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Detective Elizabeth Harris. Detective Mike Grady and I are interviewing Ezra Beiler of Grimlace Lane and his sister Martha Beiler. It’s”—I looked at my watch—“three twenty on Thursday, January twenty-third, 2014.”
    I looked at Martha to find her staring at me. She quickly lowered her eyes.
    â€œMartha, can you tell us where you were Tuesday between ten in the morning and four in the afternoon?”
    â€œI did laundry in the mornin’ and cleaned some. After lunch I was workin’ on a baby quilt for my sister Jane till suppertime.”
    She poked a finger at a crumb and didn’t raise her eyes from her plate. Her cheeks reddened a bit.
    â€œSo you were in the house that entire time?”
    â€œJa.”
    â€œWas there anyone here with you?”
    â€œEzra was outside.”
    I looked at him expectantly. “What were you doing during those hours?”
    â€œTuesday I took some rockers over to Hennie’s on Route Thirty. I make rockin’ chairs for ’em.”
    â€œWhat time was that?”
    â€œLeft ’bout eight, after the mornin’ chores.”
    â€œWhat time did you get back?”
    â€œWell, after I left Hennie’s I stopped at a feed store—Miller’sin Paradise. Got home ’bout noon. Had lunch with Martha ’n’ did some work out to the barn.”
    Martha’s color had deepened. When I looked at her again, I caught her staring at me. She looked down at her cake immediately.
    â€œDid you know your brother was gone Tuesday morning?” I asked.
    â€œI ’member now he went to Hennie’s after breakfast. Didn’t know he’d been gone so long already.”
    â€œI see.”
    If Ezra was telling the truth, it would be easy to corroborate at both stores.
    â€œWhat about last night? Can you recount what you did?”
    Ezra and Martha looked at each other. Martha got a bit of a frown between her brows, but she didn’t speak.
    â€œI had a bad birthin’ last night,” Ezra offered in that broad accent of his. “Had to call the vet. First time I needed help with a birth in a couple a years, but it was twins and the first one was turned and sort of hooked ’round the other. Mother was bleedin’ bad.”
    â€œWhat time was the vet here?’
    â€œI called around half past eleven. Guess it took him ’bout three-quarters of an hour to come. He was here till nearly mornin’. Had a molly and a john born. We lost the john but saved the molly and the mother.”
    â€œA molly and a john?” Grady asked.
    â€œMules. A molly mule’s a girl and a john mule’s a boy.”
    â€œAh.”
    â€œHow did you call the vet?” I asked. “Do you have a phone?”
    Ezra pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. “It’s allowed, for business use only.”
    He wasn’t the first Amish farmer I’d seen with a cell phone, so I wasn’t surprised. “Do you have the vet’s name?”
    â€œJa. ’Twas Dr. Lane, Ag Vet Associates.”
    I glanced at Grady. A vet who’d been in the area overnight could be an important witness.
    â€œDuring the night, maybe when you were out waiting for the vet to come, or taking a breather, did you see or hear any movement outside, at your neighbors or at the road? A car? A buggy? Even anything you might have thought was normal?”
    Ezra gave it a moment’s thought. “Didn’t see anything before the vet come—came. And afterwards things were too worrisome in the barn for us to notice anything, I guess.”
    â€œAnd you, Martha? Were you assisting with the birth?”
    She looked at her brother worriedly, as if asking what she should say.
    â€œMartha was abed,” Ezra answered. “She don’t do well with blood. Anyhow, no point in both us losin’ sleep. There was nothin’ she could do.”
    â€œJa. Slept gut.” Martha had her hands in her lap