Plain Jeopardy

by Alison Stone

  Grace suspected this was the true reason the young woman had stayed in town despite leaving the Amish faith.

  “They’re okay with...” Grace held out her hand to the uniform, indicating the life of an Englischer.

  “No, my parents are disappointed. They didn’t have to shun me because I left before I was baptized, but I’m certainly not welcome at home.” Her voice grew soft. “They consider me a bad influence on my sister.”

  “Please forgive me if I’m overstepping for asking this question. Wouldn’t it be easier to move away?” Grace folded a corner of the napkin and ran her finger over the fold. “Make a clean break?” That’s why Grace suspected her father had left. Easier to move on from the past if it wasn’t always poking you smack between the eyes. If truth be told, her father had never moved on. He’d gone through the motions, providing for his family, until he suffered an early death.

  Becky dipped her head, and her cheeks grew feverish. “I don’t know much beyond Quail Hollow. When I decided to leave the Amish, a woman who lives about thirty minutes away took me in. She helps other youth who decide to leave. I caught up with my education and took classes at the community college.”

  Grace took another bite of her potatoes, allowing Becky to talk. Grace had never considered that there would be people who helped in the transition of runaway Amish. “How did you end up back here?”

  “After community college, I looked for a job. Admittedly, I didn’t look far. The first job I was offered was in the sheriff’s department. One thing led to another, and I eventually became a deputy.”

  “Interesting.”

  “The sheriff thought perhaps I’d be able to form a bridge between law enforcement and the Amish. However, the Amish are as skeptical of law enforcement today as they ever were. Maybe more so.”

  “That’s got to be tough.”

  “Many people lead tough lives.” Becky covered Grace’s hand, her gaze reaching inside her soul. “There are far worse things than living in a town where the majority of the residents think calling you a fence jumper is going to hurt your feelings.”

  “Fence jumper?” Grace asked, curious.

  “Yes, someone who left the Amish.” Her eyes twinkled in amusement.

  Grace scooped up more mashed potatoes. “From one fence jumper to another, this is awesome.” Maybe having a bodyguard wouldn’t be so bad.

  If only Grace and Conner could figure out who wanted her to leave the Amish community again, once and for all.

  TEN

  After finishing his shift, Conner changed into shorts and a T-shirt and made his way to the small room in the sheriff’s department designated for physical fitness. He started running, hoping hard footfalls on the relentless conveyor could beat the frustration out of him. He couldn’t wait for the snow to melt. Then he could run his usual three-mile course along the country roads, up hills, alongside fields and barns and past buggies and wagons. There was something therapeutic about it. However, until the snow melted, he’d have to settle for the treadmill and the local news coming out of Buffalo on the small screen in front of him.

  Thankfully, the wild-party clips from the news stations had died down, even though Conner was generating more questions in his own investigation on that exact same story. He hoped the answers he uncovered didn’t generate another cycle of news stories. This evening, the news anchors were spending an inordinate amount of time discussing the weather. Nothing novel about that. A snowstorm warning was in effect for tomorrow, bringing a potential nine inches of the white fluffy stuff.

  That meant more time on the treadmill.

  Just great.

  Annoyed, Conner snapped off the TV and jammed his earbuds, connected to his phone balanced precariously on the tray in front of him, into his ears. Arms pumping, he got into a rhythm. All the conversations he had had over the course of the past few days bounced around his head. Despite all his protests to the contrary, he couldn’t shake Grace’s concerns. Was he overlooking Bradley because the case was too personal?

  He wiped sweat off his brow and allowed his mind to drift back to the night he had received a call from Anna, Jason’s mother. She thought Jason and his friends were out back drinking. A visit from the sheriff’s department would set them straight.

  Sure enough, when Conner arrived, a few guys were pounding back beers. After seeing that each of the young men made it safely home, Conner took it upon himself to follow up with their parents. Perhaps his first mistake was not following through more with Jason. Conner had no idea that his actions would have a domino effect, getting the mayor’s son suspended from the football team and effectively ending the small town’s run in the playoffs.

  Was the mayor dismissing how big of a deal that missed opportunity really was? Again, had Conner allowed his friendship with the mayor to cloud his judgment regarding his son?

  Bam-bam-bam.

  The soles of his shoes slapped the conveyor belt, sending a jolt through his entire body.

  Could Jason’s best friend really have lashed out at him? Drugged his drink to mess with him, not grasping the true danger? Not realizing that Jason would get behind the wheel of a truck and kill himself and seriously injure a young Amish woman?

  Bam-bam-bam.

  His footsteps landed heavily on the treadmill belt. He turned the music up in his ears, trying to drown out his thoughts. Could Conner have been that blind?

  If this kid was desperate enough to drug someone for payback, what would he do to a reporter trying to uncover the truth?

  Despite cranking his music up mind-numbingly loud, Conner still couldn’t turn off his thoughts.

  Bam-bam-bam.

  Exertion usually helped Conner calm down. Not tonight. His frustration was ramping up with his heartbeat.

  He hated punks. He hated being duped.

  Conner swiped the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead. He’d have to come up with a plan. He knew he couldn’t keep Grace under his watch—or the watch of a fellow officer—forever. Grace was much too independent. First chance she got, she’d be back out there, asking more questions.

  Questions that someone obviously didn’t want her to find answers to.

  Arms and legs pumping, music cranking, thoughts swirling, Conner pretended he was outside, climbing the crest of the road winding through the cornfields. If only he was smelling the country air and not whatever greasy mess one of his coworkers had warmed up in the microwave in the nearby break room.

  A shadow crossed his line of vision, and Conner pulled out an earbud, then the other. Heavy breaths from his exertion sounded loud in his ears. He didn’t try to pivot to see who was there because then he’d have to break his stride or risk flying off the treadmill. There were too many cameras situated around this place to risk that. He was not about to become a viral video.

  “Captain Gates.” The sheriff’s commanding tone was unmistakable.

  Conner hit the stop button and grabbed the handlebars as the treadmill came to an abrupt stop. Forget the usual cooldown. He grabbed the edge of his T-shirt and wiped his forehead, a preemptive effort to prevent the sweat from stinging his eyes.

  Conner gave his boss, dressed in a crisp uniform, a sly smile. “I find I get a better workout if I change out of uniform.”

  The sheriff stared back at him, clearly not amused. “We need to talk.”

  Conner stepped down from the platform. His legs vibrated from the sudden ceasing of motion. He wiped his forehead again. “How can I help you?”

  “The mayor called.”

  Conner got a sinking feeling and waited for the sheriff to continue.

  “What’s your endgame?”

  Conner leaned forward and planted his hands on his thighs, trying to catch his breath. He angled his head to look up at the sheriff. “I’m trying to understand what happened the night Jason died. I have new information that su
ggests he wasn’t drinking or doing drugs. That maybe he was drugged.”

  The sheriff faltered for a moment before continuing. “You have to let it go. Jason’s death was a tragic accident.” The sheriff shook his head. “These other kids feel awful that they didn’t stop him from drinking, doing drugs, and driving.”

  Conner could feel a muscle working in his jaw. Something didn’t make sense.

  The sheriff pinned him with his gaze. “Maybe you need to take some time off.”

  Conner froze and straightened. He plucked his damp T-shirt away from his chest. “What?”

  “You’ve been working long hours. You lost your cousin, then his son in a short period of time. Take a week off. Pull yourself together.”

  “What am I supposed to do with a week off in the middle of winter?”

  The sheriff curled his hand and tapped his fist on one of the treadmill’s rails. “I’ve made my decision. I don’t want to see you back here until next week.”

  Conner swiped his towel from where he had draped it over an unused piece of equipment. The first twinges of a headache hammered behind his eyes. “See you next week,” Conner gritted out as he stormed from the workout area, afraid if he said anything more he’d be out of a job for far longer than a week.

  * * *

  Conner showered at the sheriff’s department, changed into street clothes and drove over to see Anna Klein. This unexpected week off might give him the time he needed to finally get some answers. He doubted that was the sheriff’s intent, but that was Conner’s plan.

  When he reached his cousin’s wife’s house, it was dark. It was too early for someone to be in bed but not too early for someone who had lost everything to be taking a nap or doing something to otherwise make herself forget.

  But Anna had never been much of a drinker and certainly not a drug user. Neither had his cousin Ben; that’s why it had come as such a blow that their son had driven under the influence.

  From the front stoop, he could hear music. It only took him a couple notes to recognize the Buffalo band that had made it big. A band he and his cousin had taken more than one road trip to see.

  Sorry I let you down, buddy. I didn’t do right by your son.

  If for no other reason, Conner owed his deceased cousin answers about his dead son, and Conner wouldn’t stop until he had them.

  What a nightmare.

  Conner drew in a deep breath and knocked. After a few seconds, the music cut off and then the curtain on the door pulled back. Anna gave him a lopsided smile and dropped the curtain. She released the dead bolt and opened the door.

  Anna ran a hand over her mussed hair. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  “Sorry.” He hadn’t given her a call in advance because he feared she’d beg off from a visit, and he needed to ask her some questions about Jason’s relationship with Bradley.

  Anna led the way to the family room. She turned on a light as she passed and lifted up the remote from the couch cushion to place it on the coffee table. The image of her lying in the dark listening to music was more than he could bear. What would his cousin think about his heartbroken bride?

  “How are you doing?”

  “How do you think I’m doing?” He could see it all in her haunted expression.

  “I need to ask you a few questions.” Conner got right to it. “Did Jason suffer any backlash after the party I broke up here?”

  Anna sat down on the edge of the couch, sinking into the soft cushions. She held up the palms of her hands. “How would I know? I’m his mom... The mom is the last to know.” Her words had a sad resignation to them.

  “How did he seem after the bonfire here?”

  “Moody. That’s to be expected, right? His mom called the sheriff’s department on his party.”

  Conner sat down on the coffee table near her and touched her hand. “It’s not like you called 9-1-1. You called me. I’m family.”

  “Family in the sheriff’s department.” Anna sighed heavily. “I’m not sorry I called you.” She frowned, and a silent tear trailed down her cheek. “I’m thinking I didn’t call you enough. My kid was out of control and I couldn’t stop him.”

  “You can’t beat yourself up over this.” If only Conner could take his own advice.

  She picked up a decorative pillow and held it to her midsection. “I’ve got nothing else to do but think and analyze and wonder what else I could have done.” She started to push to her feet, offering him something to eat or drink.

  “No, no. Sit...”

  She plopped back down and met his gaze. He had been a bit envious of his cousin Ben, who was ten years older, when he met Anna and had a son. They seemed to have the perfect family, unlike the broken home he had come from.

  Now look at what remained of that perfect family.

  Conner was cynical about relationships. Too much potential heartache.

  “What is it?” The look in Anna’s eyes suggested there wasn’t much more she could hear that would faze her. She had already lost everything that was important to her.

  “I heard some rumblings that Jason and Bradley had a run-in the night Jason died,” Conner confided in her. “Had they been on the outs?”

  “I don’t know. I mean...” Her eyes moved quickly back and forth, searching her memory. “Kids go through phases. Bradley and Jason were joined at the hip growing up. They had other friends, too. I never thought much of it. Boys don’t have the drama that girls usually do, or so I’ve heard.” Anna dragged a hand across her tired face. Grief had aged her in the past year.

  “I guess not.” Conner glanced around at the small space. In the corner near the back sliding door to the deck, he noticed a pair of sneakers. Based on the size and style, they had to belong to her deceased son. One shoe was tipped on its side.

  He turned back to Anna, realizing she wasn’t going to provide him with any new information on her son’s relationship with Bradley. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  She sat upright and stretched to drag the laptop that was sitting on the far end of the coffee table closer to her. “Maybe there is.” She flipped open the laptop, and a professional photo of Grace smiled back at him. “Maybe you can get this lady to stop writing about Jason.”

  Conner spun the computer around to face him. He skimmed the blog entry dated today.

  I never intended to be in Quail Hollow for this long. Maybe it’s part of God’s plan. My life started in Quail Hollow, then tragedy pulled me away. I’ve often fantasized about what my life might have been if I’d grown up Amish, yet I resisted coming back to face my past. To see what I had lost.

  Now that I’m here, I’ve been blessed to meet people who knew my mother when she was younger than I am now. That’s hard to believe. And I’ve learned that the Amish can have complicated lives, despite trying to live simply.

  And, tragically, I’ve learned that despite their attempted isolation, drugs and alcohol can play a deadly role in their lives. You can’t share the same stores, restaurants and roads without crossing paths with exactly what you’re trying to avoid.

  That was never more apparent than a fateful autumn night when a young man named Jason Klein, an Englischer as the Amish call them, clipped his truck on the wagon of Katy Weaver, a young Amish woman.

  But the longer I’m here, the more I’m discovering answers aren’t always black-and-white. Sometimes there are shades of gray. I’m determined to find those answers before life calls me to my next location.

  Hopefully someplace without snow.

  Conner snapped the lid of the computer closed, a failed attempt to keep his anger in check. How could Grace still be writing about Jason after everything they’d learned? After he warned her that she was putting herself in jeopardy?

  “I’ll talk to Grace.”

  Anna nodded. “I thought you might know her. People in town said you were
hanging around with a reporter.” Conner detected a hint of disappointment in her tone.

  “It’s not exactly what you think.” He had a job to do. He had to protect Grace.

  The smile on Anna’s lips didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m hoping I can find peace if people stop hounding me.” She placed her hand on top of the laptop. “Someone from a Buffalo news station called, asking me to comment on those posts.” She pulled her shoulders forward in a shrug. “I can’t stop reading her posts. Punishing myself.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “I need her to stop posting things about the accident.”

  Conner placed a hand on Anna’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of it.” He had made a promise to Ben and failed him. Now, protecting Ben’s wife from further pain was a promise Conner was determined to keep.

  * * *

  Early the next morning, a loud knock on the back door made Grace jump. The sight of Conner’s personal truck calmed her nerves.

  “That man has got to learn to call,” she muttered as she placed a hand over her thundering chest.

  She glanced up at the clock.

  Why isn’t he at work?

  Becky had left a full hour ago for the start of her shift. She wanted to make it into work before the forecasted snowstorm hit. It made Grace wonder who was paying her for her overnight shift. It didn’t seem likely the sheriff’s department would put Grace’s safety ahead of keeping their overtime budget in check.

  Not her problem, she supposed.

  She lowered the lid to her laptop, slid off the bench and stretched her back. The smile slid from her face when she opened the door and saw Conner’s stern expression. He seemed strung tight, and his muscles twitched in his jaw.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He hesitated a fraction of a second, as if waiting for an invitation, then when he didn’t get it, he pushed past her. “I thought we had an agreement.”

  She held up her palms in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  He strode over to her laptop and jabbed his finger at it. “What were you doing just now?”