Hidden in Plain Sight
Page 1
Copyright © 2016 Karen Ann Hopkins
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1523947942
ISBN 13: 9781523947942
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016902625
CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
North Charleston, South Carolina
Praise for Serenity’s Plain Secrets
“A well-crafted tale of murder begotten by the collision of two incompatible worlds.” Kirkus Reviews
“Lamb to the Slaughter was an easy, enjoyable read that I completely enjoyed. I was over the moon excited to hear that there will be more books in this series. Serenity and Daniel will solve cases involving Amish communities throughout the Midwest!” Caffeinated Book Reviewer
“I would highly, highly recommend this one…From the mystery, the characters and the writing this is a fantastic book! I can’t wait for book two!” Lose Time Reading
“From the prologue to the last chapters, Lamb to the Slaughter had me instantly hooked. Ms. Hopkins is a master at pacing and setting up her stories in a way that has readers connected to both the characters and the story line.” Love-Life-Read
“This book had it all!! Murder, mystery, forbidden romance and left you needing to read the next book in the series ASAP!! Loved this book!” Curling Up With a Good Book
“Karen Ann Hopkins has delivered with Lamb to the Slaughter. I love the uniqueness she brings to the mystery genre, and I will DEFINITELY be reading more from her in the future.” Unabridged Bookshelf
“The characters are complex and dimensional, whether they have a large or smaller part to play in this story, and it really added such a richness that I enjoyed.” Bewitched Bookworms
“Lamb to the Slaughter is a must read for fans of mystery novels. Karen Ann Hopkins made me a fan with her YA Temptation series, and she’s made me an even bigger fan with this murder mystery.” Actin’ Up With Books
“An intriguing tale full of mystery and suspense....LAMB TO THE SLAUGHTER had me thinking and rethinking the entire time.” I Read Indie!
“I’m so glad that this is going to be a series; because it’s one of the greatest murder mysteries that I’ve read in a long time.” Little Miss Drama Queen
“Simply put Karen Ann Hopkins, takes her readers to a new level of Amish fiction and suspense.” Deitre Helvey Owens at Once Upon a Twilight
“Lamb to the Slaughter will keep you at the edge of your seat. Don’t miss this nail biting experience!” Her Book Thoughts
“Lamb to the Slaughter is a stunningly suspenseful read that will have you flipping pages long after bedtime. You won’t want to miss it!” Bittersweet Enchantment
“Whispers from the Dead is my favorite book so far this year!” Unabridged Bookshelf
“I give Whispers from the Dead a 5 out of 5! This installment explores how big city problems don’t necessarily stay in the big city…it makes for a steamy and seductive read.” Bewitched Bookworms
“Loved this book! This book gives you everything…kids buying illegal narcotics, revenge burnings, overdoses, secrets, lies, kidnapping and several shootings, and all in one northern touristy Amish community.” Curling Up With a Good Book
“Whispers from the Dead is a success!” Her Book Thoughts
Books by Karen Ann Hopkins
Serenity’s Plain Secrets
in reading order
LAMB TO THE SLAUGHTER
WHISPERS FROM THE DEAD
SECRETS IN THE GRAVE
HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT
Wings of War
in reading order
EMBERS
GAIA
TEMPEST
ETERNITY (2016)
The Temptation Novels
in reading order
TEMPTATION
BELONGING
FOREVER
RACHEL’S DECEPTION
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I certainly would never have seen my characters bound forever in the pages of real books without the love, encouragement and help of too many people to count, and I’m grateful to each and every one of them!
Many thanks go out to Amanda Shofner for putting her heart and soul into the edits, and to Grace Bell and Heather Miller for their amazing proofreading skills. A huge shout out to Jenny Zemanek of Seedlings Design for creating another amazing cover.
As always, much appreciation and love to my husband, Jay, and five children, Luke, Cole, Lily, Owen and Cora, for all the everyday little things and helping to make this crazy dream possible.
Many thanks to my mother, Marilyn, an avid reader of anything worth reading, who not only encouraged me to follow my dreams, but read everything that I wrote, sometimes repeatedly, and gave me her honest opinion every time.
Much gratitude to my brother, Anthony. You’re always there to save the day. Thank you for everything you do for me and the entire family.
I would be remiss not to mention the wonderful Amish people who inspired me to write this series in the first place. I am humbled by the kindness shown to me and my children since our arrival in Kentucky, and I still delight in seeing the buggies whisking down the road.
“Success is sweeter and sweeter if long delayed and gotten through many struggles and defeats.”
~Amos Bronson Alcott~
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
PROLOGUE
November 5, 2000
The claps of thunder sent a shiver of anticipation through him. Buddy Prowes welcomed the booming noise and the spattering of accompanying rain. His booted steps on the back porch were muffled, and the flashes of light masked his shadow as he crept along the side of the house.
He pushed wet hair away from his eyes and sniffed deeply. Samantha had the woodstove stoked up and the scent of hickory burning, mixed with the dampness in the air, created a coziness that he would have enjoyed if his heart hadn’t been hammering. When his fingers touched the window pane and he leaned in, he held his breath, careful not to fog up the glass.
One of the blind’s panels had been bent back in the corner, and he used the resulting gap to peek in. The blue walls of his old bedroom came into view, but his gaze passed over them to settle on the bed. The covers were pushed back in disarray as though she’d just woken, but Buddy knew that wasn’t the case. His ex-wife worked at one of the banks in town and would have left for work at seven-thirty in the morning and arrived home just past five o’clock in the evening, and she was compulsive about making her bed each morning. She always left the small ranch house in immaculate condition when she headed out.
His chest burned. Sammy had someone sharing her bed. It didn’t shock him, even though the ink had only dried on the divorce papers a few months earlier. She was a beautiful woman—and a tramp. Thinking of another man kissing her plump lips and brushing his hands over her soft curves peppered his vision with purple dots.
His heart pounded as he rubbed his fist. Muted voices reached his ears, and he tilted his head to press his ear to the glass. He couldn’t make out the words, but the low tone told him it was definitely a man talking.
Buddy found it difficult to breathe. Images of a stranger pressing himself into his woman pierced his mind, then his fist hit the wall. The conversation stopped and a moment later, the porch light flicked on.
Buddy rose to his full six foot five inches, wanting confrontation. He’d dreamed about it for weeks.
The door swung open and Samantha stepped out. Buddy noticed her bare feet first, and then how her breasts rose up and down above the flimsy nightgown with her forced breaths. But what held his attention the most was the shotgun in her hands, the barrel pointed at his gut.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here, Buddy? There’s a restraining order against you. I could have you arrested for sneaking around on my porch.” Samantha spit the words out, her eyes flashing.
It was her fiery temper that he loved and hated about her. They were two peas in a pod, a couple of wrecking balls. It made for epic sex and just as epic battles. The last time he’d seen her face to face, it had been in a courtroom and her eye had been swollen black and blue. He’d regretted hitting her and tried to explain things to the judge, but the pudgy man hadn’t cared that Sammy had struck him in the stomach with a baseball bat. All his ex-wife had to do was flash her pearly whites, flip her long blonde hair and drawl that sexy voice to get her way. Buddy knew before he stepped foot in the courtroom that he’d been a fool to think he had a chance of winning.
His mouth twitched. “This is my damn house and you’re fucking some other man in there.” He thrust his hand at the window. “This ain’t right, and you know it.”
Sammy’s eyes narrowed. “We’re divorced. I got this dump and you got the pickup truck.” She dropped her voice, and it occurred to Buddy that she didn’t want whoever was in the house to hear her. “I can fuck whoever I want now.”
The words and the curl of her lips were too much. Buddy rushed forward, only stopping when the barrel of the gun jabbed into his chest.
“Come one step closer and I’ll blow a hole in your heart. I swear I’ll do it.”
The glint in her brown eyes confirmed her threat was real. Buddy hovered over her on the balls of his feet. His heart pounded in his ears. Even if she gets a shot off, I’ll still be able to grab her neck and squeeze—squeeze the life right out of her.
He pressed against the gun and smiled at Sammy. “You’re nothing but a whore and not worth a hole in my gut, or worse yet, a prison sentence.” The corner of his mouth lifted higher. “But we aren’t finished with this conversation. Not by a long shot.”
He swiped the gun sideways and took the porch steps two at a time until he reached the gravel driveway.
“You better stay away, Buddy Prowes, or I’ll kill you myself,” she shouted after him.
Buddy darted into the trees, taking the packed dirt path he knew so well. It led to other trails, some that went deeper into the woods and one that skirted the road to where his truck was parked. He turned to the right, away from the road, heading in the direction of the creek bed and his old deer stand. The rain became a drizzle and the flashing storm moved off to the east. He held his face up to the cold wetness, gulping for air.
When he reached the poplar tree with the ladder made of wooden boards, he paused to catch his breath. The fast-moving clouds occasionally allowed light from the full moon to shine through the tree branches, lighting the forest floor with a dappling effect.
He squatted beside the tree and ran his hand through his reddish beard with a tug. He had half a mind to slip back to the house and teach Sammy a lesson right then and there. Whoever had been with her had probably already slipped out the side door. She was delusional if she thought she could have another lover while he was still breathing. He’d never allow it. But if the man who’d been with her was foolish enough to have stayed, his truck would still be parked on the road, just where Buddy had seen it earlier.
He chuckled, and his breath puffed in the cool, damp air. He straightened, eager to make his way back, with a plan that lifted his spirits. He’d get the truck’s license plate number, and one of his friends in the sheriff’s department would run the plate number and give him the name of its owner. He’d make sure the new boyfriend was out of Sammy’s life, one way or another.
A smile curled his lips as he pushed away from the tree, but it was replaced with a frown. He stopped.
He peered into the shadows, shifting his head to listen better. “Who’s there—Sammy is that you?”
Buddy’s chest shuddered out of his chest as he squinted into the darkness. The clouds parted and moonlight illuminated the trees. He exhaled, his shoulders slumping. “Oh, it’s just you. It ain’t wise to sneak up on a man like me in the dark. You ought to know better.”
He saw the gun right before it fired. The explosion echoed in his head and the force that smashed into his stomach knocked him backwards into the tree. He pushed his hand inside his coat flap and felt a sharp pain in his gut and a sticky wetness on his fingertips.
“Dammit, you done shot me,” he croaked. His legs buckled.
The moonlight disappeared behind the clouds, turning the forest dark again. Except for the soft pattering of rain and his sharp breaths, all was quiet. Buddy was numb. He struggled to keep his eyes open as the blood pumped freely out of the gaping wound.
He felt as though he were floating under water, tipping and sinking.
He blinked and blinked again.
An ax rose high in the moonlight before it came down on his head.
1
May 12, 2015
Blood Rock Amish Settlement
I had a moment of déjà vu as I lifted my face to the warm sun, closed my eyes and inhaled the smell of churned dirt. My heart sputtered. Only seven months had passed since Naomi’s body had been discovered, shot and decayed in the cornfield, but a lot had happened since then. When I’d started that investigation, I had little experience with Amish people. Now, after several cases in my own jurisdiction and across state lines, I was all too familiar with the secretive culture.
“Ma’am, do you think this guy will even talk to us?”
I looked over at U.S. Marshal Toby Bryant. His cowboy hat shielded his eyes from the glaring sunlight, giving me only a glimpse of his bright blue eyes and lopsided smile before he glanced away. His gaze followed the same direction of his partner, John Ruther, who shaded his eyes with his hand. John was the older, more laid-back of the pair. His tie flapped in the wind.
I resisted the urge to groan and rubbed the side of my leg, scratching at the healing wound I’d suffered when a house had exploded on top of me a few weeks earlier. It was a miracle I hadn’t been more seriously injured. A boy and a woman had died in the incident. Eli, I mourned, but Ada Mae had gotten what she deserved. But dammit, if the itchy-soreness of my leg wasn’t a constant reminder of that day.
“We’re the same age and rank. Call me by my name,” I said.
John laughed. “You’ll have to excuse Toby. He was born and raised in Oklahoma. It’s his custom to be annoyingly polite.”
I smiled behind my hand. It was nice to have someone agree with me for a change. I turned back to the cowboy. “To answer your question, I have no idea. The Amish are unpredictable people. Sometimes they don’t stop talking and other times they won’t say a word.” I shrugged. “I guess it depends how close to home this case is for them.”
“Is that their bishop?” John pointed at the silhouette of a four draft horse team and a man standing on the plow behind them in the distance.
I nodded. “I appreciate you giving me time to get back on my feet before we came out here, but you still haven’t explained exactly why you’re here. Mind letting me in on some of the details before he rea
ches us?”
John and Toby exchanged glances. John answered, “Some fifteen years ago, a fellow marshal by the name of Jim Allen worked a case in Pennsylvania. It involved a man who was shot to death and then bludgeoned with an ax. The crime was especially horrific given the overkill nature of it. Local law enforcers bungled the case, being overly zealous to pin the crime on someone.”
“Sounds complicated,” I commented.
John snorted. “The vic, Buddy Prowes, was a favorite of the good ol’ boys’ club. He was one of those types who got away with behavior that would have put most people in jail, because he’d grown up with the same crew that ran the town. He had a list a mile long of complaints against him, everything from domestic abuse towards his wife to assault on neighbors.”
My eyes widened beneath my sunglasses and Toby kicked a clump of dirt with his cowboy boot. He bumped his hat back and looked at me. “A real A-hole type.”
“Okay, so the guy probably deserved what he got. Were there any other crimes connected to the case?” I asked, pushing the stray hairs escaping my ponytail behind my ear.
John shook his head. “No. It was personal.”
“So why your interest in a cold case—what’s changed?”
John took a step closer toward me. The team of horses was close enough to hear the jingling of their harnesses when he spoke. “Jim passed of cancer last month. This case was his Achilles’ heel—you know, the one he couldn’t get out of his mind all these years—the unsolved mystery.” He leaned in closer. “I received a package from his wife, Stephanie, about a week after he died. It was the Buddy Prowes’ case file. Jim had written some new notes—information he’d collected recently, before he’d gone into hospice.” He pulled a piece of folded paper from his inside jacket pocket. The paper was rumpled, old looking. “He’d gone over the papers he’d received from local law enforcement a hundred times or more, never coming up with anything fresh—” he unfolded the paper and thrust it at me “—then he had a break through.”