“You were a little busy with a couple of homicides,” Tomasetti mutters.
We haven’t talked much about the cases. Yesterday, Wayne Graber was officially charged with the murder of Aden Karn, felonious assault for the attack against me, and the attempted murder of a police officer. Mandi Yoder came through and agreed to be interviewed by Sheriff Rasmussen. Thanks to her bombshell testimony, Vernon Fisher now faces a slew of new charges. Four of the other men who spent time at the now-infamous gas station were arrested.
I spent an hour or so with Emily and her mother. I told them what I could about Karn. I can only hope the truth, however painful, will help with the healing process. I don’t believe the girl will ever come forward with her own story, but the door is open if she changes her mind.
“Looks like we’re in for one hell of a party.” Tomasetti’s voice pulls me from my reverie.
The barn door stands open wide. Inside, I see rows of benches and chairs, men and women milling about, making sure everything is in just the right place. I can’t help but think of the Amish girl I’d been, sitting on one of those very same benches, feeling like an outsider and utterly certain love would never come my way. The quiver of emotion that follows is so profound, I set my hand against my chest if only to still my heart.
“The Amish know how to put on a wedding,” I manage.
Tomasetti parks next to a red PT Cruiser and arches a brow.
“Pastor Tom,” I tell him.
“Feels like I should have met him by now,” he says.
“I think we’re just going to wing it.”
“Good thing that’s our specialty.”
I see him staring at something in the near distance and follow his gaze. An earthquake of emotion trembles through me at the sight of Bishop Troyer. Using his walker, the old man hobbles toward the barn.
“I’ll be damned,” Tomasetti murmurs. “Looks like the old guy made it, after all.”
I almost can’t believe my eyes, and I have to blink back tears. “I hope he knows how much that means to us.”
“Maybe we’ll get the chance to tell him.” He shuts down the engine. “You ready?”
I’m aware of my pulse running too fast. Heat on the back of my neck. My palms are wet and I resist the urge to wipe them on the skirt of my dress.
Smiling, he takes my hand, raises the other, and wipes a tear off my cheek with his thumb. “If I didn’t know better, Chief Burkholder, I’d say you’re nervous.”
“‘Terrified nervous wreck’ might be a little more accurate.”
“Says the woman who faced down a crazy guy with a crossbow.”
“What about you?” I ask.
“Am I nervous?” Taking his time, he leans toward the rearview mirror to straighten his tie. “The only thing I’m nervous about is this tie. Do you think it’s right with this shirt?”
The laugh that pours out of me eases the nerves. “Definitely right for an almost-Amish wedding,” I say.
“In that case.” He lifts my hand and brushes a kiss across my knuckles. “You know we’ve got this, right?”
“Piece of cake,” I whisper.
He looks through the window to watch two Amish men carry a bench into the barn. “What do you say we put everyone out of their misery and go tie the knot?”
“I say that’s the best idea you’ve had all day,” I whisper.
Leaning close, he kisses me, and then we get out of the Tahoe and start toward the barn.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I owe untold thanks to my publishing family at Minotaur Books. First and foremost, I wish to thank my editor, Charles Spicer, who just happens to be the best editor on earth. Many thanks to my wonderful agent, Nancy Yost—I appreciate you and your friendship more than you know. To the rest of the team at Minotaur Books, my gratitude and heartfelt thanks for the support and for doing what you do so very well on my behalf: Jennifer Enderlin. Andrew Martin. Sally Richardson. Sarah Melnyk. Sarah Grill. Hannah Pierdolla. Kerry Nordling. Paul Hochman. Allison Ziegler. Kelley Ragland. David Baldeosingh Rotstein. Marta Fleming. Martin Quinn. Joseph Brosnan. Lisa Davis. My sincerest thanks to all.