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fault.
    Swearing under his breath, he marched down the steps and into the night.
    An hour later, when Joseph returned with Martin Thompson and Sheriff Winter, the kitchen was empty.
    “In there,” he said with a flick of his head toward the dark bedroom. “I’ll find Hannah.”
    Taking two steps at a time, he hurried to the top of the stairs. A faint light shone from beneath the door to Willie’s bedroom. Jaw clenched, he flung open the door.
    Hannah, fully dressed now, sat calmly at the head of the bed with Willie curled next to her. In her lap lay an open book. In the background, Willie’s damn music box played. The rage he’d held in tight rein erupted again. The bitch had been reading fairy stories and listening to music while his pa lay dead.
    He slammed the lid on the box shut, then rushed toward the bed. He grabbed the book out of her hands and ripped it apart. “Pa told you to get rid of that,” he said, dropping the mangled book and kicking it under the bed. “You’re not to turn that boy into a sissy.”
    “It was a birthday present from my sister,” she replied in a flat voice as she drew Willie closer.
    Joseph spun on his heel. “Leave the boy. The sheriff’s here,” he said curtly.
    Hannah pulled the covers up to her son’s shoulders, stood, then bent and whispered in the child’s ear. Without a word, she followed Joseph from the room and down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, they found Sheriff Winter and Martin sitting at the kitchen table waiting for them. Martin, his face pale, mumbled something about needing air and stood abruptly. Moments later the screen door slammed behind him as he hurried out onto the porch. The sheriff then rose and crossed to Hannah.
    “Sorry about your loss, Mrs. Krause,” he said in a gentle voice while guiding her toward the rocking chair. “Can you explain to me the course of events tonight?”
    Joseph paced the room impatiently as Hannah related the same story she’d told him earlier. When she’d finished, he halted at the sheriff’s side.
    “Well?”
    “Well what, Joseph?” Sheriff Winter asked.
    “Aren’t you going to do something?”
    The sheriff shrugged. “Not much to do until the coroner gets here. Then we’ll look things over, and ask some more questions . . .” He paused. “I do have one more question for you, Mrs. Krause,” he said, crossing to the kitchen table. He picked up the object lying there and held it up.
    Dried blood crusted the pointed blade and Joseph shuddered.
    “Do you recognize this?” Sheriff Winter asked.
    “No,” Hannah replied with a shake of her head. “It’s not mine.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes, my kitchen knives all have wood handles and that one has a carved silver handle.” Rising, she crossed the kitchen to a set of drawers and opened one of them. In a moment, she turned and held up a knife. “This is mine.”
    Joseph watched her as she gripped the knife tightly and held it aloft. Light glinted off its sharp blade. How many times had he watched her drive that keen point into the carcass of a chicken and split it down the middle? How much easier would it be to thrust a knife with a similar blade into the back of her sleeping husband?

 
    Chapter 5

    Summer 2012, the Krause family farm
    K ate stumbled out of bed the next morning. Her head felt too big for her body. Instinctively her hand drifted toward her stomach. Lack of sleep was not good for the baby. A frown flitted across her face as her fingers rubbed her lower abdomen. In the last century, people believed scaring a pregnant woman could mark her unborn child, and God knows, she’d been afraid last night. Just thinking about that scream made her heart jump. She’d torn up the stairs and awakened her sleeping husband. A rabbit, he’d murmured into her ear as he pulled her into his arms. Who knew rabbits screamed? She shook her head and stood, shoving her arms into her robe. Sleep had eluded her long after Joe’s easy breathing