by Debby Giusti
More than likely, Arnold’s death was a wrong-place, wrong-time incident. Making his rounds last night, he had seen the broken windowpane and entered the BOQ to check it out, never expecting the perpetrator to be inside. Instead he should have called the military police on post and asked them to investigate.
As Colby drove them back to post, Becca kept her eyes on the road ahead instead of on him. She was becoming much too interested in Colby, and instead, she needed to come up with a logical reason for the initial break-in. She quickly narrowed it down to two options. Either the killer entered the empty BOQ because he wanted a place to hole up overnight, or he was there to do her harm.
“You’re quiet.” Colby broke the silence. “Want to share what you’re thinking?”
Exactly what she didn’t want to do.
She tried to act nonchalant. “Just wondering about the killer.”
“Anyone giving you a hard time recently?” He flicked a sideways glance her way. “We make enemies in this business. Wilson said as much last night. Is there someone who has a beef with you? Someone you sent to prison and now he’s out? Even an old boyfriend who wasn’t happy when you dumped him?”
“No old boyfriend.”
Colby nodded as if relieved, which made her smile.
“That’s one down,” he said. “Anyone grumbling about being set up or complaining you pushed too hard?”
“Probably everyone I’ve arrested.”
“Do you remember anyone who was more vocal than the rest, more agitated, more out to seek revenge?”
She shook her head. “No one comes to mind.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She straightened her skirt, still frustrated with her own response to his nearness. “You sound as if I’m under interrogation.”
“Of course not. It’s just—” He tapped the steering wheel. “I get this feeling you’re holding something back. Is there anything you’re not telling me that might have relevance to this investigation?”
If only she could tell him about Jacob, but an investigation depended on facts and not some pie-in-the-sky suspicion that a buried killer could come back to life.
Becca had worked hard to get to this point in her career and still walked a tight rope to fit in with a predominantly male work group. She didn’t need to spout nonsensical supposition.
“As we both know,” she offered, hoping it would ease the tension between them. “The simplest explanation is often the one that proves true. The guy who broke in probably needed a place to hole up overnight. He could have been cold and tried to light the stove to keep warm. If the pilot light was out, the gas could have filled the apartment and caused the explosion.”
Colby glanced at her. “And this homeless guy seeks refuge on an army post complete with gate checks and 24/7 security?”
“I admit it doesn’t sound likely.” He was right. Security was tight on Fort Rickman. If the project manager hadn’t seen the broken window, the military police would have.
“You want to hear my theory?” he asked.
She licked her lips, not knowing what to expect. “Okay.”
“The perp was interested in you, Becca.”
She held up her hand. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I beg to differ. It’s the most plausible explanation.” He hesitated and then added, “Anything in your past that could play into the explosion?”
He wouldn’t let up, and she couldn’t chance what would happen if he knew the truth. “Not that I know of.”
“You were fearful last night when the fire was raging, and when we were walking to my BOQ you mentioned some guy’s name.”
“I don’t remember saying anything specific. Besides, my new home was going up in flames. It wasn’t that I was fearful, Colby. I was relieved to have gotten out alive.”
He nodded. “My oldest sister—her name’s Gloria—claims I survived Afghanistan because of her prayers and God’s mercy. He must have been watching over you last night.”
Thoughts of her own sister made her eyes burn with unexpected tears. She turned her gaze to the side window, not wanting Colby to notice.
His hand reached for hers. “Did I say something wrong?”
For a guy, he had a keen knack of sensing her emotional struggle. Plus, his touch was reassuring, yet she didn’t want to seem like an emotional female. In truth, a lot had happened and if she added fatigue to the mix, she could almost forgive herself for appearing weak.
“My...my sister died eight years ago. I keep thinking I’ve worked through my grief, then something happens and it rushes back again.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m glad Gloria prayed for you.” She offered him a weak smile, hoping her face wasn’t blotched and her nose beet red from the tears.
“My father always said I was headstrong, but my sister Katie claimed I just needed prayer to keep me in line. In hindsight, it was probably wanderlust that got me in trouble at home and made the military seem a natural way of life.”
“You transferred to Fort Rickman from Germany?”
She nodded, relieved the conversation had moved to neutral ground. “I asked to work for Chief Wilson. There was an opening, and I got my first choice of assignments.”
“Which means your record is excellent or you wouldn’t have been selected for the job.”
“Maybe it was my sister’s prayers finally coming to fruition.”
He smiled and squeezed her hand again, a reassuring gesture, she told herself, that any friend would offer.
They rode in silence for a few minutes before he asked, “Did you meet Dawson Timmons when he stopped by the office last week?”
She remembered both him and his wife. “Nice guy. His wife Lillie was equally so. They invited me to the barbecue at his farm.”
“Just about everyone in CID Headquarters will be there.”
“It was kind of them to include me.”
“They’re good folks. I served with Dawson at Fort Hood. He transferred here and met Lillie. Now he’s out of the army, owns a farm and is living the good life.”
“A soldier turned farmer.” Becca smiled. “His wife must have changed his mind about law enforcement.”
“Actually, he claims to love working the soil.” Colby thought for a moment before asking, “Why don’t I pick you up tomorrow? We can drive there together. That way you won’t have to worry about getting directions.”
“Dawson drew a map for me when he was in the office. Between that and my GPS, it shouldn’t be difficult to find.”
“Call me if you change your mind.”
Becca didn’t believe in mixing business with her social life. No reason to give folks anything to talk about, especially when she already seemed much too affected by the special agent.
The Lodge appeared on the left. Colby turned into the parking lot. “Did you get the memo about Monday and Tuesday being training holidays?”
“I did.” Becca opened the passenger door and stepped onto the sidewalk. “We’ll probably be working on the investigation both days. Thanks for the ride.”
She waved goodbye and waited until Colby drove away before she dug in her purse for her phone and hurried to her car. Once behind the wheel, she called the former sheriff in Harmony, Alabama.
“McDougal,” a raspy voice answered.
“Sir, you may not remember me. I grew up in the Amish community. Now I’m with the Criminal Investigation Division at Fort Rickman, Georgia. There’s been a crime on post that may be related to my father and sister’s murders.”
“Rebecca Mueller, is that you?”
“Yes, sir. Although I go by Becca Miller now.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I retired and don’t have access to any of the old files, although I’d be happy to see you.”
She glanced at her watch. “I need to stop by Elizabeth Konig’s house first. It might be late afternoon before I get to your place.”
“Do you mind telling me what you want to discuss?”
“Whether Jacob Yoder could still be alive.”
* * *
Colby left the Lodge parking area and turned onto the main road irritated with himself. Once again, he thought of Becca’s flushed cheeks and eyes brimming with tears. Grief was insidious, like a sly fox that doesn’t want to be seen, until something flushes the animal into the open. His sister had a way of bringing his own pain to light by often saying the one thing that reminded him too much of Ellen.
Death was so...
He hunted for the right word.
Final.
He’d learned that the hard way. Evidently, Becca still had more to learn. From now on, he’d try to be more sensitive to her feelings.
At least, they’d talked openly about her security. Colby planned to keep revisiting the subject until he was convinced she realized the danger she might be in.
A good CID agent had a list of enemies. Becca was no different. Yet she hadn’t been forthright about any investigation or arrests that ended badly. Call it his sixth sense, but he distinctly felt she was holding something back.
Jacob? He had heard her mention the name last night, yet she’d denied it.
While searching the trailer today, she’d been like a coon dog hot on the prey’s trail. Only they had uncovered nothing of interest, not even a shred of evidence that would raise suspicion. Brody Goodman, one of the other special agents, had checked into Arnold’s past. The man’s record was lily-white. No arrests. No trouble with the law. Not even a traffic violation. He served as a deacon in his church and was voted favorite coach of his son’s Little League.
Yet Becca had insisted if they looked long enough, something would be uncovered, and when they returned to post empty-handed, she’d seemed withdrawn and mildly agitated. Perhaps she had hoped Arnold would be found culpable to take the heat off her. The project manager might have stumbled upon the perp, but Arnold wasn’t the reason the guy had been hiding in the BOQ in the first place. Seemed logical that he’d been there because of Becca. Which Colby had mentioned, and she had tried to refute.
He pulled to a stop at an intersection and thought back to her clipped speech and guarded eyes. Becca was an unknown entity. She had transferred from an overseas assignment and had never served previously with any of the Fort Rickman special agents. As much as Colby wanted to believe she was competent, she could be involved in something suspect.
The light changed. He picked up his cell and tapped in the number for CID Headquarters. Sergeant Raynard Otis answered. “Ray, put me through to the boss.”
Once Wilson came on the line, Colby filled him in on the clean search of Arnold’s trailer. “Sir, I’m concerned Special Agent Miller may have been the targeted victim of the explosion as you mentioned last night.”
“Have you discussed your suspicions with her?”
“She’s quick to discard the idea, which makes me concerned about her personal safety.”
“I wanted her to work with you, Colby. Is that a problem?”
“Ah, no, sir.”
“I realize this puts you in a difficult position. Especially if she’s unwilling to realize she might be in danger. Keep tabs on her as best you can until we have a better picture of what happened last night. From the short time she’s been with us, it’s evident she guards her privacy. Make sure her self-sufficiency doesn’t get her into trouble. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, sir.”
Colby disconnected and made a U-turn when the light changed. Wilson was right. He’d put Colby in a difficult position. Keep Becca safe when Becca didn’t think she was in danger. Worse than that, she probably didn’t want him around.
Approaching the Lodge, he noticed her silver Honda turn out of the parking lot, heading toward the main gate. Could be a long day if she was like his sisters and planned to spend time shopping.
Colby hadn’t expected to play bodyguard to another CID agent. A waste of taxpayer money, in his opinion, but Wilson was in charge so he would comply.
Just so Becca didn’t spot the tail.
Leaving post, she increased her speed and took a road that bypassed Freemont. He glanced down at his gas gauge relieved that he’d filled up at the Post Exchange gas station two days ago. Settling into his seat, he hung back a number of car lengths and accelerated to keep up with her. At the speed she was driving, Becca seemed determined to get somewhere fast.
Maybe she wasn’t heading for the mall after all.
Colby programmed a selection of music CDs that filled the Chevy with country songs about lost loves and broken hearts. He sang along and tapped his hand against the steering wheel in time to the music.
Becca seemed oblivious to his tail, which concerned him. She should have been more observant. Wilson had been right. She needed someone to watch her back. Colby planned to do exactly that.
Nearly two hours passed before she slowed her speed. A road sign welcomed them to Harmony, Alabama. Becca drove to the center of town, turned onto a side road and braked to a stop in front of a small one-story ranch.
Colby pulled to the curb in front of a neighbor’s house on the opposite side of the street. Turning off the ignition, he scooted down in the seat and watched Becca scurry along the sidewalk to the modest home. She glanced over her shoulder before she knocked.
He slumped down farther. The last thing Colby wanted was for Becca to realize she was under surveillance.
FIVE
Memories of riding to town in her datt’s buggy flooded over Becca as she stood on Elizabeth Konig’s front porch. The locals were used to the Amish way, but visitors and tourists, who came to town specifically to see the plain folks, frequently pointed and stared. Even at a very young age, Becca knew the Amish were different from the English.
In summer, she and her sister would romp barefoot through the tall grass and giggle at night when their father thought they were asleep. Instead they whiled away the hours, talking about their dreams for the future. Katie had wanted to marry and raise a family. Becca’s aspirations included world travel. Too often, her dreams leapfrogged from one destination to another, each far beyond anything an Amish girl from Harmony could ever hope to experience.
Now, wrapped in the warmth of those bygone moments, Becca knocked on the front door and glanced beyond the well-manicured lawn to the grove of tall pecan trees that surrounded the property. A thick stand of pines clustered beyond the pecan grove and provided privacy, in spite of the in-town location.
Twenty years older than Becca, Elizabeth Konig had wanted more to life than staying on her father’s farm or marrying one of the local Amish boys. She and Becca had that in common.
As a young woman, Elizabeth had left the Amish community and had taken a job in a local fabric store in town. An expert with needle and thread, she was soon teaching classes and making extra money with her sewing. She rented a small apartment in the basement of the shop where she worked and eventually inherited both the store and the owner’s nearby home when her spinster boss passed away.
Not only was Elizabeth an accomplished seamstress, but she was also a gifted student and went on to graduate college by taking night classes.
Typically, Amish education ended at the eighth grade, but Becca’s mother wanted more for her girls. Her dying wish had been for Elizabeth to homeschool her daughters. To his credit and out of deference to his deceased wife, her father had allowed Becca and Ka
tie to continue their studies, and each girl had eventually earned her high school diploma.
When Becca had run away from Jacob the first time, she turned to Elizabeth for support. A friend as well as teacher, Elizabeth had driven Becca to the recruiting office in a neighboring town and had supported her decision to join the military, which had provided not only a livelihood but also a way for Becca to leave Harmony.
Three years later, Katie had called Becca from the seamstress’s house. After her sister’s murder, Becca had run back to Elizabeth. With the older woman’s encouragement and support, Becca had notified the sheriff of the horrendous slaughter that had occurred at the Mueller farm, and Elizabeth had stayed with Becca during the interrogations that ensued.
Filled with gratitude for the pivotal role Elizabeth had played in her life, Becca smiled when she heard her dear friend’s lyrical voice from inside the house.
A sense of homecoming stirred deep within Becca, and tears filled her eyes when the door opened.
“Oh, Rebecca, you’ve come home.”
“Yah, Elizabeth. Webishtew? How are you?”
“Better now that you are here.” The older woman wrapped her in a heartfelt embrace filled with love and welcome.
“You have grown even more beautiful.” The older woman’s eyes were damp when she pulled back to stare at Becca.
“You make me blush, Elizabeth.”
“It is not prideful if I say it, Becca. Now come in,” she insisted, opening the door even wider. “I just made a pot of tea. You must tell me what you are doing in Harmony.”
The small living room and adjoining dining area were as meticulously cared for as when Becca had been there eight years earlier.
“Your store is doing well?” she asked as Elizabeth poured the tea.
“Well enough that I have ladies who help me. I usually go in twice a week to catch up.”
“And you’re happy?” Becca accepted the cup Elizabeth offered.
“Is that the question that troubles you after all these years?”
“There are other things I want to discuss, but first let’s enjoy our tea.”
