The Morelville Mysteries Collection
Page 43
The whole experience was different. We had made love often since we’d met – as much as possible given our circumstances – but always face to face. This time, however, unable to see Mel and to watch the desire flare in her eyes or the flush of her body as her own orgasm grew ever nearer, literally in her hands, I felt closer to her than I had ever before. I felt safe, loved, and adored.
Despite my undulations, Mel continued to pleasure me slowly and gently. When I cursed softly, begging her to move faster and deeper, she laughed that laugh that I’ve both loved and loathed since I first met her. This time, her throaty chuckle got me hotter. She was so damn sexy!
“We have all night, Dana, let me love you.”
I rolled my eyes and dropped a hand between my legs to cover hers. We shall see...
Chapter 5 - The City Club
Wednesday, June 11th, 2014
Noland Troutman III looked at himself in his rearview mirror and adjusted a lock of his sandy blond hair to be just so. He guided the black Audi that was a present from his father for his 21st birthday to the front door of the Zanesville City Club. The car had a few years on it now and he had decided it was time for a new one but that would have to wait until after the election.
As he stepped out in front of the valet station, he straightened his tie, buttoned his jacket and checked the fall of the crease in his pants. He wished he could have worn his Columbus Police Department dress blues to look older and more authoritative but he was here representing himself today and not the hour distant department. He shook his head at the thought that he wouldn’t have to be going around making speeches at all if Crane hadn’t gone and thrown her hat into the ring.
The Valet approached him. “Park it away from other cars. I don’t want any dings.” He handed off his keys and went inside.
The membership of the club was a roster of the politicos and the old money families of Zanesville. His great grandfather, a sawmill owner back in the day, had been one of its founding members. His grandfather, Noland Troutman Jr., was a current member but he wouldn’t be present today. He maintained a residence in Zanesville but he wasn’t there often. Right now he was Sail fishing in the Bahamas. It was just as well; Noland wanted to work the good old boys of the Club before and after his speech without the input and the meddling of his grandfather. This was his chance to score some covert points with the real movers and shakers in town.
A tuxedoed man at the member desk greeted him. “May I help you sir?”
Troutman didn’t extend his hand to the man. He was the help after all, not a member. He drew himself up though and stated, “Noland Troutman III, candidate for Sheriff. I’ll be addressing the Club today.”
“Very good sir. One moment.” The man stepped away and returned moments later with a portly balding man with a Roosevelt style mustache that must have been years in the making.
“Mr. Troutman, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The man clasped his hand. “I’m Stanley Chappell, the club Secretary.”
“Mr. Chappell, the pleasure is mine.”
“Our families go quite a ways back, the Chappell’s and the Troutman’s. Your Grandfather speaks very highly of you. I must say though, I thought you were a little bit older.”
Troutman grimaced internally but steeled his face. “I’m 24 Mr. Secretary and I’ll be 25 by the time I take office as your next Sheriff. I believe it’s experience and drive that counts, not my age.”
A third man, one with roughhewn features who appeared to be in his late 50s or early sixties, joined them at that moment. “Experience you say? Crane, who’s already serving in the position, has several years on the force and more than a year as the Sheriff. She’s doing a fine job.”
“Noland...I presume it’s all right to call you Noland?” At his affirming nod, the Secretary continued, “Might I present Aiden Quinn Jr., our reigning club President.”
“Mr. Quinn.” Troutman extended his hand but withdrew it quickly when Quinn ignored it. In a little bit of a setback for himself, he knew Crane had just cracked a major case that involved Quinn properties and employees and he had half expected Quinn to be one of her supporters. The open hostility to him though came as a surprise. The Troutmans and Quinns had always maintained a cordial local relationship.
He nodded to Quinn, “With all due respect to Ms. Crane sir,” he reminded himself not to call her ‘Sheriff’, “I too practically grew up here. I know the area and the people here quite well.” Troutman looked between Chappell and Quinn pointedly, letting the implication that he also knew the unspoken class structure of the area sink in. He continued, “A few years on the Columbus City force has prepared me well beyond my years to handle any criminal activity going on in Muskingum County and my background will assist me in handling more delicate matters.”
A bell sounded. A man in tuxedoed livery informed the gathered men and a small smattering of women milling about that luncheon was served.
Noland Troutman looked about. The stars of the small city had come out for this luncheon meeting, no doubt to hear him speak. He puffed out his chest a bit but then grimaced as he noticed the Mayor among the crowd, a Democrat in a city of mostly conservative Republicans. He’d have to be sure to get out the old money and the senior votes to win the election and he knew just what to do. That’s why he was here, in this particular place, after all.
Troutman had the fortune of being seated with the DA, Tyler Whitesell, during lunch. He lauded the man with heavy praise for the recent arraignments of Ryan McClarnan and Levi Jones without alluding to the person who really deserved the credit, Melissa Crane. The arrests and sure to come convictions of the two career criminals who lived on the fringe represented a minor setback to his own plans but the DA was an important ally that he needed to cultivate and, in the grand scheme of things, McClarnan and Jones were easily replaceable.
“Gentlemen and ladies,” Noland flashed his bright white smile around the room, I thank you for graciously allowing me to speak with you today. It is truly an honor and a privilege. I don’t plan to be long winded up here...” he paused for a brief moment as the listening crowd laughed. “I know full well that many of you need to get back to your practices and your businesses. It’s those practices and businesses that I want to talk with you about.”
“Muskingum County is under attack. It’s under attack by moonshiners, and methamphetamine dealers and a whole host of other drug dealers and unsavory characters that don’t have any qualms about turning Zanesville and the surrounding villages – the surrounding countryside – into a war zone where gangs and drugs rule. The illegal products they’re growing and manufacturing out here are being pushed into Ohio’s cities, to be sure, but not all of them. A lot of the stuff they’re pushing is staying right here and it’s getting into the hands of your loved ones, your children, the workforce...” He paused for effect. “They’ll all pay a horrible price for their addictions and so will you, the leaders of this county in your businesses and in your professional practices if these drugs are allowed to continue spreading.”
Troutman pointed to the District Attorney, “Mr. Whitesell just nailed two of these guys and got them charged. Oh, but if they were the only ones!” He shook his head dramatically.
“The flow of intoxicants out of this county and the surrounding counties into Columbus and beyond hardly blipped when those two guys were taken off the street last week. It will be my mission, as your next Sheriff, to continue the work your former Sheriff, Caden Carter started to root all of the dealers out of their dens and see them behind bars.”
He looked around from face to face for several seconds, “Now, I know what you’re thinking; How does this young, wet behind the ears kid think that he’s going to do that? Let me tell you something; my youth is on my side here. Coming out of a big city department in this time and in this place, I’ve seen more and been exposed to more than my opponent has in her 12 year career as a county cop. I’ve had access to the latest technology, the biggest databases, you name it. I’v
e built connections and established sources Melissa Crane can only dream of.” Troutman looked at Aiden Quinn and took note of the cold, hard look in his eyes.
He adlibbed a little, “Don’t get me wrong, Crane is a good cop. Her record...as a Deputy...is exemplary. Her record as your stand-in Sheriff, until this very latest incident, is rather unremarkable.” Troutman threw her a small bone and then quickly yanked it back. Aiden Quinn, he noted, continued to look unimpressed. As he glanced around at some of the other faces in the room though he noticed some interest brewing. It’s time to reel them in, he thought.
“My fiancé, Kelly Rice, has served as a Sheriff’s Deputy here in the county for the last several years. She recently stepped down to dispel any semblance of a conflict of interest as I campaign for the office of Sheriff.” He smiled outwardly while he thought inwardly about telling the little white lie that possibly only the DA knew about at this point. He trusted that the attorney he hired for Kelly would take care of her sloppiness and her transgression would be a non-issue in the campaign.
Troutman continued, “Kelly lives in the county. She knows and loves this county. I spent most of my growing up years here. I love this county too. When we’re married this fall, whether I’m your new Sheriff or not, we plan to make Muskingum County our home. A vote for me in August is a vote to protect Muskingum County, a vote to protect your livelihoods and a vote to bring a Sheriff with real family values back to Muskingum County.”
“I promised I’d be brief. I thank you all very much for lunch and I thank you for your time.”
“What did you mean by that last bit, ‘real family values’?”
Noland Troutman stepped closer to Stanley Chappell and another older, white haired gentleman that joined them after the speech and lowered his voice, “You mean you don’t know?”
“Know what?” Chappell asked while the white haired man stood by looking puzzled.
“Melissa Troutman is gay. She’s brought her female lover to live with her and her sister in their grandparents house with her sister’s kids living right there in the house.” He arranged his face in what he hoped was a look of disapproval.
“Gay?” the older gentleman intoned loudly. Several people glanced in their direction. Troutman simply nodded. He’d accomplished exactly what he’d intended.
Chapter 6 – Feed Store and More
Late Thursday Afternoon, June 12th, 2014
“Hey, get your shoes on. We’re going to take a little drive.”
“What if I don’t wanna?” I asked Mel in response to her sudden command.
“Well, if you ‘don’t wanna’ go and look at puppies and you’d rather hang around here wallowing in your misery, then stay here.” She gave me her million watt smile.
“Puppies?”
“Yes, puppies.”
“Well, all right then. Give me a hand here.”
Minutes later I’d been unceremoniously boosted into Mel’s pickup truck and we were driving down some dirt road out in the country. “So, are you thinking about getting a puppy?” I looked at the profile of her face as she concentrated on the rutted road.
“Actually, no; not yet. Kris and I both love dogs and we’d already have one if it were just us but, with our schedules we’d have to put a lot of faith in her kids to feed it and care for it. They just haven’t shown that level of responsibility to us yet.”
“Let me get this straight; we’re talking about Beth and Cole, the same two kids who are practically living out at your parents’ farm so they can care for their fair calves?”
“Why do you think they’re out there? The only way to stay on top of them and to have them stay on top of the care of their show animals is to have them stay right there with them. My dad rides herd on them, literally, until after the fair in mid-August.”
“I see.”
“Right now, we’re going to the Amish feed store to pick up calf crunch for the calves.”
“Calf crunch?”
“Feed,” she shrugged. “Anyway, the feed store owner breeds dogs. He’s always got a litter of puppies or two in his kennels.”
“I see.”
“I just thought it might cheer you up to take a peek at some pups right now. Down the road, when we get our own place,” she looked at me pointedly, “we can go back and maybe pick out a dog of our own.”
I latched onto the ‘maybe’ in that sentence. “I’m so glad you’re a dog person. I was raised with dogs. I’ve wanted to have one but my life on the road just wasn’t conducive to that.”
“Well, things are different for you now and it’s not all bad after all now, is it?”
“I guess not.” I smiled inwardly.
The Amish storekeeper was busy with a couple of other customers when we got to his little homestead, farm and store. Mel led the way behind his store building to his kennels. I hobbled behind her on my crutches marveling at a couple of adult dogs running loose around the little farm. They looked happy and carefree.
We walked into a small barn with about 10 good sized kennel pens. Four of the pens had dams and their puppy litters in residence. Everything was clean and neat. There were full water pans in each kennel. All of the dogs all appeared to be in very good condition. If this was a rural puppy mill like what had been in the news so often lately, I was surprised. This wasn’t anything like what I’d seen on TV. I knew though that what I was seeing here was probably an exception and only the tip of the iceberg for puppy mills but these dogs really did look happy and well cared for.
“I don’t know exactly what I expected but this is a pleasant surprise.”
“Yes, Hannah always...” Mel stopped cold in the middle of her sentence.
“Hannah?”
“Hannah Yoder, the owner’s daughter. She’s always out here tending to the dogs and the kennels. She takes good care of them. She’s usually the one to tell you which ones are weaned and ready to be homed and if you can hold one.”
I looked around. “Well then where is she? I’d love to hold a puppy.” I had my eye on a little black fuzz ball of a dog that was kicking up a fuss from his pen, trying to get our attention.
“My best guess is somewhere near Putnam Hill Park in Zanesville.” At my puzzled expression, Mel said, “She’s the girl I saw there when we were talking on Monday that I thought looked familiar but that I couldn’t place.”
“Mel, that girl wasn’t Amish. She wasn’t dressed like their women dress.”
“You’re right. She wasn’t dressed Amish but I’m certain it was her. Maybe she’s left the Order.”
“Left the Order? Can they do that?”
“Yes; they can do that! They’re not prisoners Dana. Some do leave. Come on, let’s go inside and talk to Silas Yoder, Hannah’s father.”
Silas Yoder was finishing up with his last customer when we went back into the feed store. He turned to Mel. “What can I get you today?”
“Good day Silas. I need two fifties of calf crunch.” He nodded and called out to a teenage boy in German.
Mel took out her wallet. As she was counting out money, she said, “We were out to see the puppies. You have some real active ones out there.”
“That we do.”
“I didn’t see Hannah around. I hope she’s well?”
Silas eyed Mel carefully and appeared to be contemplating whether to speak. Finally he said, “We haven’t seen Hannah. She’s gone off.”
“I see.” Mel said quietly. “Is this her Rumspringa time?”
Yoder was quiet again for several long seconds. He shook his head no. “That time has passed. She was to be married.”
“Silas, I know that Amish folk prefer to police their own. If you would like me to look for Hannah, I will do that.”
“Hannah will be welcome back if she chooses to return home,” was his only response.
Mel nodded at him and wished him well and then moved toward the door.
When we were back underway, I asked, “What was that all about? What’s Rum...Rum...”
“And if they decide not to join the church, what happens?”
“They go to live in what they call the English world. They aren’t shunned for that, typically. Once they join the church though, they are accepted as full members and they must comply with all of the expectations of the order.”
“Silas said Hannah’s Rumspringa – I hope I said that right – time had passed. Does that mean she had joined the church?”
“Probably not yet. He did say she would be welcomed back which leads me to believe she hadn’t yet.”
“But he said she was to be married, right?”
“Yes. Amish marriages are typically semi-arranged especially in an area like this one where there are only a few different families who make up the bulk of their community.”
“So do you think she left because she wasn’t ready to join the church or to marry or both?”
“Those are possibilities, yes. The only way to know for sure is to talk to her and to give her, her father’s message.”
“Are you going to try to find her?”
“I’m not going to try to unless I just happen to run into her, which isn’t likely. You could try to find her though.” Mel looked at me intently rather than at the rutted road we were now following to the family farm.
“Me? Why me?”
“Why not you?” She looked back at the bumpy road but continued to talk, “You can try your hand at investigating a missing persons case. This one will be a challenge for you. You get to try to find someone who has no ID, probably no phone in her name or anything else that’s in her name. It ought to be fun for you.” She looked at me briefly and gave me a toothy grin.”