Secrets of Harmony Grove

by Mindy Starns Clark

  “Well,” Liesl whispered, “last winter Troy started coming over whenever he was at the inn, chatting with Jonah and watching him train the horses. Jonah thought Troy was simply being friendly, if perhaps a bit overly curious. Then one day we found out that Troy had had other motives for his visits. He was taking the information Jonah was giving him about the horses—both the ones currently in training and some that Jonah had trained previously—and he was using that information to place big bets on their races.”

  My mind reeled as she continued.

  “One of Troy’s wins was especially lucrative, thanks to a huge bet he placed on an unknown young filly Jonah had trained named Sweet Becky. I do not remember how it all happened exactly, but one of the horse’s owners grew suspicious of Troy and his big win with this horse that was a bit offset in the front legs and had no pedigree and no real experience. Prior to that race, the only people who were aware of Sweet Becky’s potential were her owners and trainers and handlers. So the owner began asking around, and that is how he learned that Troy and Jonah knew each other. Jonah was the leak that led to Troy’s win.”

  “Didn’t Jonah know that he should have kept information like that confidential?”

  She shrugged again.

  “Jonah knew not to be a Blabbermaul, but he also did not think it was necessarily a secret. Usually, this situation does not come up, you know? The track is more than a hundred miles away from here. It is not like he has the opportunity to talk about the horses’ prospects with anyone who would care or be interested in betting. It never crossed Jonah’s mind that Troy would take advantage of their friendship like that.”

  Trying to keep my voice low, I asked if that was when the horse training had come to an end.

  “Jah. Sweet Becky’s owner was very angry. He said ‘Loose lips sink ships’ or some such crazy phrase. And that was that. Not only did this man tell Jonah that he would not use his services again, we believe he put the word out so no one else would use him either. It was very sad.”

  “Poor Jonah.”

  “Jah, but he had to admit it had been his own fault. He should not have talked about the horse to anyone, not even someone he thought was a friend.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, fully aware that if not for me, Troy and Jonah would never have met, and my cousin wouldn’t have ended up losing part of his livelihood.

  “What happened between Jonah and Troy after that? Did they have words?”

  “They had a very strong argument, jah. But what could be done? Jonah said his piece and Troy tried to make excuses, and in the end my husband and I were reminded that we are to be a peculiar people, set apart, not tossing around information with someone from outside the community. Now and then the Lord reminds us of that with hard lessons.” Looking toward the emu cages and the three people who seemed to be wrapping things up and preparing to leave, she added, “Perhaps now, with this new turn of events, there are simply more lessons we need to learn.”

  We both stood, but before we went to join the others, I asked Liesl if they had told the police anything about the Jonah-Troy gambling connection. Much to my dismay, she nodded, saying they had spoken at length with Detective Weissbaum and several others and had given them the entire story.

  I couldn’t imagine what police must be thinking now, or how they might be planning to proceed, but I wanted to speak with Mike as soon as possible so that I could plead Jonah’s case and vouch for his outstanding character. Of course, at this point, depending on whether Mike had learned about my own government investigation problems, my vouching for Jonah might not mean a whole lot.

  Liesl introduced me to the man who had been at the cages, and it turned out that he wasn’t any sort of law enforcement agent as I had thought, but was rather an emu expert the game commission had called in as a consult. His car was parked at Jonah and Liesl’s house, as was Georgia’s patrol car, so for my own safety and at her suggestion, I decided to walk to the house with all of them and let her give me a lift home rather than cut back through the grove by myself.

  With that settled, Georgia reported in via radio and then whipped out her big police flashlight to lead the way. Crossing the field, we three women were mostly silent as the two men continued to chat about emus, both of them referring to things like “vestigial claws” and “aspergillosis.” I could tell that the man was impressed with Jonah’s knowledge of the big birds and didn’t seem the least suspicious that there had been any foul play here—or fowl play, as the case may be.

  When we reached the driveway, I was glad to see that Mike was there waiting for us—or, rather, waiting for me, judging by the expression on his face. After telling Jonah and Liesl goodbye, I stood there awkwardly, certain that the handsome detective had finally learned the truth about me. Mike spoke to Georgia for a moment, and then she turned and gave me a little wave as she and the expert headed to their cars, which were parked side by side further up the drive. Obviously, he had told her that he would be taking me home—or perhaps straight to jail, for all I knew.

  A few minutes later we were in his car and pulling out onto the road. I was going to wait for him to break our silence, but when he drove past the driveway for Harmony Grove Bed & Breakfast without turning in, I felt my stomach lurch.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  He took his time answering, pausing first to reach into the console between us and pull out a small container.

  “Nowhere,” he replied, popping the container open with his thumb and shaking out a toothpick. “We need to talk away from the others. I thought it would be best if we just took a little ride and chatted in the privacy of the vehicle.”

  Toothpick clenched between his teeth, he snapped the lid back on and returned the container to the console before he continued.

  “I just got reamed out by my superiors for letting a civilian have such complete access to what is still technically a crime scene. I’m afraid from here on out you’re not allowed to wander around outside on your property. These people don’t want you in the yard or the pool area or the grove, nor do they want you anywhere near Burl’s property or Jonah’s emus. Is that understood?”

  “Yes,” I said, my heart pounding. No doubt, the two men who’d spotted me at the chicken farm earlier were the instigators of this new restriction. Did that mean they had told Mike that I was under investigation? “Sounds like that about covers everything.”

  “Not everything, Sienna,” he replied, chewing furiously on the toothpick. “Not even close.”

  Putting on his blinker, Mike made a right turn onto the road that would lead to Strasburg.

  “Here’s the deal,” he said. “What started out as a simple investigation of a possible homicide has mushroomed into something far bigger. I have spent much of this day trying to figure out why representatives of various government agencies have been finding it necessary to involve themselves with my case. See, the EPA, I can understand. They heard we have a toxic substance in the ground, and they’re nervous. The game commission we brought in ourselves to help with the wild animal issue. Given the poison and the coccidiosis found in the vic’s wound, I can see why we were next joined by BAHDS, and some VFOs and AHIs of the PADLS. Once we found the cockfighting equipment, the USDA was understandably on the scene. After talking to Jonah, it was no big surprise to see a woman from the PSHRC. On top of all of that, I even get why the FBI finally showed up. Given what we know now about Troy Griffin’s manner of death, there are elements of this case that could apply on a federal level.”

  I swallowed hard, a bit lost in all of this alphabet soup as he continued.

  “But here’s what I don’t get. Out there today I had to accommodate several other kinds of federal agents, and in the meantime I also have calls coming in back at the station from the PDOR, the PDOB, and even the DOT! What do any of those places have to do with anything?”

  Mike was obviously getting worked up, but instead of answering his question, I asked him to provide some clarif
ication regarding the acronyms, saying that it was pretty hard to follow what he was telling me when I didn’t understand what all of those initials meant. In response, he listed them out, counting off on his fingers:

  BAHDS was the Bureau of Animal Health and Diagnostic Services.

  PADLS was the Pennsylvania Animal Diagnostic Laboratory System.

  VFOs were Veterinary Medical Field Officers.

  AHIs were Domestic Animal Health Inspectors.

  USDA was the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

  PSHRC was the Pennsylvania State Horse Racing Commission.

  Those all made sense to me too. Unfortunately, it was the next batch of clarifications that turned my stomach:

  PDOR was the Pennsylvania Department of Revenue.

  PDOB was the Pennsylvania Department of Banking.

  DOT was the U.S. Department of the Treasury.

  “Is that clear enough for you?”

  “You said there were other kinds of federal agents there as well?” I pressed. “What other kinds?”

  “ATF guys, for one,” he said and then added, “that’s the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives, though why they showed up is anybody’s guess. The only firearm involved was Floyd’s gun, but since when do ATF guys pop up for a routine summary offense? The weapon was never even discharged at the scene.”

  “Who else?”

  He turned right again, and I had a feeling he was simply going to drive in one big rectangle until we ended up back where we had begun.

  “Well, here’s the kicker, Sienna. The whole reason you and I are having this conversation is because of two agents who pitched a fit to my boss a little while ago. They were yelling about you being over at Burl Newton’s place, hanging out with the cops and listening in and watching them gather evidence. I have been told to put a stop to all of that or else.”

  “What kind of agents were they? What federal agency?” I closed my eyes, waiting for him to say they were from the U.S. attorney general’s office.

  “What agency?” he echoed, chomping furiously. “I’ll tell you what agency. They were from the Secret Service.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  My eyes flew open.

  “Secret Service?”

  He nodded.

  “The United States Secret Service?” I repeated.

  “Yeah. Two Secret Service agents observed you at the scene and said that from here on out if we didn’t contain you, they would detain you.”

  “Detain me how? Like jail?”

  “They didn’t specify, but I’m sure that’s what they meant.”

  “On what grounds? Why would the Secret Service have an interest in me? Aren’t they the ones who protect the president?”

  “One and the same. I had the distinct feeling they had come here because of you. Would you like to tell me what on earth you might have done to attract their attention? Did you send a threatening letter to the White House? Maybe date a known assassin? Take a bomb-making class from a terrorist?”

  I shook my head, desperate to know if we would ever get to the bottom of this crazy, mixed-up mess.

  “No, no, and no. Obviously, they don’t suspect me of anything substantial, or they would have already done something about it.”

  Mike didn’t reply, though if he chewed any harder on that toothpick he was going to imbed the wood into his gums. He seemed to be waiting for me to volunteer some information that would shed a little more light on things, but at the moment I was practically speechless. Before I spoke at all, I simply had to get a better handle on what this news about the Secret Service meant.

  “Give me a minute,” I managed to mumble as I pulled out my phone, went online, and googled “duties of the Secret Service.” After clicking on several links, I found the information I was looking for, a full list of the areas over which the agency had jurisdiction. I knew there had to be more than just the protection of the president and his family and other high-ranking U.S. officials. Sure enough, according to their website the Secret Service was also in charge of financial crimes, including counterfeiting, forgery, fraud, money laundering, and more.

  Financial crimes. That would explain the involvement of the Departments of Revenue and Banking and the Treasury today. It could also indicate the one element that had been verified by my lawyer, that somehow all this had to do with organized crime.

  When I added everything up, what did it leave me with? Which of the financial crimes from the Secret Service list was the most likely possibility?

  I thought of my inn.

  My beautiful inn, where almost every transaction was done in cash.

  My beautiful, elegant inn, where all of that cash added up to a nice profit.

  My beautiful, elegant, profitable inn, which had no guests and no sales from the gift shop and no explanation whatsoever for all of that cash.

  Scanning the list of crimes again, I thought about counterfeit, which was a possibility. But the one I kept going back to, the one that seemed most likely, was money laundering. Couldn’t money laundering involve lots of cash being funneled through a business?

  “Bear with me,” I said to Mike, and then I texted Liz about this new development and asked if I could level with the detective. She replied immediately, insisting that I not talk unless she was present.

  But things are escalating. I think Floyd has been using HGB&B for money laundering for the mob! I typed in return.

  “Who are you texting over there?” Mike asked, glancing at the phone in my hand.

  “A friend. We’re tossing around some ideas.”

  Before he could reply, the phone began to vibrate in my hand.

  “Liz?” I said, answering it.

  “Are you with the detective right now?” she asked, her voice sounding all business.

  “Yes.”

  “Can he hear me?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Okay. Here’s how it is. I’ll talk, you listen.”

  “No problem.”

  “All right. We’re walking a very thin line here, Sienna. I know you’re not in a position to tell me why you think Floyd has been laundering mob money through your bed-and-breakfast, but I’ll take your word for it. My bigger concern is that you don’t breathe one word of this to the police until I can be there with you and they can conduct a formal interview. Not a word.”

  I had known she was going to say that, but I wasn’t too happy about it. Mike had been nothing but decent and kind to me—not to mention quite forthcoming. And in return I was going to withhold important information that might help him unravel his case. It wasn’t fair, and it didn’t feel right.

  Still, I wasn’t stupid. I knew everything I said to him might eventually be held against me in a court of law. When it came down to it, the only course of action I could take right now was the one that would most likely keep me out of jail.

  “Are we clear on this, Sienna?” Liz’s voice demanded through the line.

  “Yes, but when do you see that happening? Soon?”

  “What, me coming out there? I have court in the morning, but I can come out there tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Okay.”

  “I know this is hard. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. Just…you know.”

  “I know. Hang in there, baby. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I disconnected the call, trying to decide what to say to Mike. He was obviously waiting for me to share the fruits of my conversation, but I had received my orders from Liz, and they were to keep my lips zipped.

  “Well?”

  “Well…I’m afraid there’s nothing I can tell you,” I said, thinking that technically that wasn’t a lie. According to Liz, there was nothing I could tell him—at least not until she was with me.

  Mike was quiet for a long moment, chewing thoughtfully on his toothpick.

  “But you have some ideas about what’s going on.”

  Turning my head away from him and looking out th
e side window, I replied, “Maybe.” Turning back, I added, “But I also have a good lawyer who doesn’t want me sharing half-baked theories with the police without her being present.”

  The silence that suddenly rose up between us was nearly deafening.

  “Whoa,” he finally whispered. “Did not see that coming.”

  “I’m sorry, Mike,” I said softly. I felt like dirt, especially when he glanced at me and I could see the flash of betrayal in his eyes. “It’s not like I have anything concrete. Just a theory about why all of those different agents are involved.”

  “A theory you’re not willing to share.”

  “Not yet. But soon. I will, I promise. Tomorrow, in fact.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  He made the final right turn that would bring us back to the B and B. Leaning my head against the headrest, I looked out at the passing darkness and felt a sad sense of loss. Mike had already begun to feel like a friend, and now I had ruined our friendship. That much was obvious, from the silence that filled the car to his body language, which was shouting loud and clear.

  We were nearly back to the B and B when he finally spoke again, but this time his voice was remote and coldly professional.

  “If that’s how you want to play this, Sienna, fine. Just so we’re clear, like I said earlier, you are not to be outside at the B and B at all, other than on your driveway. That’s it—no lawn, no grove, no pool area, nothing. If you want to visit your cousins, get in your car and drive over there, but do not cut across by foot. And absolutely, positively do not go anywhere near the home or property of Burl Newton. Is that understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stay out of things and watch your step. Otherwise, you might find yourself behind bars, courtesy of the Secret Service.”

  “I understand. Thanks for letting me know.”

  He turned into the long driveway, and I realized that all of the cars that had been there earlier were now gone. Still, it was clear that someone was inside the B and B because I could see movement through the open front windows. I asked him if that was one of his men, but he said no, more than likely it was Floyd.