all?”

  Both men shook their heads and Angus knew he had to change his questioning if he were to get anything out of them.

  “Is this your store?” he asked, looking friendly.

  Once more, they shook their heads and a deep frown settled between Angus’ eyes.

  “It’s not your shop?” Angus repeated the question and again it resulted in them shaking their heads.

  “Forgive me for asking then, but why have you been standing here for the past three hours if this isn’t your store?”

  “We are merely observing, Sheriff Reid. Like I said earlier, Dr. Fisher was our neighbor, and it is God’s will that we take care of our neighbors.”

  Patience was Angus’ middle name, but these men were pushing his limits and he had a hard time holding back his frustration. He took a brief pause, then delivered his next question.

  “Did either of you notice anything suspicious today?”

  The men slowly shook their heads in unison.

  “How about any of his patients? Did you happen to see anyone running away from his practice?”

  Again, they shook their heads.

  “Fine, so nothing or no one suspicious.”

  Once more, they gestured that they hadn’t seen or heard anything.

  Angus puffed his cheeks in frustration.

  “Would you have told me if you did?”

  The men remained silent.

  “Didn’t think so. So, let me kindly remind you that you could be charged with obstructing an investigation if you intentionally withhold any information. And I’d hate to do that.”

  The men neatly folded their hands in front of them and for the first time the second one spoke, authority dripping from his voice.

  “We are not governed by worldly laws, Sheriff, only God’s law,” he said before both tilted their heads in farewell and walked towards the road where their horse-drawn buggy was tied to one of the trees.

  When Angus turned around and headed inside the general store, he found a young man behind the single checkout counter in the front of the shop.

  “You won’t get them to talk, Sheriff. They will never turn on each other,” he announced as he came out from behind the counter to restock one of the nearby shelves.

  “I thought as much. I take it you’re not Amish.” Angus asked the man who appeared to be in his early twenties dressed in a pair of dark denim jeans and a t-shirt.

  “No way! They have way too many rules. I’m just helping out my grandfather before I head back to New York. I’m Ben, by the way.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Ben. I’m Sheriff Reid. So, your grandfather owns the store.”

  “Yup, for as long as I can remember. But he’s not doing too well at the moment. Pneumonia or something so I’m just helping out until he’s back on his feet.”

  “I see. I don’t suppose you heard or saw anything across the road, did you?”

  “Not really, I mean, it’s pretty quiet around here most days. They mostly keep to themselves, mind their own business, you know?”

  “So, nothing that struck you as odd then.”

  Jack shrugged his shoulders as he stacked the last batch of black sewing yarn on the shelf.

  “Except maybe that girl who came running in here all hot and flustered looking for her mother,” he said. “The Amish women are normally quiet and well behaved but this one nearly rang the bell of the door. She’s one of the prettier ones.” He gave a mischievous smile. “Rachel, I think her name is.”

  Chapter Seven

  Weyport’s salty breeze swept over Caleb Townsend as he strolled along the quaint coastal town’s weathered boardwalk. The early morning sun glimmered on the ocean, its golden light lighting up the lookout point as if to lure him in. And he let it, every morning. It was where he went to meet with God. A God he had come to know existed even in solitude, a practice his upbringing strongly opposed. He was taught that faith was found in community, never in isolation. As if access to God was only possible one way. Spending time at the lookout was where his soul was one with creation. He closed his eyes briefly and enjoyed the quiet whispers that wafted off the ocean waves toward him. He loved his solitude and how close it made him feel to God.

  Staring out at the ocean, his mind was caught between the teachings of a faith he only ever saw from one point of view, and the haunting questions that had been clouding his mind ever since he first discovered the true passage to heaven didn’t come through works or ritualistic traditions. For as long as he could remember, God had taken center stage in his life, ingrained in him since birth. But the God everyone spoke of back then wasn’t the God he needed him to be, an English God, not an Amish one.

  He couldn’t stay. Didn’t want to stay. Rumspringa had shown him too much. Had opened his eyes to the possibility of a different God. And even if it took him a lifetime to find the intimate faith so many people in Weyport spoke of, he owed it to himself to follow where his heart was leading him.

  He recalled the first time he came to Weyport, how daunting it was to go into a world undiscovered. It was the farthest he’d ever been from his family. Ever since he had heard that the town was by the ocean, it was as if something had called out to him, beckoned him to go there. He had never seen an ocean, not even a picture of it, only what his mind conceived from scripture. It was the very ocean God had created, like the one He parted when Moses called out to him. Weyport was everything he yearned for and more, and as far as he was concerned, he never wanted to leave.

  But the journey there hadn’t been an easy one. He had been forced to choose between the aching in his heart that longed for a life beyond the boundaries of his once Amish life and the future his family expected of him. A future he never wanted. He needed more and yearned to break out from under the rigid religious practices that seemed to do nothing but shackle his soul. And he was prepared to forsake everything for it. His family, his ways, even his last name.

  At first, he believed the intimidation that came with years of deep-seated strict guidelines: that he could only earn his place in heaven if he joined the church, that he was sinning against God and his family if he didn’t. But the more he pondered about it, the harder his heart fought for freedom until he finally succumbed. As far as he believed, Weyport was where God had destined him to be, where he belonged. He needed to remind himself of that to keep his mind off of what—and who—he had left behind, all in the name of freedom. But there wasn’t a day that went by that his conscience wasn’t in turmoil over his choice. He often went back and forth with his decision in his head. Weighty matters like those were usually made by the elders, those supposedly closer to God, and according to them, he wasn’t equipped to decide for himself. Even today, he questioned if it truly was what God wanted for him. All he knew was what he felt at that moment and that he needed to leave.

  The weight of his heritage clung to him, a silent reminder of the stark departure he had made from the Amish life, a departure that now left him at odds with the faith that once defined his every existence.

  Weyport was the one place he could explore his faith freely, where no one knew of his upbringing. Where no one knew he had chosen his last name based on his house being at the edge of town. He hadn’t been a Beiler for a while now, didn’t feel it belonged anymore, didn’t want it to. Nothing about him felt Amish and it needed to stay that way. They didn’t want him and he didn’t want them. Except for Rachel.

  In the beginning he used to meet his only sibling on the bridge that crossed over the river dividing the Amish land from the English land. Until she was caught and shunned. Once again the elders forced him into a decision that made him keep his distance, for Rachel’s sake.

  He thought about her a lot. They had always gotten on well and sometimes he missed her company, even the company of family. One day, once he found himself, truly found himself in Christ, he would go back to make amends. But not yet.

  Pushing the ache in his heart to one side, he let his mind wander to his sister instead. She was so much like him, a free spirited soul whom he was certain would soon want to follow her own destiny. For a while she had tried to persuade him to return, to plead with the elders to take him back. Until the tone of her letters suddenly changed, and they became harder to read. As if she could no longer find reasons for him to go back.

  He knew her well enough to know she was holding out on him, but he made a silent vow to never push her into saying more than she was willing to. She was after all breaking the Ordnung just by communicating with him, much less engaging in gossip. He could get her shunned for either, or both, again.

  Guilt pushed up in the back of his throat like bitter bile and he forced it down as he turned his attention toward the wild ocean instead, its waves crashing onto the rocks below. With the back of his hand, he swept away the lonely tear that had nestled in the corner of his eye before he pulled the collar of his camel-colored winter coat tighter under his chin. His eyes fixed on the waves that mirrored the conflict in his soul. He had thought turning his back on the community would give him the freedom he so desperately needed but all it did was amplify the torture in his soul.

  Because crossing the bridge into the world of the English meant he betrayed those he was supposed to protect.

  His trembling hands pulled out the last letter he got from Rachel. He had kept it in the inside pocket of his coat, a deliberate decision to keep her close to his heart when he most felt he was all alone in this world.

  The corners rustled in the breeze where he was pinching it between his cold fingers. With a gentle touch, he allowed himself to enjoy the purple petals of the single flower that was pressed into the handmade paper before his thumb traced the delicate handwriting, stopping over the last name he only ever saw written on her letters.

  Try as he might, he could never ignore opening his sister’s letters. Especially since he knew what it took for Rachel to sneak them to him without being caught. It was another one of the ridiculous rules they had been taught was sinful. As if contact between siblings on opposite sides of the order warranted eternal damnation.

  He scoffed then turning the envelope over, parting the paper with two fingers.

  The faint scent of lavender escaped from the envelope as he pulled the single sheet of hand pressed paper out. He had read it a million times already, a note he sensed was stained with desperation and despair. His sister’s letters had become harder to read. She had stopped writing about the new calves or who had entered into a courtship a few letters ago. Her words were sharper, laced with anger and pain. Once she had even blatantly accused him of betraying her, of not being there for her when she most needed him. Only to ask for forgiveness in the next one. But her words left behind a bitter trail of guilt that he carried with him every day.

  As he glimpsed the familiar writing, his eyes picking out scattered words and sentences, his gut twisted in a thousand knots. For in the pit of his stomach dread was settling, as if his sister’s cryptic words were ominous harbingers of calamity.

  Chapter Eight

  For once, Caleb wished his instincts were wrong, but his suspicions were confirmed the moment he picked up the Weyport Herald that lay waiting for him on the curb outside his townhouse.

  A single word caught his attention right away and he snatched up the paper. At first, he thought his eyes were deceiving him, that it was a strange trick of his mind. But by the time he reached his kitchen and spread the newspaper open across the white quartz counter, there was no delusion. He scanned the article that took up the entire front page of the Herald, his stomach suddenly in knots as he studied the black and white portrait of a man. In fat black letters the heading next to it simply read: Doctor found dead in Amish town.

  Surely not. The thought raced across his mind before he focused his attention on the man’s photo. His eyes were deep set, a dark almost black color under white bushy brows that matched his long white beard. Something familiar tugged at his memory and he read the caption: Dr. Fisher, chiropractor.