“You know I hurt my back, in Pennsylvania, before I came here.”
“Ya, you explained that when you first joined us.”
As was customary, Henry had written to Lewis’s previous bishop. Usually he would receive a letter giving a brief history of the person or family’s time in the community along with any problems or ways he could minister as well as any particular talents. Henry had once learned that one of his parishioners could carve incredible scenes from the Bible into wood, which was something the man hadn’t mentioned. When Henry had asked him about it, he’d taken him into his workshop to show him dozens of completed projects. Henry had set him up with a local gift shop that sold his works on consignment. The man had been worried that his talent was worldly, and that it would be prideful to share it with anyone.
Something told him Lewis wasn’t hiding an unusual talent. The man looked utterly dejected. The letter Henry had received from his previous bishop had been less than three lines, little more than the date of his baptism and a small bit about his family.
“How is your back now, Lewis?”
“Tolerable if I take the pills.”
“Pills?”
“OxyContin. It’s the reason…” He licked his lips and forced himself to continue. “It’s the reason I was in the newspaper office.”
“I assume you’re not getting these from a doctor.”
“At first I was, but then they wouldn’t give me any more. That’s when I moved here.”
“How do you purchase them?”
“I have a contact at the paper.” He glanced up at Henry. “And I won’t tell you his name. He’s helped me tremendously. I won’t… I won’t betray him.”
“Tell me how the transaction works.”
“I fill out a form for an ad, only I don’t want an ad, of course.” Lewis wrapped his arms around his stomach and grimaced. “I slip the money into the envelope and put… my contact’s name on the outside. They call him to the counter, and then I hand him the envelope, and he hands me the package of pills.”
Henry wanted to kick himself for not recognizing the signs of drug addiction. The man in front of him could be a poster child for drug withdrawal symptoms—abdominal pain, heavy sweating, anxiety, and agitation. Why hadn’t he put the clues together?
Self-incrimination would have to wait, though. First he needed to get Lewis out of jail.
When Henry didn’t speak, Lewis began to speak more quickly.
“It’s the only way… the only way I can continue to work.” Lewis’s hands had begun to shake. “I had filled out the form and was moving to get in line when the explosion happened.”
“You ran outside.”
“Initially, but after I saw the fire truck and realized the sprinklers were on, I figured there wasn’t any danger—”
“The building was on fire, Lewis. There was plenty of danger.”
He seemed not to have heard his bishop. “I knew I had to get back inside, and find… find what I’d paid for.”
“You tried to go back into the building.”
“Ya, but Abe stopped me. I think he suspects something about my… my situation.”
“Do you know where Abe is? Meg’s having trouble locating him, and Susan doesn’t seem to know where he’s gone. She’s worried.”
“No. I don’t know. When he stopped by my house Saturday afternoon to see how I was after the explosion, he said… he said something about needing to get to his brother, but I didn’t know what he was talking about. I didn’t know he had a brother.”
Henry stood and placed his stool back against the wall.
“We’ll get you out of here, Lewis. Until then, try to drink some water and lie down.”
“And the oxy? Can you get me those?”
“No. I can’t. But I will get you some help.”
Fifty-Six
Henry found Meg sitting at Sheriff Grayson’s desk, hunched over a large stack of papers.
“These are transcripts from the tips hotline.” She picked up the printed sheets and fanned them, her eyebrows arched. “Useless. From what I can tell, every single one of them is useless.”
“Did you sleep at all last night?”
Instead of answering, she asked, “Is Glick going to talk to me now?”
“He will.”
“Progress. About time.”
She popped up from the desk, but Henry reached out and stopped her.
“He’s not your guy.”
“I’ll decide that.” Her eyes narrowed. “What are you not telling me?”
“It must not go in your reports or be released to the press.”
Meg’s scowl deepened. She crossed her arms and perched on the edge of her chair, her foot tapping an impatient rhythm on the floor. “I’ll be the one to decide that too.”
“The things he told me were spoken in confidence.” Before she could argue with him about clergy privilege laws, Henry pushed on. “Lewis has a drug problem. The newspaper was where he was supposed to pick up his supply. He initially ran out of the building, but when he saw that the sprinklers had come on and the firemen had arrived, he was determined to get back inside. He’s a desperate man, for sure and certain.”
“Drugs?”
“OxyContin.”
Meg sank back against her chair. “I thought he had a shifty look. I assumed it was because he was hiding something.”
“He is, but he’s also suffering through the first stages of withdrawal.”
Meg leaned forward, propped her elbows on the desk, and pressed her fingers against her lips.
“Next you’re going to tell me Abe was trying to restrain him.”
“Ya. Abe and the young Englischer, Douglas. They held him back and wouldn’t let him return into the building.”
“I’m going to need to talk to Abe and confirm that story.”
“Abe is still missing. I checked with Susan before I came here. As she told you, she hasn’t seen him since yesterday morning, and she is worried. She really doesn’t know where he is.”
“If he was simply restraining Lewis Glick, then he had nothing to hide.”
“True.”
“Or this could be about his brother.”
“We have no reason to suspect Alvin.”
“That’s not good enough, Henry. We have every reason to suspect him.” Her bravado collapsed. “Unfortunately, he had an ironclad alibi for each of the fires, especially the daytime ones. He was teaching and has an entire classroom of students who will vouch for him. Unless there are two arsonists, which I doubt, he’s not our guy.”
“Then why must you talk to Abe again? I heard you questioned him for three hours after the newspaper incident.”
“Because I still think he’s hiding something, and whatever it is might crack open this case.”
He waited, letting her work through her options, which to Henry looked rather limited.
“I suppose you’d like me to release Glick to you?”
“He needs to be in a rehab facility. There’s a good one in Del Norte.”
“After I speak to him and confirm what you’re saying.”
He said nothing, waiting.
“Look, I trust you, Henry. And your drawings have been a help. They’re practically the only clues we have. But I’m turning up nothing, and our perp isn’t slowing down.”
“Any luck trying to connect Vernon to something in the letter?”
“No. The land he was living on wasn’t even in Vernon’s name. I’m still tracking that down.”
Something darted into Henry’s memory and back out again.
“Other foreclosures that might have been purchased from one of our families?”
“None that I can find.” She tapped her fingers against the desk. “We cross-referenced all of your congregation’s names with below-market sales.”
Meg reached for another stack of paper.
“There was one, the land the Bontragers own, but that was purchased from a family whose parents were aging. The
children moved the mother and dad, who were in their nineties, back to live with them in California. I spoke with the woman, and I didn’t detect even a hint of hard feelings. In fact, she claimed to have been quite relieved to sell the place so quickly.”
Henry thought it was interesting that the Bontragers had been the first to decide to move. Apparently, Meg didn’t know that, and he didn’t see that it was relevant to the case. “So a dead end.”
“Yes. They’re all dead ends.”
“If I see Abe, I will impress on him how important it is that you speak to him.”
“If you see Abe, bring him into the station.”
Fifty-Seven
The rehab facility in Del Norte was a joint venture operated by Mennonites and Brethren in Christ. Henry had referred someone from his congregation to their facilities twice before—once for a teen who was in trouble, and another time for a young woman who had become addicted to sleeping pills. In the case of the boy, he had returned home, adjusted well, and eventually joined an Amish community in Arkansas. The young woman had seemed to recover, only to suffer a dramatic relapse. The family had moved back to Goshen, hoping that being in a more familiar surrounding would be less stressful for her.
Henry figured Lewis’s chances of recovery were fifty-fifty, which was more than he’d had back at his farm. So he felt fairly optimistic when he checked Lewis into the Helping Hands facility. The man seemed miserable. He was visibly anxious, sweating, and seemed to be suffering from hallucinations. Lewis signed the check-in papers with a shaky hand, but he wouldn’t look Henry in the eyes—even when Henry reminded him that he would be back to visit after the first ten days. The facility strongly suggested family members write letters but hold off on visiting or calling until after this initial period.
Henry made sure the admissions clerk had noted the number for the phone shack nearest him. “Call me if there’s anything I can do, and if no one answers, please leave a message.”
He walked back out to the van, where Stuart Mills was waiting.
Stuart was an older guy who had recently retired from teaching, and he seemed to enjoy being a taxi driver for the Amish. He claimed it gave him plenty of time to read, and that the extra money came in handy.
Perhaps he was hoping to fix his truck. The paint had faded away completely on the top of the extended cab, and the upholstery on the seats had seen better days. It had no air conditioning, but then many automobiles in Colorado didn’t bother with it. Because buggies didn’t either, Henry barely noticed.
“Back home?” Stuart asked.
“Actually…” Henry studied the sky. It was only four in the afternoon, and they were nearing the summer solstice. He should have enough time. “Is your wife still at her sister’s?”
“Left last Friday and plans to stay four weeks. I’m a bachelor with plenty of time on my hands for the next twenty-seven days. When she returns, the honey-do list will take over again.”
“If you’re not in a hurry, there is one more place I’d like to go. May take us a while to find it.”
“I have nothing on my schedule tonight.”
“All right. Take Highway 160 west.”
“Into the wilderness, huh?”
“Actually, we’re going to South Twin Mountain.”
Del Norte was surrounded by nearly four thousand acres of public land. Within that acreage a few slivers of private land remained. The area was a winter playground for Englischers who loved to snowmobile. In the summer, fewer tourists visited, although amateur geologists frequented the area and sportsmen came to hunt and fish. Henry had been to the South Twin only once, on a fishing trip with Abe and Alvin. It was the first year they’d moved to Colorado, and it was the only time Alvin had seemed happy. If the brothers were together and hiding, that was where they would be.
Once Stuart filled his gas tank and then left the main highway, they passed the occasional ranch house or hunting cabin. The valley stretched out around them. South Twin Mountain shimmered in the heat, and a light rain began to fall, smearing dirt across the windshield. As they drew closer to the mountain, Stuart cleared his throat and said, “I didn’t realize you ever came out this way.”
“Oh, ya. Good fishing.”
Stuart glanced at him. “Is that what we’re doing? Going fishing?”
“Actually, I’m looking for a friend.”
“Does this have anything to do with the fires?”
Henry had always been an honest person. Integrity had been ingrained in him from a very young age. He didn’t want to lie to Stuart, but he also didn’t want to involve the man any more than he had to. “It could.”
He thought Stuart might argue, or that he might pull out his cell phone to call the police department. But instead he said, “If this errand of yours will help end this thing, I’m all for it. I don’t see how anyone with a smidgen of common sense could suspect an Amish person of burning down homes and businesses.”
Henry should have let the conversation die a natural death, but instead he asked, “And why is that?”
“Never met an Amish person who held a grudge. Don’t get me wrong. I understand you’re not perfect. And Vernon Frey was what my folks’s generation would have called a curmudgeon. But murder? Uh-uh. Whoever is doing this has a vendetta, and he wants to blame it on the Amish community. The sooner we catch him, the better things will be for your people and mine.”
Three times they took the wrong side road and had to back up down the dirt track because there was no room to turn around. On the fourth try, they followed the lane for half a mile and pulled into a clearing in front of a log cabin. Parked next to the cabin was a silver Honda.
Henry asked Stuart to wait in the car.
“Waiting is not a problem.” He held up a paperback book, his finger marking a place one-third through. It was thick and had Monte Vista Public Library stamped on the side. “If I reach the end, and you’re still not back, I’ll come looking for you.”
“If you reach the end of that book, and I’m not back, call 9-1-1.”
Fifty-Eight
Emma and Katie Ann worked in the garden as Rachel watched over the stew simmering on the stove and corn bread browning in the oven.
“You know she’s in there reading.”
“Your mamm is a hard worker. I believe she earns her quiet moments.”
Katie Ann squirreled up her face as if she’d smelled something distasteful. “I’m glad to be out of school. I’d much rather be outside, even if we’re pulling weeds.”
“Pray for a gut harvest but continue to hoe.”
“That one I understand.”
Twenty minutes later they were sitting in the shade, looking out over the rows where soon green beans, tomatoes, okra, squash, and radishes would begin to sprout. And those were just the rows Emma could see from where they sat.
Katie Ann was attempting to clean dirt from under her fingernails. “I was surprised when Albert and Elmer came to lunch.”
“Henry invited them, owing to the fact that Albert’s mom and sisters have already moved.”
“I don’t want to move. I like it here.”
“Glad to hear it, since we’re staying.”
Katie Ann flopped back into the grass, staring up at a sky so blue Emma had to squint when she looked at it.
“Albert kissed me.”
“Did he now?”
“Yup, and it wasn’t my first kiss either.” Katie Ann rolled over to her side, propped up on her elbow and facing her grandmother. A smile played at the corners of her mouth.
“And here I thought you were still a young girl, immune to romance.”
“I might be. I’m not sure I even like kissing.”
“It grows on you as you get older.”
“Mammi!” Katie Ann dissolved into a fit of giggles.
It did Emma’s heart good, seeing Katie Ann happy and carefree, without the worries and concern of adults. Childhood was such a precious time, and Katie Ann stood at the crossroads where she was slow
ly leaving childish things behind.
“So who was this first boy who kissed you, and why didn’t I know anything about it?”
“Because I was embarrassed!”
“Ya, I remember being embarrassed when your grandpa kissed me by the tree at the end of our lane. I was sure the mail carrier had seen us.”
“Mahlon kissed me by the swing set at school.”
“Mahlon Graber?”
“We were seven. He missed my face completely and kissed my kapp, right over my ear.”
“Did things go any better with Albert?”
“I guess? I’m not sure I know what a gut kiss is.”
“Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss, Katie Ann.”
“How will I know when it’s the right kiss, like yours and Daddi’s?”
“Oh, I don’t think anyone will have to tell you. Your heart will clench up and your knees will feel a little weak and you might have trouble catching your breath.”
“Sounds like the flu.”
“Feels a little like it.”
“Maybe I’m not in such a hurry to experience the real thing, then.”
“There’s definitely no need to rush.”
Emma thought the conversation was over. They sat there a few more minutes, enjoying the breeze. Realizing Rachel could probably use their help inside, she began picking up their gardening supplies.
Katie Ann dropped her spade into the basket alongside her gardening gloves. “Albert said they’re going to catch him.”
“The arsonist?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Was he talking about the police?”
Katie Ann worried her thumbnail, exactly as Emma had seen Rachel do the day before. It was amazing what children picked up from their parents.
“I don’t think so.”
“Then who?”
“Not sure.” Katie Ann took the basket of supplies from Emma and helped her grandmother up off the ground. They slowly walked toward the house. “But I had a feeling he was talking about our boys.”
“Our boys?”
“You know, Amish boys. Girls too. Well, not exactly boys and girls, but youngies.”
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