by Ruth Reid
“If it’s Adriana, I can’t take the chance of . . .” Her voice cracked. It shouldn’t be this hard to convince the father of a missing child. “Brandon,” she said, moving to the side of the island and placing her hand on his arm. “Maybe this is another dead end. Maybe we’ll get up north, eat dinner at the little Amish restaurant the reporter mentioned, then in the morning watch the sunrise over Lake Huron and head home. But what if we find her? What if we’re finally able to bring Adriana home?”
Posen, Michigan
Faith diced cucumbers and placed them on the bed of lettuce, then sliced long strips of turkey, ham, and roast beef and arranged the different cuts of meat on the salad. She sprinkled the mix with cherry tomatoes and green onions, then added hard-boiled eggs she’d shelled earlier. She doubled-checked the to-go order. No croutons. Balsamic vinaigrette dressing on the side. She closed the Styrofoam container. “Chef’s salad is done,” she announced to Catherine, who was adding condiments to a row of opened hamburger buns in assembly-line fashion, and Lois, who was eyeing the grease-bubbling fries cooking.
“These are done, I just need to bag them.” Lois flipped the basket of hot fries on the pan, then added more potatoes to the wire basket.
Faith placed the containers of food into an oversized bag. She hadn’t been keeping track of the time, but today the workflow between the three of them seemed to run more efficiently. With Daed still unsteady on his feet, Mamm hadn’t wanted to leave his side. Faith had seen her father moving around the house in the wee hours of the morning on his crutches, and she suspected he was purposefully delaying his recovery so Mamm would stay home with him and not wear herself out at the restaurant. Her parents were turning more responsibility of the restaurant over to Faith and Olivia, which pleased Faith that their parents trusted them. Of course Catherine was a huge help, and a few teens from the district volunteered to help clear tables and do dishes. The young girls were happy not to have to dig potatoes in their father’s field.
Since the newspaper article a week ago, people arrived in droves, often waiting over an hour to be seated. Faith marveled at the immense love and support shown from the women in her district. Even those who couldn’t work a full day due to other family obligations worked a few hours, which made a huge difference in serving the customers better. But one drawback Faith discovered earlier in the week was that having plenty of helpers meant Gideon didn’t have a reason to wash dishes. In fact, she hadn’t seen much of him all week and she missed him. She looked forward to Sunday when she would see him at service and perhaps sit on the porch swing in the evening. As long as she didn’t fall asleep on him. Lately, it seemed the moment her body stopped moving, she couldn’t stay awake.
Olivia bolted through the door, flagging multiple slips in her hand.
“Are you getting backed up out there?” Faith asked.
Olivia clipped the orders to the wire. “I’ll let you know if I can’t handle it,” she said without looking at Faith, then addressed Martha, one of the young workers unloading the tote of dirty dishes. “I need one root beer, one lemonade, and three iced teas, please. I’ll be back to get them.” She breezed out of the room.
Olivia still hadn’t acknowledged Faith with anything but a scowl. Her sister’s sour attitude made working together awkward. Clearly, Olivia’s heart was hardening a little more each day.
“How did your daed’s doktah appointment go yesterday?” Catherine asked, drawing Faith’s attention.
“Gut. The doktah wants him moving around even more.” Faith recalled how the first time he’d been outside since his surgery she had stopped the buggy next to the porch so he could have an up-close look at his new horse. Now he chomped at the bit to take the mare for a drive. Soon, Gideon wouldn’t have a reason to do barn chores.
“Irma mentioned returning to work next week,” Catherine said.
“She knows how busy we’ve been.” Faith stepped aside for Martha to pass carrying a tray of drinks. “And the Potato Festival is always one of the busiest weekends of the year.”
A hard rap on the back door summoned Faith’s attention. She smiled at Gideon holding a wooden crate of apples. She opened the door and stepped aside. “I was hoping you would bring more apples today. Sunday service is being held at our haus this week and I wanted to make extra pies, or maybe I’ll make apple strudel. Hmm. Which do you prefer?”
“Either.” He set the crate on the back table, then dabbed his forehead with his hankie. “I like them both equally.” He glanced around the kitchen. “You busy?”
“Jah, this is our busiest Labor Day weekend ever. Isn’t that great?”
He chuckled. “It’s nice to see you so happy.” His gaze flitted around the room as if spying who was within earshot. He leaned closer. “Any chance you can leave early?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Have you made any plans for Sunday evening?”
Faith clasped her hands behind her back and shrugged. “Nett yet.” Ask me to sit on the porch swing, take a walk, a drive . . .
He smiled. “Don’t make any plans.”
The clanging sound of a pot falling on the floor grabbed their attention. But the noise didn’t come from the work area, it came from behind the storage shelves. Faith took a few steps and stopped.
Gideon stepped in front of Faith, blocking her view of the redheaded homeless man. “Sir,” Gideon said, “the customer entrance is in the front of the building.”
The man mumbled something undecipherable.
“It’s okay, Gideon. This is the man who chased away the robber that night.” Faith sidestepped Gideon and approached the man. “I haven’t seen you to thank you for returning the money. I feel awful that you put yourself in so much danger to retrieve it.”
The grungy-clothed man rocked back and forth muttering incoherently.
“Maybe we should call the police,” Gideon whispered.
The man stiffened and directed his piercing gaze at Faith. “Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them.” He reached for her hand, but before he took it, Gideon stepped in the way.
“Sir—”
Faith peered around Gideon and asked, “Are you hungry?”
“God will not fail thee, nor forsake thee,” the man said, then began repeating the same scripture.
Gideon nudged her arm. “I’ll watch him if you want to make him something to eat.”
She nodded and scurried over to the prep area. She grabbed a soup bowl, ladled the button-sized knepp dumplings into the dish, then sliced a loaf of sourdough bread. She handed the man the food as Olivia called Faith’s name.
“I need you to take a couple of tables,” Olivia said.
Her sister never wanted her help. Faith nodded. “Jah, sure.”
Every table was occupied, and people were lined up outside. Faith grabbed a stack of menus. “Which tables should I take?”
Olivia hesitated.
“Obviously the place is packed and you need mei help.”
“Table four, but I already gave them menus. The woman ordered hot tea, the man kaffi.”
“Okay. Do you want me to take other tables as well?” Surely her sister couldn’t wait on them all.
“Table three is getting ready to leave, so you can have whoever sits down next.”
Faith could handle more than two tables, but she wouldn’t press Olivia. This was the first her sister had spoken to her in days. She wasn’t going to rock the boat now.
The woman seated at table four wore a bright-pink shirt with cream-colored pants, which didn’t cover her calves or ankles. Her bright-pink lipstick stood out on her suntanned face. Across from the brunette woman sat a broad-shouldered man whose back was to the kitchen. The woman made eye contact with Faith, which usually meant the customer needed something, was growing impatient, or was about to leave. Faith picked up a pen and pad from off the counter and approached the table.
Chapter 33
Presque Isle County, Michigan
F
ifteen years ago
Brittany Cox tossed the stolen cell phone into a trash container at the roadside picnic area, then removed a pack of cigarettes from her jean-jacket pocket. Her hands shook as she held the lighter to the tobacco. It had taken Brandon Colepepper four rings, twenty long seconds, to answer the phone, which meant the Feds had the wires tapped already. Still, she had to know if homicide had been added to the list of felonies she and Carlos had committed. Once Brittany heard Mrs. Colepepper’s voice, the predictable snip in her tone, she was satisfied. Roslyn didn’t deserve Adriana, but the woman didn’t deserve to die. The crack to her skull with a tire iron hadn’t been part of the plan. Carlos had messed up. If they hadn’t pulled off a similar kidnapping before, she would have ditched him.
The cigarette ash turned red as Brittany pulled in a lungful of nicotine. Just relax. They’d gotten rid of the Jaguar at Carlos’s cousin’s scrapyard in Detroit within the first hour. Soon it’d be condensed to a cube-shaped chunk of metal, never to be found. Unless his cousin stripped it for parts. Even if he did dismantle the car, he wouldn’t get caught. Detroit had reduced its police department by more than fifty percent due to budget cuts, so locating a stolen car wouldn’t take priority over a liquor store robbery at gunpoint. Too bad they couldn’t keep the Jaguar. Brittany liked the way the old car maneuvered and the feel of the soft leather interior.
Footsteps sounded. Brittany turned to look behind her. A man approached, matted red hair, wearing a tattered flannel shirt and grimy jeans.
“Good afternoon,” he said.
Hit the road, jerk. I got nothing for you. Even if she wanted to help the bum out, she didn’t have any money. Pumping coins into the vending machine for smokes and sodas had emptied her pockets. Brittany pulled a lungful of nicotine off the cigarette and held it in her lungs. Ignore the man and maybe he’ll bother someone else.
The man stopped beside her. “Whoever trusts in his own mind is a fool, but he who walks in wisdom will be delivered.”
“Yeah, sure.” She had read somewhere that a high percentage of homeless people suffered from schizophrenia. The bum had clearly lost his mind. She’d certainly met a few weirdos while living on the streets of Chicago. It was best to ignore them. She dropped her cigarette on the sidewalk and snubbed out the ash with the toe of her shoe, then meandered down the piney trail toward the Presque Isle Lighthouse where Carlos had taken Adriana for a walk. It was almost closing time, and most of the museum visitors had already left. She spotted Carlos and Adriana on the shore, tossing stones into Lake Huron, and joined them.
“Well?” Carlos picked up a piece of driftwood.
“I couldn’t do it.”
He pivoted to face her. “What do you mean? All you had to do was push Play on the tape recorder and let the message tell them the drop location.”
“I counted four rings. The line’s tapped.”
“Which is why you’re using the stolen phone. You didn’t use the pay phone, did you?”
Brittany shook her head. “The plan is all wrong. Too many variables. The nanny agency has my photo on file—my driver’s license. If word has already started to spread . . .”
“What did you do, go soft since you left Chicago?”
“No, I didn’t go soft!”
He hurled the piece of driftwood at the waves. “It worked the last time.”
“The last time you jumped the Donovans’ nanny and me both. The plan worked brilliantly because we had another witness.” With the other nanny out cold, Brittany was able to provide a phony description of their attacker, precisely what the nanny confirmed in a separate report. The ransom note threatened to hurt the family’s other three children, so the authorities were not involved. Then the money was routed throughout Chicago, distributed through numerous carrier services, and eventually laundered at local flea and farmer’s markets, where any marked bills would have traded hands multiple times that day. Those funds gave them enough to go to Las Vegas. But a losing streak at a blackjack table gobbled up the cash, so Brittany concocted another plan. One with higher stakes. Why settle for fifty thousand when the Colepeppers were worth so much more? In the months leading up to the kidnapping, Brittany had gained Adriana’s trust. Even taught the child to call her mum, and right under Roslyn’s surgically perfected nose. Every time Roslyn snubbed Brittany’s nanny status, Brittany smiled and imagined sipping champagne mimosas poolside at one of the Colepepper hotel resorts. She’d never be a subway rat again. No more sleeping on the streets in Chicago.
“Well?” Carlos broke into her thoughts.
“I’m thinking,” Brittany snapped. She’d run a dozen scenarios through her mind, but they all involved risk. Could she trust Carlos not to mess things up—again? The wind off Lake Huron picked up; its white-capped waves, increasing in size, washed farther ashore. Brittany shook her foot, now doused with lake water. The numbing cold water soaked through her Nike runners and socks. She went to reach for Adriana’s hand, but the child was gone. “Where is she?”
“She was just—”
Brittany followed Carlos’s line of vision and her lungs seized. The bum who had stopped to talk with her was now knee-deep in the water, reaching down for something . . . Brittany gasped when the man lifted Adriana out of the water. The child’s blue-tinged lips quivered as she stared at the stranger with a stunned expression.
“Adriana!” Brittany rushed into the water and grabbed the child from the man. Don’t panic. You’ll frighten the girl.
“The waves must have washed the sand out from under her,” the man said, combing his fingers through red hair that had flopped over his forehead.
“Thank you.” Brittany turned her back to the wind in an attempt to shield Adriana from the cold air off the water. “Give him some money, Carlos.”
Carlos dug his hand into his jean pocket, produced a five-dollar bill, and handed it to Brittany. “Give this to him. I’m going to warm up the car. We have to go.”
Brittany handed the man the money. “Thanks again.” She offered the most sincere smile she could muster as Adriana tried to wiggle free. Brittany tightened her grip. “Mum has you.” She kissed the girl’s chubby cheek. “I’m going to get you out of these wet clothes in just a minute.”
“The child is not yours,” the man said.
“What?” Brittany tried to smile, feeling the blood drain from her face.
“Don’t you know? There is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open. For as it is written, He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will expose the motives of the heart.” Compassion etched the man’s face. “The truth shall set you free, child.”
The truth would sentence her to fifteen to twenty years in Jackson Prison. Brittany clutched Adriana tight in her arms and ran to the parking lot. She opened the passenger door and dropped into the seat. “Go.”
“Aren’t you going to put her in the car seat?”
“No, just go. Just go!”
Chapter 34
Posen, Michigan
Fifteen years ago
Are you sure you’re feeling up to this?”
“I’ll be fine, Mordecai.” Irma tied the apron strings into a bow at her waist. She appreciated her husband’s thoughtfulness, but this was their daughter’s sixth birthday and a little kidney pain wasn’t going to stop her from making this day extra special. So much had to be done yet. She still had the cake to make, the doll dress to finish sewing and wrap, supper to prepare, and all before their friends and family arrived to share in the celebration. Irma removed a bowl from the cabinet and placed it on the counter next to the sink where her husband was filling a glass with water.
“The doktah said nett to overdo it,” he said gently.
“Jah, and I’m taking it easy.” She dashed across the room to the pantry and removed the flour tin from the top shelf, trying not think about what the doctor had said about the possibility of one day needing a kidney transplant.
>
He turned off the tap. “I’m sure Olivia wouldn’t mind if we have cake another nacht. You really should be resting in bed.”
She glanced over her shoulder at little Olivia, sitting at the table, holding the wooden spoon and anxious as always to mix the cake batter. “I’ll rest tomorrow, I promise.” She set the bag of flour on the counter, then removed the sugar container from the cabinet.
“Hmm. Somehow I doubt that.”
Irma slapped her hand on her hip. “Mordecai, I told you I would rest and I will.” She smiled. “Unless you say I can go into the restaurant tomorrow and maybe Labor Day too. It is a huge weekend for our business.”
He grimaced. “And the weekend after this is the Potato Festival and I’m sure the restaurant will be busy then too.”
She reached for the vanilla extract on the spice shelf. “Last year was like feeding a horde of men at a barn raising who all wanted something different to eat.” She exaggerated a bit since a typical barn raising meant feeding a hundred or more men, in addition to a large number of women and children. But everyone ate the same prepared meal. It wasn’t uncommon to roast a pig, sometimes chickens, too, and have a variety of side dishes to choose from since the womenfolk all brought covered dishes to share.
Mordecai’s expression softened and he chuckled. “The restaurant’s taken care of. Meredith said she would cook, Catherine will wait tables, and Lois will wash dishes.”
Irma frowned. She had developed many of the desserts offered on the menu, and her sister, Meredith, wasn’t one to follow recipes. With the growing success of the restaurant, Irma worried they might lose customers if she was away too long. Replacing her wasn’t as easy as Mordecai thought. She would need to make of a list of the specials. Monday, fried chicken; Tuesday, yummasetti; Wednesday, liver and onions; Thursday, sausage and sauerkraut; and Friday, she would have to come up with an alternative. Meredith’s pork pie was bland even when Irma tried to offer advice.
Mordecai drank the water, then set the glass in the sink. “Do you need help getting ready for the birthday celebration?”
