To Thine Own Self Be True Read online

  She patted my knee. “Glad you’re here.”

  I hesitated, closing my eyes for a moment, then leaned forward and looked across her. “Hey, Abe.”

  He was already looking at me, and from a flick of his eyes, I knew he’d noticed Nick. He smiled, and my heart felt a bit lighter. Not much, but a little.

  The sanctuary was beautiful and serene, lit only with candles—on the window sills, the piano, the railings, and, of course, the advent wreath. Only the thick white candle in the middle of the wreath remained to be lit. I couldn’t help but think about where Wolf was that night. Most likely somewhere far, far from the soothing atmosphere of candles and the spirit of Christmas. Unless, of course, he was with Mandy.

  The service was a quiet affair, with Isaiah’s prophetic passages and the New Testament Christmas story interspersed with carols, sung mostly from memory. The unaccompanied singing wrapped around me in the worshipful atmosphere, and I almost forgot the events of the last few days, as well as who was sitting next to me, until we had to open the hymnal for a song and my finger touched Nick’s. I quickly withdrew my hand, and he held the book open to “’Twas in the Moon of Wintertime” while I attempted to clear the frog from my throat.

  We soon reached the part in the service for the lighting of the Christ candle, and I watched as Vera Longacre, the oldest member of the congregation, and her oldest great-grandchild, Liam, together held a flame to the white candle. The wick hissed as it lighted, and burned brightly. Vera and Liam each took a candle that lay on the table, lit it from the Christ candle, and, after Liam made sure his great-grandmother negotiated the stairs safely, went to opposite sides of the congregation. Liam was on our side, and stopped at the end of each row to light that person’s candle. Nick was soon tipping his candle toward the flame, and once it lit, he turned to me. Meeting my eyes, he held out his candle. I touched the tip of my candle to his, and the flame sputtered and came to life. Ma’s candle lit from mine, and soon the whole room was alive with the rows of light. The song leader began singing “Silent Night.” We all joined in, exiting row by row, until everyone was making their way, candles extinguished, to the fellowship hall.

  “What now?” Nick asked quietly.

  “Cookies. Homemade ones, mostly. With hot chocolate and coffee.”

  “Great.”

  Lucy and Lenny walked in front of us toward the refreshment line, Tess in the middle, swinging on their hands and singing “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.”

  Nick grinned. “At least it’s about Christmas.”

  I nodded. “I’m glad. The other day I heard her singing the ‘Got a Peanut’ song, the one where you end up pretending to puke.”

  “Hey, Stella.”

  Nick and I turned to find Abe in line behind us. Abe put out his arms and I hesitated, aware of what Nick must’ve been feeling. A flicker in Abe’s eyes reminded me of our renewed status of friendship, and I stepped into him, hugging him back. It felt good.

  When Abe released me, he turned to Nick, holding out his hand. “Good to see you again, Nick.”

  Nick shook Abe’s hand, his face tentative. “You, too.”

  “Abe moved back to New York City in August,” I said.

  The tightness around Nick’s eyes relaxed a bit. “Really?”

  Abe watched Nick’s face with interest. “I found I missed the urban life. This rural setting turned out not to be for me.” What he wasn’t saying was that he and I had found out we weren’t for each other.

  We’d made our way to the dessert table, and I eyed the array. Somehow I just wasn’t hungry for the buffet of sugar and chocolate. I scooted ahead of Abe and Nick toward the end of the table, where I picked up a Styrofoam cup of hot water, and made myself some tea. After throwing away my tea bag, I turned to check out the room. Lucy and Tess were planted at one of the long tables talking animatedly with friends, including representatives of the extensive Granger clan. Lenny sat beside Lucy, his face a mixture of fear and defensiveness. I took the chair beside him.

  “It’s okay, Len,” I said. “They only bite during a full moon.”

  He winced. “It’s just I’m not used to being in a church. Haven’t really been to one since I was a kid. And even then it wasn’t much.”

  The chair beside me remained empty, and I looked around to see where Nick and Abe had landed. They stood toward the back of the room, leaning against the wall, their heads bent toward each other in conversation. I wasn’t sure I liked that.

  “So tell me about Wolf and Mandy,” Lenny said.

  I recounted for him what happened the day I went for my tattoo, and finished with our visit to Gentleman John.

  “Don’t know him,” Lenny said. “That’s probably best, if Rusty and Nick feel that strongly about him.”

  An image of another guy flashed through my mind. “You know a guy named Tank?” I asked Lenny. “Otherwise known as Matthew Snyder?”

  He scrunched up his forehead. “Can’t think of him. Bart might. Who is he?”

  “A guy who was one of the last to see Wolf and Mandy, who’s made a habit of preying on tattoo artists.”

  He frowned.

  “Hi, Lenny. Stella.” Peter Reinford, the pastor of Sellersville Mennonite, stood behind us, hands resting on our chairs.

  “Hey, Pete,” I said.

  Lenny nodded.

  “I’m very sorry to hear about your friend,” Peter said. “Lucy told me about it.”

  I looked down at my tea. “Thanks.”

  “Have you heard anything more about the husband?”

  I shook my head.

  “If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. Do they have a church? A minister I could contact?”

  I shrugged. One of the many things I didn’t know about the Moores.

  “Hey,” I said, looking up, “you know anything about a guy named Matthew Snyder? Goes by the name Tank? He’s supposedly from a Mennonite family.”

  Peter frowned. “Can’t think right off, but I could ask around. Who is he?”

  “A guy who could very well have something to do with the Moores’…problems. I don’t know anything else about him except he’s been in jail until last year.”

  He nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Well,” Peter said, “it’s nice to see you both here tonight. Ma drag you in?”

  I smiled. “Not really. But it was a good guess.”

  Lenny hooked a thumb toward Lucy. “She’s the one dragged me.”

  Pete slapped him on the back. “Glad to hear it.” He moved on to the next group of people, and Lenny let out a big breath, rubbing his forehead.

  “You ready to go?” Lucy asked, leaning across Lenny. He rested a hand on her back, and she smiled up at him. “I think Tess is about to hit the wall.”

  I held up my cup. “Let me finish this.”

  “Sure.”

  I drained my tea, glancing around to where Abe and Nick were talking. I sat for a moment, watching Nick as he laughed at something Abe was saying. It was disconcerting, but nice, to see him in this familiar place. Nick drank the last of his coffee, and as he turned toward the wastebasket, his eye caught mine. For a long moment we looked at each other, until I broke contact.

  “Okay,” I said to my tablemates. “Should we head out?”

  I stood up and pushed my chair in, indicating to Nick with a tilt of my chin that we were leaving. He said one last thing to Abe, and they shook hands again. Abe waved to me, and while I wanted to talk with him some more, it just wasn’t the right time.

  “Stella!” Peter Reinford came trotting toward me. “I found something out about that man.”

  “Already?”

  He smiled. “If you have the right resources, it doesn’t take long.” He turned and held a hand out toward an old man, sitting at the end of the far table. “Jonathan Long. Knows most people in the local Mennonite community. Been around a lot longer than most, t
oo. Says you can go over to talk with him, if you want.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  He nodded, his lips tight. “Hope it helps.”

  “Be right with you,” I said to Lucy.

  She smiled. “Take your time. We’re fine.”

  Lenny didn’t look so sure.

  I made my way across the room toward Mr. Long, squeezing through the folding chairs and trying not to trample the little kids who ran from table to trash can. I finally got to the end of the table and stood in front of the old man.

  “Mr. Long?”

  He’d been following me the whole way with his eyes, and now he patted the chair next to him. I sat, taking in his thin hair, the folds of skin on his leathery face, and the bright blue eyes sparkling out from sunken sockets.

  “Pastor Reinford informs me you can use my help,” he said.

  “Sure can. Anything you could tell me about Matthew Snyder’s family or whereabouts is more than I know now.”

  He settled back in his chair, his hands relaxed, looped over the head of a cane. “Matthew Snyder’s grandfather was my second cousin. Isaac Snyder. Grew up in Blooming Glen, never moved away. His son, Stan, moved to Dublin, not far, and had seven kids. Matthew was one of the middle ones. Third, I think.”

  He reached out a gnarly hand to fumble with his tea. I restrained myself from helping him, even though the cup shook with his effort. The tea made it to his mouth and back without incident, and I let out the breath I was holding.

  “Somehow,” Mr. Long continued, “Matthew went bad, started bullying kids already when he was in elementary school. Family about went out of their minds trying to set him straight.”

  “And now?”

  “I’m getting there, I’m getting there.” He took another sip of tea while I tried not to grind my teeth.

  “His poor mother keeps me informed.” He grinned slyly. “Well, I ask to be kept informed. And she let me know when he got out of jail last year. Those years about killed her, having him in prison, although I can’t see how it’s better now he’s out and getting into trouble.”

  I glanced up to see Nick leaning against the doors to the foyer. I held up a finger to say I’d be there in a minute, and he nodded, turning and disappearing behind the double doors.

  “Do you know where he is now?” I asked. “The cops can’t seem to find him, and his family’s not revealing his whereabouts.”

  Long’s eyes crinkled. “Now where does a man go, if he’s not home with his mother at Christmas?”

  I understood. Another woman, replacing Mom. “Who is she? And why hasn’t the family told the cops?”

  “Name’s Mary Detlor. As for the family not telling, I’d say it has a lot to do with Ms. Detlor herself. It’s kind of the last straw for his folks, and they hate to admit she even exists. You’d understand if you saw her. She isn’t any Sunday School teacher, that’s for sure.”

  “And where do I see her?”

  He reached again for his tea. “Now that, young lady, I’m afraid I don’t know.”

  I squinted at him, not sure if he was being straight with me. He seemed to know everything else.

  He held up his hand, hitting me in the knee with his cane. “Honest. I’d swear on the Bible if I weren’t a Mennonite.”

  I laughed. “All right. I appreciate your help.”

  His face darkened. “Can’t say for sure if it was Matthew or not who did this thing, but if it was, I don’t care if he is family.”

  I thanked him and left. Nick met me in the foyer, where I shrugged into my coat.

  “Got what you needed?” he asked.

  “I think so.”

  He waited, leaning an arm against the coat rack. “So you and Abe…”

  “We’re good friends, just like always.” I zipped up my coat, not looking at him.

  He stood still, his ski jacket hanging by his side. “But you tried to be more.”

  I took a moment, pulling on my gloves. “We tried. It didn’t work.”

  “May I ask why?”

  I finally looked at him. “Because I know what feels right. And that didn’t.”

  He studied my face, but when he opened his mouth to say something else, I pushed my way through the church’s doors and walked quickly to Lucy’s car.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Still think Tess is up for a stop at Bart’s?” Lenny asked.

  Lucy looked down at her daughter, who smiled happily, if not energetically.

  “Sure,” Lucy said. “As long as it’s a quick stop. We have things to do at home yet before bed.”

  Bart’s light was on, since Lenny had warned him we’d be stopping by. He greeted us at the door, and I hugged him tentatively, wary of the chest wound he’d suffered that summer.

  “Nick Hathaway,” I said, gesturing to him. “Bart Watts.”

  Bart looked Nick up and down while shaking his hand. “I guess you look tough enough to handle her.”

  Nick laughed, and I gently slugged Bart’s arm.

  “Come on in,” Bart said, ducking any more punches. His living room was free of Christmas decorations, except for a ceramic nativity set which covered the top of his coffee table amidst a spray of straw. The air smelled marvelously of lasagna and garlic bread, and Bart saw me breathing it in.

  “Neighbor brought over supper,” he said. “Thought I’d need my energy if I’d be getting to mass this evening.”

  “And did you get there?” Lenny asked.

  “Sure. Still not too good with all the kneeling and standing, but I’m close.”

  “And how about that Latin?” Lenny asked. “I had to go the Menno way, but at least I understood what was going on.”

  “We don’t do Latin anymore, you dumbass. It’s all in English. Even you can understand that.”

  “Okay, okay,” Lucy said. “It’s Christmas Eve, remember? Love and laughter, and all that.”

  “What?” Bart and Lenny said innocently.

  I snorted.

  “Here,” Tess said. She thrust a package toward Bart, and he placed a hand on his chest.

  “For me?”

  “Open it!” Tess jumped up and down, shaking the floor.

  “Give him a chance, honey,” Lucy said, smiling.

  Bart made his way to a chair and eased himself down before tearing open the paper. “Oh, wow. Thanks.” A set of the three wise men, hammered in metal, stood a foot tall each and gleamed in the lamplight. “Ten Thousand Villages?”

  Lucy nodded. “They’re from Guatemala.”

  I glanced at Nick. “Ten Thousand Villages is a Mennonite-run business. Gives fair working wages to artists in poor countries. Lucy likes to shop there.”

  He nodded. “I’ve heard of it.”

  “They’re beautiful,” Bart said. “Thank you.”

  “Now,” Lenny said. “What can you tell us about Matthew Snyder?”

  “Who?”

  “Tank,” I said. “Snyder’s his real name.”

  “Oh, that asshole. Whoops, sorry, Lucy.”

  She smiled tightly.

  “From what I know,” Bart said, “Tank harassed tattoo artists, got put away back in 1996. That Detective Shisler says he’s out now. Nobody told me.”

  “It was suggested tonight that I check out his girlfriend’s place,” I said. “You happen to know a woman named Mary Detlor?”

  Bart’s head snapped up. “Know her? Sure. Hardcore biker chick, pretty burned out. Not one of us. Met her at Lansdale Bike Night a couple years ago. Lives in Sellersville, if I remember right. She’s hooked up with Tank?”

  “That’s what my source tells me.”

  “And your source?”

  I smiled. “Old Mennonite guy.”

  “Figures.”

  “You know where she lives?”

  “Nope. Give me a second, though.” He pushed himself up and moved slowly into his kitchen, where he opened a drawer, ruffled through some papers, and pull
ed out the three-inch thick phone book. “Nope,” he said. “Not in here.” He grabbed his phone and started punching buttons. “Hey, it’s Bart,” he said into the receiver. “You know where Mary Detlor’s living these days? Uh-huh. Which house? Oh, okay. Just wondering. Thanks, man.”

  He came back in and leaned on his chair, a pleased smile on his face. “Lives on Old Mill Road in Sellersville. You’ll know her place by the beat-up Mustang parked on the street. Her truck and bike are in the garage.”

  “Wow,” I said. “You work fast.”

  “Just have to know who to ask.”

  Like Peter Reinford. If you have the right resources…

  I looked at Lucy. “Any chance we could stop at Detlor’s place on the way home?”

  She sighed, but nodded. “It’s for Wolf and Mandy, right?”

  “Yup. The cops have yet to run this guy down, and this seems as good a bet as any. I don’t want to send the police out on Christmas Eve if it’s a wild goose chase.”

  Lucy studied Tess, who was curled up on Bart’s couch, her feet tucked under her. Lucy lifted a shoulder. “Eh, what’s ten more minutes?” She squinted at me. “Shouldn’t be longer than that, right?”

  “I just want to see if he’s there.”

  “All right.”

  “Sorry. Guess we should’ve brought two cars.”

  She waved that away. “There was no way to know. We’ll be all right.”

  “Oh, Bart,” I said. “Have you heard any rumors about Wolf having—” I glanced at Tess “—having interests other than Mandy?”

  He frowned. “No way.”

  “Didn’t think so. But Gentleman John said something today, and I at least needed to ask.”

  “Gentleman John’s an assho… He’s a liar.”

  “Okay. Well, Merry Christmas. Hate to beg favors and run, but—”

  “Hey, Princess, it’s good to see you at all. And I’ll be hitting the hay soon anyway.”

  Lenny loomed over him. “Now don’t you be shoveling that walk tomorrow. I’ll be by when I can.”

  Bart rolled his eyes. “You’d think I was a baby.”

  Lucy laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “You know it’s because he loves you.”

  “Oh, yuck,” Lenny said.

  “Besides,” Bart said to Lenny, “you know my cousin’s picking me up in the morning to spend Christmas with the relatives.”