by Debby Giusti
She stared at the ground for a long moment, her voice a whisper when she finally spoke. “I need to ask George Gates about a monument.”
“The military will provide a marker. We can contact the funeral home and inquire about what’s been arranged.”
“If a marker hasn’t been ordered, it’s something I could do.” She glanced at Tyler. “Something to show deference to my father.”
“That would be very appropriate, Carrie, and would honor his memory.”
“A memory I don’t have.” She clasped her hands. “I don’t even know how to pray for him.”
Tyler lowered his eyes, sensing Carrie’s anguish and wishing he could comfort her. From deep inside, words sprang. “God bless Carrie’s father. Draw him close to You in the everlasting life where You dwell, O Lord. Amen.”
“Thank you, Tyler.” She offered a weak smile. “Your words were far more meaningful than anything I could manage. Ever since Gates called and told me about my father, I’ve felt empty and unable to pray. Not that prayer was part of my life before, but the void has gotten bigger these last few days.”
“God knows how you feel, Carrie.”
“Does He?” She shook her head. “I don’t think He’s happy with the type of person I’ve become. I’m sure my father would wonder about my faith and lack of trust in the Lord. I never thought finding information about the man I wanted to know my whole life would make me so conflicted.”
The low whine of a car engine turned Tyler’s attention to the crest of the hill where a dark sedan pulled to a stop. The driver of the car extended something through his open window and raised it to his eyes.
Tyler’s heart stopped as realization hit like a two-by-four. He grabbed Carrie’s shoulders and threw her to the ground behind the mound of turned earth and dried flower arrangements. She gasped. In less than a heartbeat, the bullet whizzed past them.
“Stay down,” Tyler warned.
Tires squealed in the distance.
Raising his head, he searched the hill, then flicked his gaze around the surrounding area, looking for any sign of the shooter. “The car’s gone.”
“Who was it?” Carrie moaned as she worked to free herself from under Tyler’s hold.
“Sorry.” He scooted aside, all the while keeping his eyes on the hillside.
Satisfied the shooter and car had both left the area, Tyler stood and helped Carrie to her feet. “Let’s get back to my vehicle. Hurry.”
Keeping his hand on the small of her back, he ushered her forward. Once they both were in the car, he headed out of the cemetery and onto Freemont Road, where he reached for his cell and called Officer Inman.
“I’m driving Carrie back to her father’s house,” Tyler quickly told the law enforcement officer. “The shot came from a dark sedan parked on the crest of the hill. See if one of your men can find tire prints or anything the shooter might have left behind. You know how to contact me. My cell’s on.”
Disconnecting, he glanced at Carrie. Tears filled her eyes, and although her shoulders were braced against the seat, her hands trembled and her sweet face was pulled tight with fear.
“You’re okay. The person fled.” Tyler rubbed his hand over hers, hoping to offer reassurance.
She dabbed at her eyes. “Did...did you see the shooter’s face?”
“Negative. Just the car and rifle.”
“Who knew I was at the cemetery?”
“It could have been anyone, Carrie.”
“What about the chaplain?” she asked.
“I don’t think Chaplain Simmons is involved, but questioning his assistant might be prudent.”
Tyler called Everett at CID headquarters and filled him in on what had happened. “Send someone to Soldiers Chapel ASAP. Chaplain Simmons doesn’t worry me, but he can provide information about his assistant. See if Jason Jones remained at the chapel. If not, he could have followed us to the cemetery.”
“I’m on it,” Everett said before he disconnected.
“I mentioned wanting to see my father’s grave to George Gates,” Carrie admitted, once Tyler placed his phone on the console.
“Did you tell him you planned to stop by the cemetery today?”
She shook her head. “I merely said that I wanted to at some point before returning to DC.”
But that might have been enough. The tire could have been tampered with when Carrie was visiting the lawyer. Easy enough for Gates to have an accomplice who handled the dirty work. Tyler needed to know more about the lawyer and how involved he was in the sergeant major’s business.
* * *
Carrie felt as if she were having a bad dream that kept getting darker and darker. She wanted to pinch herself and wake up back in time, before George Gates’s call, before she knew about her real father, before she had driven to Freemont and gotten involved with a murder investigation.
Thinking of all that had happened, she shivered.
“Cold?” Tyler reached for the heater control on the dashboard.
“Not physically, but I feel cold inside and empty, as I mentioned at the cemetery before someone tried to kill me. If not the chaplain’s assistant, then who fired the shot?”
“The same person who took the lug nuts from your tire. He wants to scare you.”
“He succeeded.” She laughed ruefully. “But I’m grateful he isn’t a better shot.”
“He only fired once, Carrie, which means he probably had no intention of injuring you.”
“That’s doesn’t reassure me. Besides, how can you be certain that he wasn’t aiming at you?”
Tyler almost smiled. “All of us in law enforcement have plenty of people who would like to do us harm, but the lug nuts weren’t taken from my car. You’re the target.”
“Which doesn’t bode well for my staying in Freemont.”
“Could anyone from DC have followed you here? Is the senator working on a new bill or resolution that has a lot of opposition? An angry constituent might turn his ire against you, especially if he had trouble accessing the senator.”
“Doesn’t it seem more than a stretch to have something the senator does in Washington impact me here in Georgia?”
“Yet it’s worth considering. Have you had problems in DC?”
“A few prank phone calls. Some tweets and Facebook comments that are hateful, but nothing like this. Nothing that ended in violence.”
“Do you remember the names of the people on social media?”
“It was months ago, Tyler. I really don’t think they have any bearing on what’s been happening here. Free speech, remember? Folks can say anything they want. This is different.”
Different and deadly, she wanted to add.
Tyler lowered his speed as they neared the Freemont city limits.
“Let’s stop by the lawyer’s office and tell George Gates about the missing lug nuts,” Tyler suggested. “He’ll deny knowledge, even if he was involved, but I’d like to see his reaction when you tell him.”
Approaching the center of town, Tyler turned onto the side road and pulled into the parking lot behind the law office. They entered the building through the rear door. A woman sat at a desk in the outer office that had been vacant earlier today.
She looked up as they approached. The nameplate on her desk read Flo Beacon.
Carrie introduced herself. “I was here earlier today and need to talk to George Gates again. Is he in his office?”
Flo was middle-aged with overly made-up eyes and a heavy smear of blush that darkened her full cheeks. “You’re Jeffrey Harris’s daughter?”
Carrie nodded. “That’s right. Did you know my father?”
“Of course. He stopped by the office a number of times, especially a few weeks before his death.” Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry about your dad. My condolences.”
“Thank you.”
“George left the office a short while ago, Ms. York. Can you come back in the morning?”
“Probably not. I wanted to find out if anyone st
range had been hanging around the office earlier today. My tires were tampered with when my car was parked in the lot out back.”
“Oh my.” Flo patted her chest. “I’m so sorry. We’ve never had any problem before. I’ll let George know. Did you contact the police?”
“They know about the situation.” Tyler stepped closer to the desk. “You said Sergeant Major Harris visited the law office frequently leading up to his death. Was he working on his will or estate planning?”
Flo batted her eyes. “I’m not sure, nor am I at liberty to discuss his legal dealings.”
“We wouldn’t want you to divulge anything you shouldn’t,” Carried reassured the receptionist.
“And I wouldn’t,” Flo said with a smile. “But it is fortunate for you that your father didn’t sell the property a few weeks ago when a buyer came forward.”
“For the entire property or just the house?” Carrie asked.
Flo shrugged. “I thought the entire estate was for sale.”
“Do you know who made the offer?” Tyler asked.
“There were whispers around town of an outside development corporation that was interested in the land. You might want to talk to Nelson Quinn. He’s a local real estate agent. Seems I heard he was involved in the offer.”
Carrie glanced at Tyler, then back at Flo. “What time do you expect Mr. Gates tomorrow?”
“He’s usually at his desk by nine in the morning. I’ll tell him you stopped by.”
Before they left through the rear door, Flo called out to them. “In case you’re interested in local history, the Freemont Museum is open this afternoon. If you haven’t been there yet, you might enjoy learning a bit more about our local area.”
Tyler glanced back at her. “I didn’t know there was a museum.”
“It’s newly opened. The Historical Society has been gathering objects for display. A lady named Yvonne runs the place. The sergeant major donated a few things from the Harris home.”
“It’s close by?” Carrie asked.
“Across the street in the old train station.” Flo glanced at her watch. “It’s open from two until five each afternoon. You’ve got about an hour until it closes for the day.”
“Let’s pay the museum a visit,” Carrie said when they stepped outside.
Tyler’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen. “It’s Everett.”
Lifting the cell to his ear, he said, “Did you talk to the men?” He nodded. “Right.”
Carrie waited, eager to hear what the other CID agent had learned.
When Tyler disconnected, he turned to her. “The chaplain vouched for his assistant. The men had been working on a new program for married military families, along with two of the sergeants from the engineer battalion. No one had left the office since we were there last. Everett’s running background checks, but he’s confident they couldn’t have driven to the cemetery and fired the shot.”
Carrie sighed. “Which takes us back to square one.”
Tyler pointed down the street. “Let’s wait to tour the museum. There’s a real estate office on the next block. I’d like to see if Nelson Quinn works there and find out what he knows about the development corporation.”
A receptionist welcomed them to Freemont Real Estate and quickly explained that Mr. Quinn was out of town and not expected back for the next five to seven days.
Carrie couldn’t help feeling frustrated at another delay. If they continued to find doors closed, the investigation would take forever.
“Do you know anything about an out-of-town corporation that was interested in buying the old antebellum home on Amish Road?” Tyler asked the receptionist.
“A beautiful house,” she noted. “I’m not aware of any offer on the home, but I’ll tell Mr. Quinn to call you when he returns to work.”
Tyler provided his contact information before he and Carrie walked outside.
“I’m beginning to think we’ll never learn who’s responsible for the attacks.”
“Police investigations take time, Carrie. The local cops and the CID are working on the case. Something will break.”
She didn’t share his enthusiasm, but she tried to appear encouraged as they crossed the street to the small depot that had been turned into a visitors center.
A sign pointed them to the Historic Freemont Museum in the rear where a number of freestanding glass cases displayed an assortment of artifacts and historic memorabilia. Yvonne, the visitors center greeter, who doubled as the museum’s docent, welcomed them. When Carrie mentioned her father’s donation, the woman directed them to a glass showcase near one of the side windows.
A number of antique farm implements and a few kitchen items were tagged as having been gifts from Jeffrey Harris, along with two sheets of stationery, yellowed with age. The swirled handwriting on the heavy paper was beautifully scripted but hard to read. Carrie leaned over the display case to get a clearer view.
Tyler glanced over her shoulder. His nearness stirred a sensation deep within her that Carrie couldn’t explain. Not anxiety or fear but unsettling just the same. She scooted sideways to give herself space as she studied the fluid script.
“My Dearest Son,” the missive began. The letter recounted local farm activities as well as the health and well-being of family members.
“Word has come to us about the Northern forces’ advancement,” the writer of the letter continued. “We will stand firm and be vigilant, yet all the while taking precautions and preparing lest they come this far south. As we discussed before you left, dear son, your mother and I have secured our family treasures from enemy hands and have placed them where they cannot be pillaged or found. I have left a map to the whereabouts of our precious items and worldly wealth in my desk, which I pray to God you will find and not the Northerners. Even should they surround the house and take me captive, you have my solemn word, my dear son, that I will fight to the death to protect our land and our treasure.
“Your affectionate father,
“Jefferson Harris.”
“Jefferson must be a distant relative.” She glanced at Tyler. “Interesting that he mentions treasure and wealth.”
“Which could be anything of worth to a family in those days. Actually your father’s gift of the letter and farm and kitchen implements to the museum was very generous.”
Tyler’s comment gave her pause. She glanced at the number of objects in the Harris collection. “You’re right. My father’s gift was generous.”
Together she and Tyler viewed the other items on display that chronicled the change in the area from a land of cotton fields to small farms that now dotted the countryside. Old photos showed Fort Rickman’s beginning days as a training camp for soldiers heading to Europe in the 1940s. A series of photos and graphs chronicled the recent growth to the area owing to the fort’s expansion, along with short write-ups about the friendly partnership between the military and civilian communities. A newer section of the small but informative museum mentioned the arrival of the Amish families and the positive role they played in the development of the outlying areas.
When Yvonne politely reminded them that the museum would soon close for the night, Carrie and Tyler said their farewells and hurried outside. Eyeing the end-of-the-day traffic flow, Carrie saw something that made her heart lurch. A military guy in uniform pulled out of the law firm parking lot just as she and Tyler were ready to cross the street.
She tapped Tyler’s arms. “Isn’t that the chaplain’s assistant?”
Tyler followed her gaze and nodded. “You’re right. I wonder what Jason Jones is doing in town.”
“Making an appointment with George Gates?”
“Maybe, but why would a soldier need a civilian lawyer when the military provides JAG services on post? The timing has me concerned. He must have left Soldiers Chapel soon after Everett’s visit.”
They crossed the street, and Tyler pointed to the law office. “Let’s pay Flo Beacon another visit and see what she can tell us about Jason.
”
Carrie reached for the door and found it locked. The hours of operations on the wall read Mon–Fri, 9 AM–5 PM.
“We’re not making progress,” she said with a sigh.
“Not yet, but something will break soon. I’m sure of it.”
Once they settled into his car, Tyler called post. Everett’s phone went to voice mail, and Tyler left a message about seeing the chaplain’s assistant.
“Jason Jones needs more scrutiny,” Tyler warned. “Let me know if anything surfaces from your background checks.”
Disconnecting, he glanced at Carrie. “If the soldier is involved, Everett should be able to pick up the trail.”
“At least we know he didn’t fire the shot at the cemetery.”
Tyler nodded. “But I’m still concerned about his connection with George Gates.”
Carrie was concerned, as well. What was happening in Freemont, and why did it involve her?
* * *
Traffic was heavy as Tyler drove through Freemont, but it eased once they turned onto the country road that led to the Amish community. As they passed the spot of Carrie’s accident, she turned to stare at the ditch.
“Have you heard from the mechanic?” Tyler asked.
“Not yet. Maybe he’s having trouble finding a tire that matches the other three.”
“You might want to call him.”
“I’ll do that in the morning.”
The rolling hills and fertile fields were such a stark contrast from the hustle and bustle of small-town Freemont they had just left. Transferring back to the States after three years overseas, Tyler had yearned for the peace and calm he had grown to enjoy in rural Germany. He’d been drawn to the Amish community when he learned of a house for rent. Now the serenity of the area had been disrupted with the murder. Maybe he had picked the wrong location.
Turning onto Amish Road, he studied the farmhouses that dotted the area. Wash hung on clotheslines and blew in the breeze. A buggy passed them on the opposite side of the road. The clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the pavement served as a not-so-subtle reminder of the differences between the plain and English ways of life. The bearded man holding the reins raised his hand in greeting as the buggy passed.
