by Karen Harper
Seth could tell that Linc was getting desperate. Maybe his reputation was at stake, or it was a personal thing to a driven man. Seth remembered seeing an old movie on his employer’s TV during his rumspringa years about World War II general Douglas MacArthur. A graduate of West Point, the general had seemed obsessed with loyalty to “the corps, the corps.” It was like that with Linc, always thinking about the regulations and reputation of the FBI, which he called the Bureau.
Just now Linc was furious someone—evidently Arrowroot—had taken his gun, then left it there on the bed with a guilty plea and a possible murder weapon. Linc had not liked it that Seth had made him look bad by finding the feather stuck in Hannah’s window. He was angry that Seth had admitted he’d been watching Arrowroot on his own, and then had defended Arrowroot for not being capable of violence. Ya, Seth had been through Linc’s questioning after the graveyard shootings, and he didn’t want to be his target again. But he’d tell him to keep his voice down, because Marlena was sleeping.
Seth let Linc in the back door about ten minutes later. “Don’t like driving hills when they’re slippery,” Linc muttered as he came in and slung his damp FBI jacket over the back of a kitchen chair. The man looked bad, with dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks shadowed with beard stubble. He had a thermos mug of what smelled like coffee in one hand, which shook.
“Maybe you should switch to a horse and buggy around here, if you’re going to spend the winter,” Seth said. “Slower. Safer. You can do other work while the horse handles long stretches.”
“Very funny.”
They sat in the small living area, Seth in his favorite chair, Linc in Lena’s. Linc put his mug down, leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees as if to hold himself up. “Okay, here’s the bottom line, because it’s going to get out, anyway. The word Guilty he had circled was on a page torn from a law handbook in the house. And ballistics just called to tell me that the rifle on the bed was the one which killed Kevin Pryor and wounded Tiffany Miles and Hannah, but probably—just probably—not the one that executed the three buried victims. Only Arrowroot’s prints are on the rifle. So far, we can’t find that the rifle was his—who it’s registered to at all—but it could have been bought black market. The pistol was mine, taken from me when he knocked me out in the corn maze.”
“While Hannah’s life—yours, too—was in danger. So you obviously have checked out the Meyers brothers and couldn’t find anything on them.”
“I swear, I should hire both you and Hannah. Yeah, I talked to them immediately after, but they came up clean and had an alibi from their mother, though I supposed she could have lied for her boys. Listen, Seth, I know there are a couple of hundred people around here who must have hated John Arrowroot.”
He shook his head and slumped back in the chair. “You know,” Linc went on with a bitter laugh, “the sheriff’s receptionist said she thinks Arrowroot’s just gone to join his ancestors or the Great Spirit or something like that. Next, it’ll be he was abducted by the same aliens that make crop circles. She’s wacky, of course, but I’m so sick and tired of what I thought would be a quick open-and-shut case that her theory doesn’t sound so bad.”
Surprised by a calm demeanor he hadn’t expected, Seth said, “You can eliminate my people from doing anything to harm him. It’s not our—”
“I know. It’s not your way. I’m looking into a few others,” he said, staring at Seth with bloodshot eyes.
“I think this is a dead end—well, I shouldn’t put it that way—but I once saw Harlan Kenton really argue with him.”
“Okay. Annie Oakley, alias Elaine Carson, has also been really vocal about Arrowroot wanting her land, and I’ll have to interview George and Clint Meyers again after what you told me about their going to his house earlier. Unless Arrowroot took off and is just setting us up.”
“I know Arrowroot was publicity-hungry for his cause, but this kind of stunt? Can’t see it,” Seth insisted.
“But he managed to get some TV and newspaper coverage during the graveyard exhumations. There may be a lone wolf out there somewhere who decided to set him up or shut him up. Then that would mean the lone wolf was the one who shot at the goths and followed us into the corn maze to hit me on the head and take my gun. But lone wolves committing random crimes? Coincidences in police work? Rarer than rare.”
“Someone thinks he or she is pretty smart. Someone enjoys playing games,” Seth muttered.
“At least Hannah doesn’t seem to be a target anymore,” Linc said.
“Not of the killer, I hope, but how about yours?”
Linc sat up ramrod straight. “What’s that supposed to mean? You should talk. You both just happened to be in the old Troyer mill when their patriarch met with some investors from Detroit. I’ve got to check them out, too.”
“I didn’t take her there. I ran into her there. But you evidently took her to the corn maze. I think she’s your target—and not for questioning about a crime. You’ve been stringing her on about a music career or more.”
“I’m out of here,” Linc said, grabbing his thermos mug and getting to his feet. “After how you screwed up her life, I don’t think you’re the man to throw stones about giving her a reason to leave here.”
That hit Seth hard, like a fist to his gut. He had no answer for that, no right to argue about Hannah. And Linc had surprised him tonight. Despite the fact Seth had been the one to discover that Arrowroot was gone and that Seth had his fingerprints on the doorknobs and in the downstairs bathroom, Linc hadn’t accused him of anything. He’d kept calm, calmer than Seth felt right now.
After he let Linc out and locked the door, he went back to check that Marlena was sleeping soundly. She was, with Hannah’s doll in her little arms. If someone could disappear right out of his locked house—of course, he’d probably just locked it after he’d left—he had to keep an eye on his little girl. But how he also longed to keep an eye on Hannah Esh, ever the rebel, the one he’d always loved and could not bear to lose again.
Ray-Lynn tried to tell herself she wasn’t jealous of Lily, that she believed in Jack, that she shouldn’t be driving around on a slippery country road on a pitch-black November night. Sure, Jack was busy and under pressure, but might stress and exhaustion entice him to make a bad decision? She’d promised to trust him, but she didn’t trust that woman—the “other woman” in his life.
At home, she changed into black wool slacks, a black turtleneck sweater and her black raincoat. She pulled on high, leather boots. They were her new, fashionable ones instead of her mudders, but she wanted to keep warm. She tugged a knitted hat down over her newly coiffed hair. As she walked to her garage, the wind seemed brisk but the snow was not heavy. Still, once she was through town and out on the rural roads, there was a glare on the pavement. Her headlights illumined each snowflake, making them seem to fly at her. She knew she should go back, but she gripped the wheel and drove on. Just like Jack, she needed answers once and for all.
She came to a sign that read Bridge Ices Before Road, so she hit her brakes to test them. Not too bad so far. She slowed for the short bridge that crossed Killibuck Creek, a river that wandered through the area. A ravine with the river at its bottom ran along the right side of the road here.
She was careful at stop signs, drove a little slower now, however much she wanted to rush there, get this over. What really was eating at her was that she and Jack had gone to the Rooster Roadhouse once, eaten greasy burgers and shot pool. It was early in their dating. He’d helped her make a couple of pool shots by bending over behind her, his hands on the cue stick near hers, breathing in her ear, pressing himself against her bottom so that her pelvis pushed against the wooden edge of the table....
Darn! She had to keep her mind on the here and now.
The bright, blinking neon sign for the sports bar came into view in a blur through the wet windshield. She’d have to get her wiper blades changed at the gas station. The swish-swish, swish-swish was driving her
crazy. The lousy winter weather was one bad thing about living in the “valley of Eden.”
As she pulled into the parking lot of the place, the reflection of the orange neon words Rooster Roadhouse and the red, orange and yellow rooster, with its head going up and down as if it were crowing, lit up the entire interior of her car. She squinted at the vehicles parked here. No sign of Jack’s, though she saw what must be Lily’s with its Nevada license plate. Yeah, as Hannah said, it was a flashy car. She recognized Elaine Carson’s truck, too, with its flags and eagle decals. Bad sign both women had their vehicles—they hadn’t come out here together.
She spotted the truck that belonged to either George or Clint Meyers, the only one in town with a red rebel stars-and-bars flag stretched across its back window, like so many she’d seen down South while growing up. Under the flag, the cab sported an empty gun rack. All those two needed was a couple of coonhounds baying in the bed of their truck, and they’d be ready for hunting in the haunts Ray-Lynn’s granddad had loved.
She drove around to the back, so Jack wouldn’t spot her van when he came in. She supposed she could concoct a cover story, but he’d never believe it.
Ray-Lynn got out and locked the van. Out here, surrounded by miles of open fields, she felt the snow sting her skin. Maybe it was turning to ice pellets. She’d peek in the ample windows in front, then get out of here, hopefully before Jack even arrived. She’d been foolish to venture out, at least on a night like this.
Keeping an eye out for approaching cars, she sidled along the front of the building and peeked in. With all the lights and action inside, she hoped no one noticed or recognized her. At least she was partly sheltered from the wind here and there was no moisture on the window glass. She had a clear view of the inside, as if the window were a huge high-def TV screen. Speaking of which, four large TVs mounted over the long bar were carrying different basketball games.
There were ten or twelve patrons she didn’t recognize, despite how she knew most of the people living in the area. But there were some she sure did. Elaine Carson, looking like a biker babe in black leather, was shooting pool with George and Clint Meyers. Yeah, she could imagine all three of them being regulars here. They had beers they drank from nearby bottles from time to time. The two Meyers men looked so much alike, with their big heads, brown hair and eyes and beefy frames, that she could hardly tell them apart. They weren’t twins but might as well have been. No wonder they never married when they had each other.
You might know, Harlan Kenton sat at the bar, facing this way, but looking up at a TV screen. Poor Clair and Amanda, who were obviously so worried about him. She hadn’t seen his truck out front, but maybe he’d driven a car she didn’t know. And at the far end of the bar was Lily. Sitting in profile to Ray-Lynn’s position, Lily was also alone—ding-dang, probably waiting for someone. She seemed totally out of place with some sort of a fancy red drink in front of her, maybe a cosmo. Besides, she was dressed way too nice for here, dark slacks, some sort of bright green silk blouse and big, gold earrings. An alarm went off in Ray-Lynn’s head. Lily must know Jack was coming, even as she got up and sashayed away from the bar toward the back of the place.
There was a video game room in that direction, Ray-Lynn recalled. Maybe video games were the closest thing to slot machines around here. Why had Lily told her and Clair Kenton different things about her past? Was there some good explanation, or was she lying and why?
Headlights slashed through the darkness, and Ray-Lynn hustled off the porch and around the other side of the building from where she’d parked. Yes, Jack’s cruiser! Holding a couple of posters, he bent against the snow and wind to walk inside, but she could see him take a look at the vehicles parked close to the building. It had been a good move to leave hers around the other side. And she had to get out of here. Her insides were tied in knots. But she still crept back around the corner and peered in the window again.
Harlan had downed his beer and was shuffling off toward the bathrooms. Jack was talking with the bartender, probably about the poster he showed him. The others came over, but Lily did not reappear. Elaine went into the back room, then Clint and George followed, maybe to bring her out or tell her about the search for John Arrowroot tomorrow. At least Lily wasn’t running out to greet Jack.
Ray-Lynn jumped back when she saw Jack turn around and glance at the front door, scan the windows. That was his way, even in their restaurant, always keeping an eye on who could be coming in. What if he spotted her or just saw a form looking in? As much as she wanted to keep an eye on things, she’d best get in her van. It would be warmer and she could wait a bit to see who left together—unless Jack drove through the entire parking lot when he left. Jack’s house wasn’t far from here, if he—or he and Lily—drove around by the Troyers’ old mill.
Though the shorter way back to her van was to walk in front of the building, Ray-Lynn didn’t dare push her luck. Besides, it was getting more slippery, so she should go home. Well, maybe just a few minutes sitting in her car to see who left together, or if not in the same car, then nearly at the same time.
Around the back of the roadhouse, she bent into the wind. Oh, Harlan’s truck was behind the restaurant, back up by the door, so he’d obviously been delivering meat. The blinking neon sign threw garish colors on top of the van and the wet pavement. Her fingers were numb; she should have brought gloves. She fumbled for her car key in her pocket, pulled it out and pushed the button that would unlock the van.
Its interior lights came on, though she wished, for once, it just stayed dark. She opened the driver’s side door, and heard something—someone?—behind her. Had Jack spotted and followed her? A form, a blur…
Pain crashed through her head, and everything went black.
22
NEARLY ELEVEN O’CLOCK that night, Mamm had gone up to take a shower, but Hannah and Daad still sat in the kitchen talking. He had listed information for who he needed to tell about the search for John Arrowroot in the morning. He’d drawn arrows to show how that word would be spread from farm to farm among the brethren. They’d been talking about who would have to leave the area for work, who should stay home with children, who was incapable of a strenuous search. It all reminded her again of how close-knit her people were—yes, she still thought of them as her people.
Tomorrow morning, Hannah planned to stop by the B and B only long enough to tell Amanda she would need to miss work to volunteer for the search and to ask her if she and Lily could help look for John Arrowroot, too. Hannah was achingly tired, but here she sat, for she could tell something besides the search was bothering her father. The burden of being a bishop—a position decided by the drawing of lots, not a popularity vote—weighed him down at times, but this seemed something beyond that. Twice he had started to say something, then had stopped.
“You feeling all right, Daad?”
He frowned, reshuffling his papers. “You know, Hanni, it would help if you could leave just a bit early tomorrow morning. You could buggy over to tell the Lantzes and make sure Seth and his family know all the details of the search before you go to the Plain and Fancy. It would save me some time, ya, it would. We should make a good showing at 9:00 a.m. and that’s pretty early for word to spread.”
“Seth probably knows about it from Agent Armstrong. Seth and I aren’t exactly speaking—kind of a mutual decision, for now.”
“Ach! Aren’t exactly speaking? Kind of? For now? Sounds wishy-washy to me. Hanni,” he said, leaning over the corner of the table to cover her hand with his, “I was praying you and Seth would patch up the past. Perhaps the Lord brought you back for that purpose. There are many reasons for you to choose to stay home after this is over, and he’s a big one.”
“I struggle with that—my relationship with him. I felt so betrayed. He ruined my plans, my life. I can’t forget and struggle to forgive. Sometimes I feel so desperate.”
“Your leaving ruined my plans for you, the life I saw you could and would lead among your peopl
e. And now with your friend Sarah jumping the fence and Linc Armstrong tempting you about a worldly singing career… I just don’t want you to follow in Sarah’s footsteps.”
His eyes became glassy with tears. He took out his handkerchief and blew his nose. “I—I know desperation, Hanni, felt it when you left us, my sweet, bright girl. One of four daughters, ya, but somehow special in my heart.”
Hannah’s lower lip dropped. No one Amish was considered individual or special. Cooperation, not competition, was what mattered, for all were equal in God’s eyes. “D-Daad,” she said, stammering because she was shaking so hard, but she had to get this out, “something has been bothering you since I came back—since my friends and I were shot.”
“Ya,” he said only, then, after a pause, took a deep breath and went on. “I did something sinful, but I wanted bad to bring you back, keep you here.”
Surely, surely, she thought, he could not be about to confess the impossible, what she had feared so deeply she had never voiced it even to herself. Her father, the bishop, had been outside with a rifle looking for a coyote Halloween night when she and her friends were shot. Had he seen something, had he…done…something?
“I been lying, Hanni,” he said. “God will forgive me, but will you? And if you can’t forgive Seth, I’m not hoping for it.”
Her entire body tensed. She held her breath.
“I lied to your mother the day I hired taxi service. Told her it was to see an old friend.”
She shook her head in bewilderment. “You are upset because you lied to Mamm about something? About Halloween night? Or the night Linc and I went to the corn maze?”
“No, way before all that. Sarah told her mother who told your Mamm that you were going to sing for a man who owned a music company. She told me the man’s name, too. Jason Flemming. I went to Cleveland, found him, talked to him.”
