Stacie didn’t deserve what happened to her. When they were together, she was sweet, a bit clingy, and ready to drag him to the altar. And he didn’t deserve her either. A woman deserved a man willing to commit to her completely.
But he couldn’t, not with his old world, his old life following him at every turn. There were worse things than having an expensive helmet stolen.
*
Pete Stucenski crossed another employee’s name off his list. The server, a college student at the university, was in tears when he left her. But not because of how he spoke to her. His mother had taught him better.
“Treat a lady like a lady, and she’ll be good to you.” It hadn’t worked out for him in the love department, but it always helped in business.
Caitlyn, the sniveling server, had been the one to find Mitch’s body in the restaurant when she went back to get her cell phone after her shift was over and the restaurant was long closed.
“I can still see him there, just lying on the floor, with blood everywhere. And his head—” She hiccupped a sob.
No, she didn’t know anything. Mitch hadn’t asked her for any help with office business, either. She was one of those kids focused on her education and future career. And at work, she didn’t have access to anything in the back of the house. If she had, it would have already raised questions.
The restaurant employed twenty, and after this one, he had one more name. Thad Zook. Now what kind of a last name was that? Of course, his own name wasn’t much better.
Thad Zook, pastry chef. Plenty of access to the back of the house, arrived early, often worked late. The dark, brooding kind of chef, and you didn’t make fun of his food. Got his work done and stayed out of trouble. He had Thad’s number from the employee list, so he punched it into his phone.
Straight to voice mail. “This is Thad, I can’t take your call right now. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you.”
“Hey, Thad, this is Pete Stucenski with Dish and Spoon. I wanted to talk to you about Mitch. It’s been hard on all of us, and, uh, well, I’m hoping to reopen the restaurant as soon as possible. I just need to know how many staff I’ll be able to get to come back. Anyway, call me if you get a chance.”
He’d do like he did with Caitlyn and the others. If he received no answer to his call, he’d leave a message and follow up with a visit to their home. Pete entered Thad’s address in his GPS and within fifteen minutes had pulled up at an apartment complex. Not ritzy, but not a complete dive, either.
Pete strolled to Thad’s building and climbed the stairs to the second floor unit, apartment two. He knocked on the door, not threateningly, but boldly enough so anyone sleeping could hear it.
A young woman stuck her head out the door of the unit beside Thad’s. “He’s not there. Not anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Pete held his balled-up hand in midair, prepared to knock again. “Is he just out?”
“No, he left. Skipped out. The manager was pretty upset. Left boxes of stuff in there. I got a nice pan set, though.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I’m his boss, actually his boss’s business partner. We had to close the business temporarily, but I wanted to let him know he could get his old job back.” Pete smiled, lowering his hand to his side. “Did he say if he was going anywhere?”
“Nah.” The blonde emerged from her apartment, a baby on her hip. “We talked every once in a while. He kept weird hours and I was always apologizing if the baby crying kept him awake. Nice guy.”
“Yes, Thad’s a good guy. Which is why we want him back.” Pete scratched his head, then scanned the parking lot. “So, do you know anything about his family, where he’s from originally?”
She shook her head. “Not a lot. They sounded super religious and he said he didn’t have much to do with them anymore. Sad. We all need family.”
“Yes, we certainly do.” Pete’s pulse raced. “Well, thanks, anyway. I guess he won’t be coming back here, then.”
“No, probably not.” A phone warbled off in the distance somewhere. “I’ve got to go.”
“Thanks for your help.” Pete turned and descended the stairs.
Mr. Zook, where’d you skip off to? Only a matter of time, and he’d find him.
He dialed Channing’s number as he crossed the parking lot. “It’s me. I’m done with my list.”
“Tell me you’ve had luck. Everyone else is coming out squeaky clean once we dig enough.”
“One name on my list—Thad Zook—has skipped town it seems.”
“I trust you’re going to follow up.”
“Of course I am.”
“Find those files.”
“I’m working on it. Okay? I mean, the election’s coming up and you’ve got the lead for now.”
“And that’s why nothing can screw this up, before or after Election Day.” The line went dead.
7
After one week of work on the building for Pinecraft Pies and Pastry, Betsy tried not to appear too giddy. She yawned and immediately felt like a lie abed. She hadn’t been able to shake the sensation of exhaustion too early in the day. Of course, she had said nothing more to Aenti Sarah or Chelle about it. The best explanation had to be her busy-ness, the travel from Ohio, and a feeling of gloom after the wedding.
But young people weren’t supposed to tire like a mammi or a daadi might.
Henry Hostetler, as old as her daadi, had made swift work of the demolition inside the future bakery with nary a word of feeling tired.
Small holes in the walls had been patched. Other walls framing the bedrooms had been removed to make way for a wide-open kitchen to hold the ovens and stove and commercial refrigerator and freezer. The space wasn’t ready yet for the stainless steel prep table to run the length of one wall, nor the big rectangular work table to sit in the center of the kitchen.
But no one would take this for a two-bedroom box of a cinderblock home anymore. Someone had built it back in the 1940s and the structure still retained its character. An elderly neighbor had stopped by during the first day of demolition and showed her a photograph of the house from the mid-1950s. A sandy, shelled road ran in front of the building instead of the asphalt now.
Betsy tried not to sneeze at the dust. Henry Hostetler had discovered a leak in the roof and patched it. Now, he and his worker were replacing the entire ceiling with new Sheetrock.
He stood in the center of the future bakery’s work area and mopped his forehead with the back of his arm. “Well, I have an idea that is a little more work, but might save you some money in the long run.”
“What?” She already knew the amount of the running tab, and had hoped to order the appliances next week.
“Seeing as how the rear corner of the building is the original kitchen, I say we turn it and the rear bedroom into your work area.”
“But the bathroom. It’s in the middle.”
“We keep the bathroom where it is, but make it a washroom, removing the bath tub. This will let you have a work area in the kitchen, and a small walkway to the other corner of the building where you can keep your freezers and pantry.” He stepped past the current bathroom doorway. “This way you have a restroom for your customers. The front corner, just inside the front door, can be your sales area with the display cases. The opposite front end of the building, past the front door, is where you can set up your booths or tables. I’d go with tables. You can rearrange them, but you can’t move booths.”
She nodded. “That makes sense to me. I didn’t know what we were going to do about the bathroom placement there, but I knew we had to have one for customers.”
Sunlight streamed through the back door of the building. A scratching noise on the metal made Betsy stare at the door. “What could that be?” Florida had its share of lizards and other creatures, but none of them sounded like this. None she knew of.
She strode to the door and peered through the screen. A dog with fur the color of dark cinnamon and short legs, a long pointed nose, and a body as rou
nd as a stuffed sausage, stared up at her. His tongue hung out, almost in a lopsided grin. He shook his head, and his long ears flopped side to side.
“What are you doing here? We’re not open yet. Perhaps you’d rather visit a butcher shop.”
In response, the dog settled back on his haunches, then shifted his weight so he appeared to sit up, his paws tucked up under his chest.
“I don’t have anything for you to eat, little dog.”
“Who’s that you’re talking to?” Henry squinted at the sunlight.
“A dog. Maybe it’s a stray.” The Amish weren’t ones to have animals for pets, not her family anyway, but maybe this was one of the few dogs in the village, out wandering for a morning stroll.
“Ah, that’s a dachshund, it is. Used to be hunting dogs, they were. Nowadays, like this fellow, they’re good at hunting down meals.” Henry picked up a measuring tape from his worktable.
“Well, little dog, you’re at the wrong door if you’re looking for food. Nothing here yet.”
The dog’s response was an enthusiastic whip of his skinny tail, the slimmest part of his rotund body.
“Henry, do you know whose dog this might be?”
“Can’t say I’ve seen him around the village before. Maybe he’ll mosey along and find his way home.” Henry pulled a notepad from his shirt pocket and headed for the nearest wall framing the bathroom.
“I suppose.”
The front door opened and a voice called, “Here I am, come to see the progress.”
Aenti Sarah stopped in the doorway, then sneezed. “Now, this is something else. What happened to the walls? And the ceiling?” She darted a glance above her head.
Betsy left the doorway and stepped over the wood on the floor where the wall had once stood. She explained to Aenti what Henry had suggested, and Aenti Sarah bobbed her head.
“I don’t want to do more construction than necessary, but then I don’t want to have to hire a plumber to move plumbing lines if we put the sink on an inner wall. Good sense.”
The dog barked, the sound drowning out Aenti Sarah’s voice.
Betsy moved back to the door. “You don’t like being ignored, do you?”
“Who are you talking to?”
“A dog, Aenti Sarah.”
She shook her head. “I must go to visit a sick friend today, but I wanted to see the progress on the bakery first.”
“I think Mr. Hostetler’s done a fine job so far.”
“Why, thank you, Betsy.” Henry let the measuring tape snap back into its roll. “I’m planning to sign off around two today.”
“That’s fine with me. I have some clients I must visit this afternoon, so I’ll leave you to lock up.”
Betsy gathered her tote bag and followed Aenti Sarah outside to the front lawn. “So, what do you think?’ ”
“I’ll let you know when we open and start selling pies.”
Betsy unlocked her bicycle from a nearby pole. She knew better than to counter with a lengthy reply. “All right, Aenti.”
She watched Aenti Sarah climb onto her three-wheeler and head off down the street. Then she allowed herself a yawn. Maybe a nap would be in order before she visited her afternoon housecleaning clients. She needed to continue earning her own money until the bakery could pay the bills and support her.
The sound of claws clicking on the pavement made her look down. The cinnamon-colored dog stopped by her bicycle and sat like a lump on the asphalt.
“Go home,” Betsy said. She pushed off with her foot and began pedaling along the street. She didn’t turn around, but listened to the click-clack of claws behind her.
Maybe if she ignored the dog, it would go find its home. She continued along, with more clickety-clack. She reached the traffic light at Bahia Vista.
“No, go home.” The four-lane road was dangerous enough for humans, not to mention a short, chubby dog too adventurous for its own good. If she ignored him, surely he’d find someone else to follow.
The light changed and she pedaled through the crosswalk along with a few pedestrians and a lone cyclist like herself. Not too much longer, and the area would swarm with Plain people from all over the place and there’d be tricycle traffic jams.
The light turned yellow just as she reached the other side, and she couldn’t resist the urge to glance back and see if the cinnamon dog had followed. He paced sided to side, then darted into the street toward her as the light clicked red. A few cars rolled forward, then stopped.
He reached her rear tire in time to escape the traffic, his tail whipping side to side.
“Well, you certainly look proud of yourself. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to be prideful? Or run across when the light turns red?”
The dog sat, almost smiling at her. He cocked his narrow head to one side and panted.
“Come on, then, and I’ll get you some water. This must be the most you’ve exerted yourself in quite some time.” She pedaled along the street, and the clicking of claws grew slower.
Betsy stopped again. The little fellow plopped on the side of the road beside someone’s mailbox. She braked, then climbed off the bike.
“Here.” She hesitated for a millisecond, then scooped the dog up in her arms. “You can ride in style.” She carried him to the basket on her bike and deposited him inside. He propped his paws on the edge and looked up with brown eyes, round as marbles, and panted.
A dog. What would she do with a dog? Would Aenti Chelle let her keep him in the house? She’d never had a real house pet before. The family’s farm had an abundance of cats, yet none of them stayed in anyone’s house.
She coasted up the driveway and glided along the sidewalk to the front door. The storm door was open to let fresh air inside.
“Aenti?” She popped the kickstand down, then slung her tote bag over her shoulder, and scooped up the dog. She entered the cool house.
“In the kitchen.”
“Um, I found a dog at the shop today. Or, he found me.” She entered the kitchen and set the dachshund on the tiles. He waddled over to Aenti, his tail wagging.
“He seems like a friendly little guy.” Aenti Chelle crouched down to pet him, upon which he flopped down and rolled to the side.
“I’m going to give him some water, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” Her aenti rubbed the dog’s belly.
Betsy found a plastic bowl and filled it, then placed it on the floor by the wall. The dog rolled, ungracefully, to his feet and shot over to the bowl, where he began lapping up the water.
“Thirsty critter,” Aenti Chelle commented. “Well, I’m off to a client’s this afternoon. Do you have your appointments squared away?”
“Yes, ma’am. I have two homes over on Beneva, and one on Fruitland Road.”
“Should I wait for you, or will you take your bicycle?’’
“I’ll take my bicycle.”
Aenti Chelle grabbed her keys from the kitchen island. “Be safe, and I’ll see you at supper. If you want, you can leave your dog on the lanai until we get home. He should be fine out there.”
“Okay. I’ll start asking in the village if anyone has lost a dog.”
“Or ask Imogene. She might get the word around.”
Her aenti left them to themselves, and Betsy’s stomach growled. The clock said 11:45, so she had just enough time to eat a sandwich before leaving to do her work.
Betsy scrubbed her hands at the faucet. Once she dried her hands, she reached up to remove her head covering so she could smooth her wisps of hair . When she removed the covering, a handful of hair came off along with it.
Her heart pounded. This was more than the usual hair that came off during a brushing.
Gotte, what is wrong with me? Aside from feeling more tired than usual, everything else seemed fine. Maybe Aenti Sarah was right. Vitamins should take care of the problem.
*
Thad had talked to the Columbus Police Department about a week ago, but the memory of the conversation followed
him throughout the following days. Poor Stacie.
He’d made himself useful for Mammi, trying to distract himself by sprucing up Mammi’s yard, front and back.
Yes, she had someone mow the lawn, but there were little things to tend, like tightening the drain spouts and restringing her clothesline. Thad knew how to use a screwdriver, swing a hammer, and do passable construction on small projects, although it wasn’t his favorite thing to do. The house’s slate blue trim needed scraping and painting, its surface peeled by the Florida sun. Mammi had selected a similar shade for the trim. The house would look fresh by the time he was finished with today’s project. Today, Thad kept busy by taking care of the trim, letting his mind wander while he scraped and Mammi fussed over her tropical hibiscus plants. He’d already scaled the ladder to trim dry leaves from the palm tree in one corner of the yard.
His mind again took him back to the talk he’d had with the police. They didn’t seem to consider him a suspect, especially since he was on the phone when Stacie’s intruders arrived, and his location didn’t place him at the scene of the home invasion. When they asked where he was at the time they spoke, he confirmed he was at an out-of-state rest stop in the pouring rain. He didn’t know if they had the GPS tracking availability, but knew someone could probably place him there at the rest stop beside the highway.
No, he didn’t know if anyone had been following Stacie. Yes, they had dated for a time, but he’d broken things off with her because he wasn’t ready for the altar, and she was. They’d parted as friends.
Not being a suspect relieved him.
But a voice mail from Pete Stucenski, Mitch’s business partner? Now it jangled his nerves a bit. The guy used to wander in and out of the restaurant, checking on his investment, occasionally chatting with the suits who frequented Dish and Spoon for a late supper, usually the last sitting of the evening.
Those suppers meant discreet conversations lasting until after closing. Thad was usually cleaning up and leaving so he could get a good night’s rest before coming back early the next morning.
Stucenski reminded him of a used-car salesman, slick and chatty, but all the while making you wonder what he really wanted. Thad was glad to have given up on cars and switched to a cycle. Motorcycle salesman, now they could sell to you, but you were happy about it the entire time.
A Path Made Plain Page 6
