Breaking Silence by Linda Castillo

Author:Linda Castillo [Castillo, Linda]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery, Thriller, Suspense, Romance, Adult
ISBN: 9781250001580
Amazon: B00AF46RH6
Barnesnoble: B00AF46RH6
Goodreads: 9954597
Publisher: Windsor
Published: 2011-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

Rain slashes down in sheets when we step out of the station. We hightail it to the Explorer, but we’re dripping by the time we buckle in.

“If you saw the rifle at the Slabaugh place yesterday, how the hell did it get to Coulter’s house?” Tomasetti asks.

I glance at him as I back out of my parking space. “Good question.”

“Are you sure it’s the same rifle?”

“I’m not one hundred percent certain. But it’s old, similar to one my dad used to own, so it caught my attention.” The tires spin on the wet pavement when I hit the gas. “It’s too similar not to check out.”

“Where did you see it?”

“The mudroom. Salome took me into the basement yesterday and I just happened to notice it.” I tell him about the mason jar and the missing cash.

Tomasetti mulls that over. “Any idea when the money was taken?”

“No idea. I sent the jar for latents.”

The windshield wipers wage a losing battle with the deluge as I turn into the Slabaughs’ lane. I park behind a buggy I don’t recognize, and I realize Bishop Troyer has probably asked another Amish family to stay with the children. I wonder if the social worker from Children Services has been in contact yet. I wonder how it went.…

Punching off the headlights, I twist the key and kill the engine. A few yards away, the house hulks, the windows utterly dark, and a strange thread of worry goes through me.

“Kind of early for bed, isn’t it?” Tomasetti asks.

“A lot of Amish farmers are up by four A.M. They go to bed early.” Still, I can’t deny the uneasiness slinking up my spine. The place looks deserted.

“I’d never make it as an Amish guy.”

“Yeah, you drink too much.”

“I cuss too much.”

We smile at each other, and I reach for the door handle. “Let’s go wake them up.”

We slosh down the walk to the back porch. Opening the screen door, I rap hard with my knuckles. Around me, the farm is dark and still, imparting a semblance of isolation, as if we’re the last living people on earth.

I’m in the process of knocking a second time when the door swings open. An Amish man with red hair and a full beard thrusts a lantern at me. “Hello?” He blinks owlishly. “Is there a problem?”

I show him my badge and identify myself. “I’m sorry to bother you so late.”

He squints at Tomasetti. “Is this about Solly and Rachael?”

I nod. “Bishop Troyer left you with the children?”

“Ja.”

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Nicholas Raber.”

“May we come in?”

“Of course.” Bowing slightly, he backs up a few steps.

I enter the mudroom. Vaguely, I’m aware of Tomasetti behind me, and of Raber shuffling toward the kitchen, probably to light another lantern. The potbellied stove is to my left. I slide a mini Maglite from my coat pocket and shine the beam toward the area where I last saw the rifle. A strand of uneasiness ripples through me when I realize it’s not there.

“The rifle’s gone,” I whisper.

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