Page 59 of The Hidden One

“I don’t know.” But it begs even more questions. Did the killer remove the hands at the time of the murder and throw them into the well? Or did he, realizing he could frame Jonas for the crime, return to where he’d buried the body at a later date, remove the hands or bones, and throw them into the well?

“Whoever put them there wants the police to believe I killed Ananias,” Jonas says.

I divide my attention between them. “Who knows about the well?”

“That area is overgrown with brush and trees, but not hidden.” He considers a moment and shrugs. “Anyone who’s been on the property.”

“Have you had any trespassers?” I ask. “Have you seen anyone near the well? Recently or years past?”

Jonas shakes his head. “No.”

I tell them about the anonymous tip. “Someone knew those bones were there and called the police.”

“The person who did it,” Jonas says.

“Or an accomplice,” I add.

Dorothy looks down at the barely touched coffee in front of her and shakes her head. “Whoever did this is an evil person,” she whispers. “I’m afraid for Jonas.” She raises her eyes to me. “You, too, Katie.”

“My best advice is to stay alert,” I tell them. “Keep the doors locked. I know it’s against the rules, but I’m going to bring a cell phone. That way, if there’s an emergency, you’ll have it.”

“We don’t need a—” Jonas begins.

I cut him off. “Put it in the kitchen drawer and forget it’s there. Unless you need it.”

It’s clear the offer does nothing but frighten her even more.

For a moment, the only sound comes from the hiss of the gas lamp overhead and the steady drip of a leaky faucet in the sink. “Did either of you know Mia Stoltzfus?” I ask.

“Met her a few times,” Jonas tells me. “Years ago.”

“At worship.” Dorothy’s expression turns solemn. “Word has it the burden of being the bishop’s wife was too much for her.”

“Do you have any idea why she committed suicide in a Lutheran church?” I ask.

The couple exchange a grim look. “No one could ever figure that,” Jonas tells me.

“Do you know anything about their pasts?” I ask. “Where they came from?”

“All I know is they were from Minnesota.” Jonas looks at his wife. “Came here before we were born.”

I think of my conversation with Laura and Mahlon Barkman, who told me they were from Minnesota, and Amanda Garber, who believed Mia was from Germany.

“Is there anyone around who was close to Mia or Ananias?” I ask. “A friend or family member who knew them? Or spent time with them?”

The two exchange thoughtful looks and then Jonas shakes his head. “Just his two grown children,” he tells me. “Most of the folks who knew them are gone now.”

He went over to Lewistown every so often. Had himself a loose girl there.

Amanda Garber’s voice replays in my mind. “Did you ever hear any rumors about Ananias and any sort of impropriety?” I ask.

Dorothy drops her gaze to the tabletop, deferring to her husband.

Jonas looks away.

I wait, but he doesn’t answer. A lot of the Amish are reluctant to speak ill of their brethren. Usually, I don’t push. Tonight, knowing what’s at stake, aware of the ache of bruises at my throat, I make an exception.

“Jonas, you’re facing some very serious charges,” I remind him. “Whatever you do, don’t hold out on me. Do you understand?”