CR!FAQVHAE2713SQDF4PGQ1SC7ZMJ68

by Unknown

  “No problem. Hey, I sure love your pun’kin pie at the Dutch Farm Table. You know the recipe offhand? It’s the spices make the big diff’rence.”

  “All the pies are made by women in the area, so I don’t have the recipes. The one I’m thinking you mean is actually made from scratch, from her boiling and mashing the pumpkins right out of her garden,” Ray-Lynn said as Clair painted the dye on her hair and wrapped each area in tin foil.

  “So, any new customers lately?” Ray-Lynn asked, hoping to bring up Lily Freeman. “We’ve had an avalanche of them, but most come and go too fast to stop here.”

  “Sad but true. At least my downtime lets me really read these celeb magazines we buy. I sure do wish the Amish ladies around here would cut their hair. Imagine it being clear to their waists and they only take it down at night for their husbands. You know, if Amish wome« ifn had their hair done for all the weddings around here, like reg’lar women do, I’d be rich. At least Harlan’s been doing really well the past few years. He says we can both retire young—well, kinda young.”

  Ray-Lynn did not want Clair to get on Harlan’s drinking or money or anything else. “I’ve met Sheriff Freeman’s former wife a couple of times,” Ray-Lynn said. “Have you?”

  “Oh, yeah, a real breath of fresh air. But don’t take that wrong, ‘cause you’re the best, Ray-Lynn. I sure hope for your sake she don’t have designs on the sheriff, but a word to the wise, she seems real int’rested in him. Says she missed Ohio and is back to stay.”

  Ray-Lynn gripped her hands in her lap under the plastic cape. “She was telling me some about her life in Vegas.”

  “Oh, yeah. You know, she’s not like those TV ads, ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.’ She told me all about the posh restaurant where she was the hostess.”

  “She told me, too. So had you even ever heard of Asian fusion food before?”

  “I don’t know about that. She said it was a steak house, where à la carte started at something like fifty-dollars for Western-bred beef. À la carte and fifty bucks for the meat alone, can you imagine? And she loved to gamble in her free time, liked blackjack better than the slots or faro or anything else.”

  Ray-Lynn sat up straighter. She was going to correct Clair but then it hit her. Lily might have worked in more than one restaurant, but her comments about gambling couldn’t have been that different—could they?

  “She must still be something of a night owl,” Ray-Lynn said. “I think she still likes the bright lights, but I don’t know where she’d find them around here.”

  “Harlan said he saw her once at the Rooster Roadhouse when he was out for poker night with his buds.”

  “That’s kind of a man’s place—a little rough, isn’t it? Was she alone?”

  “I think he said the sheriff checked it out from time to time to keep a lid on the place. I told Harlan he’d better just drink at home or I was gonna pour that fancy stuff he buys in the creek, but he said …”

  Clair’s voice went on and on. While Ray-Lynn was sitting, waiting for the dye to take, she formed a plan. Somehow, despite what she’d promised Jack, she was going to just check out who he was keeping an eye on at the Rooster Roadhouse, where his ex had gone at least once. It seemed Lily really did like to gamble, so Ray-Lynn was ready to risk some high stakes, too.

  Seth saw Linc get out of his black unmarked car behind his buggy. No sheriff in sight, so he walked down out of the trees to meet him.

  Linc, jacket open and hand on his gun, called to him, “Sheriff got called out on a domestic before your note came«you to his office. I called him, and he’ll be here soon. Can you can get me inside without breaking and entering?”

  “I found the back door key, went through the place looking for him. I checked the bathroom in case he fell and in a few closets, but didn’t search the basement or much else. Thought I’d better leave that to professionals.”

  “It seems you’re at the center of the action once again,” Linc said as they walked toward the back door. Seth didn’t like the tone in his voice or the narrow-eyed look he gave him. “Yesterday, there you were with Hannah in her escapade at the mill. She told me about it, but you should have, too.”

  “I haven’t seen you, like she obviously has. Besides, she’s seeing bad guys behind every tree. You want to deal with this, or shall we wait for the sheriff?”

  “Yeah, we’re going in. No note from Arrowroot on the premises?”

  “A message, in a way. The thing is, he said he’d be here,” Seth said as he retrieved the key again and unlocked the back door. “It’s really strange—especially what I found on his bed upstairs—that’s the message.”

  “Which is?” Linc demanded as they walked through the first floor, then started up the stairs.

  “I guess what you might call incriminating evidence, at least for leaving a feather in Hannah’s window. And a rifle that may link to the graveyard shootings. There’s a paper he cut or tore out from somewhere with the word guilty circled on it. And he left a pistol there that looks like the one you carry.”

  Linc’s head jerked up and his eyes widened. His hand jumped to his gun again.

  “In here,” Seth said, and pointed at the items on the bed.

  “You didn’t touch anything?”

  “After all your earlier suspicions about me? No. And I don’t like the look you gave me just because I happened to be here. He sent for me. I have his note at home.”

  Linc leaned over the bed. Seth thought he’d check out the rifle first, but he picked up the pistol with a ballpoint pen stuck through its trigger guard. “Yeah, it’s the one taken when Hannah and I checked out the corn maze.”

  “You took her in the corn maze and someone took your gun?”

  “I thought she’d told you. You mean, for once, she did what I said?”

  “What happened in the maze?”

  “I said, someone took my gun. Please stand out in the hall while I call in a forensic team,” he said, and dug his cell phone out of his jacket pocket.

  Seth stepped out into the hall but asked, “You sure it’s the gun you lost?”

  “You want to quit playing FBI agent here?”

  “I’m only playing concerned citizen. So what happened in the corn maze? You obviously didn’t think it was Arrowroot or you would have arrested him. If there was violence involved, I’d say it wasn’t him. He’s prideful and hostile, but he uses words, not guns.”

  “I said I’ll handle this. I need to make this call!”

  Linc turned away and Seth backed off, but he could hear most of what he said. He asked for a search warrant and a BCI team. He said that it was possible he had a suspect in the Halloween shootings and in the professional hits found in the graveyard. And that it was also possible there was another victim.

  CR!FAQVHAE2713SQDF4PGQ1SC7ZMJ68

  21

  RAY-LYNN HAD JUST FINISHED TALLYING UP the day’s receipts in her office when she heard a rapping on the front door of the restaurant. Her employees were long gone. She stashed the money in her little safe and peeked out to see who was there.

  Thank heavens—Jack! She hadn’t seen him all day, but there had been restaurant buzz that John Arrowroot had gone missing. Folks who came in from over by Valley View Road said there was an army of outside law enforcement in the area. She hurried to unbolt the door.

  “Did you all find him?”

  “I knew word would get around,” he muttered as he stepped inside. “No. It’s like he vanished right out of his locked house, which has been thoroughly searched by Linc, me and the BCI team. His truck’s in the garage. No signs of violence or foul play—nothing but some stuff I can’t talk about.”

  She saw he had some big pieces of cardboard in his hands. Oh, missing-persons posters. He put them down on the counter and pulled her into his arms behind the counter in the dimly lit front dining room.

  She held tight, her face pressed against his black padded jacket, which was damp.

  “Don’t tell me it’s
raining outside,” she said.

  “Spitting snow. Wish I could stay, but I’ve got two more stops to make with these posters. I talked Linc into letting me organize a hunt for Arrowroot tomorrow, especially up in his neck of the woods. Under normal circumstances, we’d never search for a missing adult for days, but he’s got information we need about the murders, at the least. Can you put up a poster on both sides of the front door? Hope to have several search parties ready to go out by 9:00 a.m. Gathering place will be the parking lots of the sheriff’s office and fire department.”

  “Of course,” she said as they stepped apart. “I’ll be there with coffee and doughnuts. Leah Schwartz can take over the restaurant briefly. She even has a key, though I’m hoping to train Hannah Esh as my new assistant. John Arrowroot’s not the most popular man in the county, but folks will pitch in, even the Amish.ȁ®D;

  “You bet they will, though he’s harassed them for years. I’m going to stop by Bishop Esh’s to ask him if he can get the word out to his people, then stop a few more places—the gas station, the Roadhouse.”

  “The Rooster Roadhouse?”

  “Yeah. Jake Johnson, the owner, is a nice guy. He owes me for dropping in there once in a while, just so his patrons know to behave. He’s got lots of contacts, and we’ll need some big bruisers to cover some of that hilly, wooded terrain up by Arrowroot’s place. We’ll fan out from there.”

  “If Arrowroot had anything to do with the graveyard shootings or hidden bodies, maybe he thought he’d better just get out of Dodge, make it look like someone took him,” she suggested.

  “If so, he’s been planning it for a long time because it looks like he took nothing with him, even his precious tribal art. His wallet’s there, money found in a drawer, and he hasn’t touched his savings account at the Citizens Bank, not that he couldn’t have something stashed elsewhere.”

  “It— What if it’s a suicide? You said there were some things you couldn’t talk about—like a suicide note?”

  “Not exactly, but he’s got to have some answers we need. As crazy as he was about the old Indian ways, I half wonder if he hasn’t gone out to live in the wilds the way his people did once. But in this weather …? Look, honey, much as I’d like to stay with you, I’ve got to get going to set all this up tonight.”

  “You just be careful if the roads are getting slick. The Rooster Roadhouse is a ways out.”

  “Just a couple miles. Ray-Lynn, I can’t wait till this is all over and we have our town, our restaurant, our lives back. You be careful driving home now, hear?”

  “Sure. And I’ll get your signs posted and talk up the search with the early-breakfast crowd, too.”

  He pecked a hasty kiss in the general area of her mouth and was out the door, which she locked behind him. It sounded like he knew the owner of the Roadhouse pretty well. If he stopped to see Bishop Esh first, he was going out there pretty late tonight. Couldn’t he just call Jake Johnson to put up a hand-lettered sign and tell his patrons about the search tomorrow?

  She picked up the poster and read it carefully. He had even come up with a photo of John Arrowroot, maybe one they found when they searched his house. “Missing. John Arrowroot, age 60. 6’ tall, medium build, 185 pounds, black hair, brown eyes, wears thick glasses.” At the bottom in smaller print was “Contact Sheriff Jack Freeman” and his phone number and email address. Then, “Outdoor search party members needed, Thursday, November 17, 9:00 a.m. All day or anytime until dusk. Meet at Sheriff’s Office in Homestead.”

  Ray-Lynn hurried back to her office and phoned Amanda Stutzman at the B and B. “Hi, Amanda. Ray-Lynn³and here. Listen, I thought you, Harlan, Clair and Lily ought to know there’s going to be a volunteers’ search for John Arrowroot, who has disappeared or wandered off from his property.”

  “Wandered off? You can’t tell me that quick-witted man had Alzheimer’s!”

  “No, it isn’t that, but maybe he fell and is dazed or something. I know you’re pretty tied to your place, but I thought Lily might have some extra time. She’s such a great jogger that tramping through the hills might be her thing, even if the weather’s a little iffy.” Then she asked the first question about what she really wanted to know. “Is she there right now?”

  “She went out just a few minutes ago, but I’ll let her know when she gets back. I might not see her until tomorrow morning, though, since she said she’d be in late.”

  “It’s spitting snow out there, so the roads might be slick. Hope she’s not going too far.”

  “I think to that sports bar out on Troyer’s Mill Road, but she’s lived around here long enough to know how to drive on icy roads.”

  That sports bar out on Troyer’s Mill, Ray-Lynn thought, and stamped her foot. Spitting snow be ding-danged, she was getting spitting mad about being taken for a ride. So she was going to go home to change her clothes, then just take a little ride herself.

  Hannah was in the kitchen getting a bedtime snack about nine. Her reflection in the window—like a black mirror—bothered her. Her hair was growing out, so that was good, but her image made her feel caught between two worlds. Her once-spiky red hair was brushed smooth, so it would look strange to the goth world she’d grown used to, though never really felt a part of. She suddenly missed the sweet shape of a white prayer kapp like the ones Mamm made so beautifully. Which was it going to be in her future, worldly living or Amish life? If Linc offered to loan her money for another try at a singing career, what should she do?

  She bent closer to the window so she could see out through her own shadow. A few snowflakes swirled down outside, the first of the season. Now and then a gust of wind whipped them sideways. A car pulled in at the back of their house, its headlights illumined the dancing dots. Linc? No, it was the sheriff.

  Her heartbeat kicked up. What if something had happened to Seth, like he fell off a roof? What if the sheriff had already been to Lantzes and thought he’d best tell the bishop, too? She left her half-moon pie and milk on the counter.

  “Daad,” she called toward the living room where the three of them had been playing Scrabble, “Sheriff Freeman’s here!”

  She opened the back door for him. He had several big pieces of paper in his hands. Daad and Mamm both came into the kitchen, concern written on their faces. The sheriff took off his hat, which was wet with melted flakes. “Bishop, Mrs. Esh, Hannah. Got us a missing person, and we’re organizing a search tomorrow.” He put what appeared to be three posters down on the kitchen table. John Arrowr³e. oot! Hannah realized she’d been holding her breath.

  “Seth went out there this morning to give him an estimate on doing his garage roof,” the sheriff explained, pointing at the picture. “Seth has a note to show Arrowroot asked him to come out. But our Indian activist was not home, not anywhere, like he just vanished right out of his house. The FBI and the forensic teams are assisting on the case.”

  “You know we will help,” Daad told him. “No matter who, we will always help our neighbors.”

  “Here’s the info on the meeting time and place,” the sheriff explained, pointing to the bottom of the top poster. “I knew you’d help, Bishop—even if the person hurt you or your people. Well, gotta get going.”

  Hannah kept quiet, though she had a dozen other questions. Why an immediate search for a man who was not only in his right mind, but clever and careful? Had they found proof that John Arrowroot was involved in the Halloween attack or the double burials? She’d alienated Seth, but she’d sure like to know what he knew. But then, maybe Linc would tell her.

  Seth figured he was blessed Arrowroot had paid him for roofing the house, but his disappearance, perhaps set up and timed so that Seth would find him missing, really baffled and bothered him. As he told Marlena a bedtime story about horses pulling little girls on sleds in the snow, and then tucked her in, his mind raced. Though Linc had been busy all day, he’d asked for permission to drop in tonight. Seth was expecting more than what Linc had referred to as a debriefing. He figured it wou
ld be like an interrogation.

  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. “Slower³&#x. 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.”