by Debby Giusti
Then he thought of her boss, the senator, and realized some mistakes were too big to be forgiven.
After Carrie went inside, Tyler circled the house and checked the old kitchen outbuilding, all too aware of the nearness of the main house and the danger that could have trapped Carrie inside. Looking up, he saw light glowing in the bedroom window directly above the outbuilding. The black charred marks on the main structure were a chilling reminder of what had happened tonight.
Flicking his gaze to the surrounding woods, he listened and watched for anything more that could bring her harm. The investigation was important, but Carrie’s safety was his top priority. Tyler had to ensure that no harm came to her. He couldn’t let down his guard, not when her life depended on him.
NINE
Although tired, Carrie crawled into bed determined to read the journal the firemen had found. Her eyes quickly grew heavy as she held the book and tried to decipher the writing. The script, although beautiful, was difficult to read, with its fluid swirls and flowering prose that people used in days long past.
The diary belonged to a young woman who longed for her husband’s return from war. She had children at home, Anna and Benjamin, and an older son fighting alongside his father.
Carrie woke the next morning with the book still in her hands. She placed it on the nightstand, planning to read more after she returned from town. Quickly she dressed and headed to the kitchen for coffee.
Her cell chirped. Checking the caller ID, she saw her office number and answered the call. The senator’s senior adviser’s deep voice clipped a curt greeting. “We haven’t heard from you, Carrie. I thought you were returning within forty-eight hours.”
“It’s taking me a bit longer to decide what to do with the property, Art.”
“Sell. You don’t want to be tied to some backroads area of Georgia.”
“It’s beautiful here.”
“Maybe, but don’t get sidelined by pretty countryside. You’re a city girl with a career you need to grow. The senator is waiting for that speech.”
“I told you I’d have it ready in the next day or two. Senator Kingsley usually doesn’t look at his speeches until a few days before each event.”
“This one is important. He wants more emphasis on cutting the military budget.”
“I doubt that’s a good idea at this time with the threats to national security coming out of the Middle East.”
“Are you doubting the senator?”
She bristled. “Of course not. I’m just wondering if you have the right take on what he said.”
“I heard him, Carrie, and I know what he wants, but if you insist on talking to him—”
“That might be a good idea.”
Art sighed. “You know his busy schedule. He doesn’t have time for you today.”
“Then why did you mention it?” Frustrated, she paused for a moment before asking, “Are you sure he can’t squeeze in a phone call?”
“I’m sure.”
“I’ll write the speech. Then maybe he’ll have time to talk to me.”
Hot tears burned her eyes as she disconnected. Art Adams wasn’t speaking for Senator Kingsley, she felt sure. The senator was usually concerned about her well-being. She had expected him to call and find out personally how she was doing, especially if the staff had told him about the murder on her father’s property.
They must not have informed him.
Unwilling to accept what Art said, she dialed the senator’s private number and left a voice mail. “Senator Kingsley, I wanted you to know that things are going a little badly here in Georgia. I told you I didn’t know my father, and now I’m trying to sort through what is true and what is not. You can understand the difficulty. I’m working on the speech, but I’d like to clarify a few points. Art said you wanted to emphasize the need for additional budget cuts for the military, but I’m not sure if that’s what you really want or if that’s Art’s interpretation. Let me know, sir. I’d like to hear it from you.”
She hung up feeling better and hurried into the kitchen. Hopefully she hadn’t seemed needy, which was something she never wanted to be. She’d grown up with a mother who needed so much more than Carrie had been able to provide—support and love and affirmation. Whatever she did to help her mother, it had never been enough.
The sense of unworthiness she had felt as a child still resonated in her spirit, especially at times like this when she was enmeshed in the memories.
Determined to be strong, Carrie pulled bread from the wrapper and stuck it in the toaster, appreciating the high-end appliances in the newly remodeled kitchen. Had her father prepared the house for her? Or had he been getting it ready to sell as Gates had mentioned?
She put her head in her hands. If only she knew what to do and what would be the best for her own future and for this house.
In a strange way, she was beginning to see the man who had lived here. His books, his Bible, the devotionals and plaques with inspirational sayings that decorated his house. She had hoped to find a picture of herself. If only.
They’d never met, or at least she didn’t think they had ever met. How could he have turned his back so completely on his own child when he had no one else? Especially since he seemed to have a relationship with the Lord. Could a godly man disavow his daughter?
He left you his estate.
The inner voice chastised her, yet she didn’t want her father’s house or his land. She wanted to know him, to have a relationship with a real person and not the memory, which wasn’t even that. How could she have a memory when she didn’t know him?
The toaster buzzed, but when the slice of bread popped up, the outside was too dark.
Was that her father’s preference? She opened the cabinet seeing the rich roast coffee. No sugar. No fancy creamers. No tea or hot cocoa.
His refrigerator held hot sauce and pickles and horseradish mustard and a half-empty jar of yellow peppers.
Spicy food. Black coffee. No frills. No fuss. Was that her father?
She threw the toast in the trash and poured coffee into a mug, adding a heavy dollop of half-and-half she’d bought at the grocery and a rounded teaspoon of sugar. Evidently she hadn’t followed her father’s taste in coffee. Lifting the mug to her lips, she inhaled the rich aromas and sipped the hearty brew.
Mmm. Good. Not the mild roast she was used to. Maybe her father could teach her a thing or two after all.
She almost smiled.
Glancing out the window, she raked her fingers through her hair and straightened her blouse when Tyler stepped outside and glanced her way. Surely he couldn’t see her through the window. She took a step back and peered ever so carefully over her mug, watching as he stretched.
Dressed in athletic shorts and an army T-shirt, he looked muscular and tall, and a curl of interest twisted through her insides that was mildly disconcerting. She didn’t need to notice anything of interest in the special agent. He was investigating the soldier’s death and was a neighbor. Nothing more, she told herself as she tried to glance away.
Her eyes returned to watch Tyler jog out of his driveway and along Amish Road. In the distance, she spied the Plank Farm. A man wearing a dark hat waved as Tyler passed.
Weren’t the Amish usually standoffish? Perhaps the recent danger had brought them all together. Either that or they’d had—as Tyler had mentioned yesterday—a good relationship with her father that carried over.
She pulled a second slice of bread from the wrapper, stuck it in the toaster and turned down the timer. The result was light brown toast, the way she liked it.
Opening the fridge, she pulled out a stick of butter and strawberry jelly that appeared to be homemade. The seal on the top of the jar was from the Amish Craft Shoppe. She’d have to ask Ruth about the store, imagining the fresh vegetables and baked goods she might find there.
Tyler returned soon after she had eaten the toast and finished her coffee. She stuck the mug and plate in the dishwasher and again paused to
watch him stretch to cool down.
Even from this distance she could see the ruddy hue to his flushed skin and his tussled hair. In spite of his workout gear, he looked exceedingly attractive.
Maybe there was a less formal, less by-the-book side of him. If only he would let down some of his guard at times so she could feel more at ease around him.
After wiping the counter clean, she ran upstairs to put on makeup and comb her hair. Returning to the main floor, she let Bailey out to run and waited on the front porch until he bounded back to her.
Joseph tumbled out of his house as if he’d been waiting for the dog. The two met in the grassy area between the homes.
“I’m going into town for a bit, Joseph. If you want to play ball with Bailey, I know he’d enjoy the exercise before he has to go back inside.”
She tossed the boy the ball, and the two frolicked in the yard. Bailey’s barks mixed with Joseph’s laugher and brought a sense of well-being to her heart.
If only coming to Freemont could have been different.
The sound of footsteps caused her to turn. Tyler walked toward her, dressed in a crisp cotton shirt and navy slacks. The blue windbreaker had CID on the left breast, reminding her that there was an ongoing investigation.
“Looks like Bailey’s getting lots of good exercise,” he said with a smile as he watched Joseph and the dog.
“Joseph said he wants a dog, and God told him he’d get one, but evidently Isaac isn’t interested.”
Tyler laughed. “I have a feeling Joseph might be able to change his father’s mind.”
“I...I don’t know what I’ll do with Bailey when I sell the property.”
Tyler glanced at her. “So you’re putting the house on the market?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“You’ve got a career to go back to, Carrie. I’m sure you worked hard to get where you are, and while I don’t have anything good to say about the man you work for, landing a speechwriting position in DC is to be admired.”
“I don’t understand your feelings about the senator. You’ve just heard things through the news. You don’t know him. If you’d met him, you’d have a different opinion.”
“No, Carrie.” Tyler shook his head. “Nothing can change my mind about Drake Kingsley.”
She bristled, unable to understand such a one-sided viewpoint. That was Tyler’s problem—he formed opinions that didn’t necessarily bear out. If only he could soften a bit and see the way things really were.
“I’ll get my coat.” Turning back to the house, she realized she didn’t see clearly either. No matter what people said about her father, she couldn’t believe he was a good man.
Maybe she and Tyler had that in common. Two controlling people who held on to their beliefs too tightly.
“Bailey, it’s time to come inside.”
The dog wagged his tail and waited as Joseph patted his ears; then, holding the tennis ball in his mouth, Bailey raced into the house.
“I won’t be gone long,” she told the dog as she grabbed her purse and coat. Stepping outside, she closed and locked the door behind her.
Another day to learn more about her father. Another day with Tyler Zimmerman, a man who focused on facts and evidence instead of people.
She didn’t belong here. She belonged back in Washington, DC.
Or did she?
* * *
Tyler remained quiet as he drove Carrie into town. He didn’t want to talk about the senator and the man who had changed his past and not for the better.
She wouldn’t understand. Carrie was focused on the senator as a boss and maybe an older man who stood in a father’s place. She was mistaken. Royally wrong, but she needed to learn the truth about him by herself.
Hopefully she wouldn’t be hurt from her mistaken allegiance to someone who wasn’t worth her praise or adulation. If only she could have seen the man Kingsley had been years earlier.
The memory of what had happened that fateful night still burned within Tyler.
“Did you want to go to the lawyer’s office first?” he asked, needing to focus on the present instead of the past.
She nodded. “If you don’t mind. I want to talk to George about my father’s land. He said there was a buyer and that my father was interested in selling.”
“Didn’t his receptionist say that your father had changed his mind?”
“She could have been confused, Tyler.”
“Maybe, but I wonder if Gates was seeing things through his own financial gain.”
“Meaning what?” Carrie asked.
“Meaning he wanted to negotiate the sale and earn a nice paycheck. He may be thinking of his own pocketbook instead of what would be the best for you and the property.”
“Then I’ll ask for the buyer’s name and contact the person myself,” she insisted.
“Flo mentioned a corporation that was interested in the land, Carrie. When a big buyer is on the horizon, everyone wants to get into the action. That could be a problem.”
She drew her hand protectively to her neck. “Surely you don’t think someone in the corporation is attacking me.”
“More likely it’s a local person who sees himself as a middleman and wants you out of the picture.”
“Are you accusing George Gates?”
“I’m not accusing anyone, but I’m being truthful, Carrie. Someone’s out to do you harm.”
“Which I’m well aware of,” she said. “It’s just that I’m not sure who’s on my side.”
“I’m on your side, and I’m here because I’m concerned about your safety.”
“That’s not totally true, Tyler. You’re here because you were assigned to watch me as part of the investigation.”
“I’m assigned to ensure that you aren’t harmed.” He saw a flash of confusion in her pretty eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Carrie.”
She pulled in a ragged breath and shook her head. “I’m sorry if I sound antagonistic, but I’m worried and confused, and I don’t know who I can trust.”
“You can trust me, Carrie.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “I...I hope I can.”
He gripped the steering wheel tightly, frustrated that she questioned his desire to keep her safe. If only she would open up and share more with him, but she remained closed and reserved.
He pulled into the Gates Law Firm parking lot and killed the engine. Carrie was out of the car before he could open her door.
“Did you want company when you talk to Gates?”
She shook her head. “I’ll go in alone.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded and headed for the back door. Tyler glanced around the lot, realizing too quickly that he didn’t want to wait outside. He followed Carrie into the building and nodded to the receptionist.
Flo was equally as made-up as she had been the day prior and smiled widely as they entered.
She pointed to George Gates’s office. “You can go in, Ms. York. Mr. Gates is expecting you.”
Carrie glanced at Tyler over her shoulder. “This won’t take long.” She opened the door to the lawyer’s personal office and closed it behind her.
Tyler smiled at Flo and then glanced at the people sitting in the adjoining waiting room. “Busy place.”
She batted her eyes. “Mr. Gates has a lot of clients.”
“There was a soldier here yesterday. Jason Jones. He works for the chaplain on post.”
Flo nodded. “Jason’s my nephew.”
“Really?” Tyler hadn’t expected the connection.
“He stops by to see me when he comes to town.” She closed a manila folder on her desk before asking, “Did you visit the museum?”
Tyler nodded. “Thanks for telling us about the displays.”
“You saw the items the sergeant major had donated?”
“And the other memorabilia, as well.”
“What about the letter written by Jefferson Harris? The hint of bur
ied treasure always gets folks’ attention.”
“I’m sure it does,” Tyler agreed. “I was struck by Jefferson’s love of family and home. I’d hate to see the Harris property go to someone who didn’t appreciate the family history.”
Tyler paused before adding, “You mentioned that a corporation from out of town was interested in buying the land. Do you have any additional information?”
“Not about the corporation, but there’s been talk that the mayor’s wife wanted to turn the house into a B and B. In fact, Mrs. Gates said she wouldn’t mind doing the same. The property has a lot of potential.”
“I’m sure. There’s enough acreage to build some houses too.”
Flo lowered her voice. “A mall is what I heard.”
The receptionist’s comment took him by surprise. “A shopping mall?”
“But with an Amish theme. Craft shops, small restaurants, a grocery mart that sells Amish items.”
“Do you know the name of the corporation?”
“No.” Flo shook her head. “I don’t have a name, and I’ve probably said too much.”
Tyler held up his hand. “Nonsense. You’ve just been neighborly. I’ve enjoyed learning some of the local news.”
The receptionist smiled as if pleased by his comments. “That’s prime real estate if you ask me. Anyone would love to buy the land. Folks are interested in Amish areas now. A resort, a hotel or boutique shops catering to tourists would do well there.”
“I doubt the Amish would be happy.”
The phone rang.
“Perhaps not.” She lifted the receiver.
The door to the lawyer’s office opened. George Gates stood in the doorway.
Tyler moved closer. “If you’ve got a minute, sir, I’d like to talk to you along with Ms. York.”
Gates glanced at his watch as if to make an excuse.
