Blondie’s strides were long, and I had to jog to catch up. I figured I didn’t have much time, so I didn’t waste any. “You used to be Amish?”
Her loud grunt was her only reply. We took the stairs instead of the elevator.
I needed to push her buttons. “You’ve been here almost as long as Melinda. Has it been that good of a career?”
Blondie rounded on me, but I held my ground. “What is your angle, bitch?”
“You don’t talk like a woman raised in an Amish family.”
“What do you know about the Amish?” she spat.
Her hostility was surprising. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at her question. “I’ve worked closely with numerous Plain people over the past few years and call a handful of them, friends.”
Blondie’s eyes narrowed. “I know all about your investigations, Sheriff. Melinda filled me in on your background. That doesn’t make you an expert.”
I straightened my back. “True. But I know enough. If the lifestyle doesn’t suit someone, they can always go English.” I spread my hands wide. “Why this brothel business? How did you end up here?”
“You think you’re saving us, don’t you?” Blondie snarled.
My shoulders slumped. I suddenly felt tired. “Honestly, I don’t know what kind of arrangement was dangled in front of you to make you go along with these circumstances all these years. Even if you were initially kidnapped, you could have escaped a long time ago. That part still baffles me. If I can prevent any more women from being forced into this lifestyle, I’m going to do it.”
Blondie stepped closer and her expression softened a tad. I imagined there was a pretty woman beneath all the heavy makeup. “You’re feisty. You might even succeed in taking down the Bruno brothers, but that won’t end this.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Has it crossed your mind that there’s more players in this game than the obvious?”
My lips turned up in a smile. “I’m ahead of you on that one.”
The put-together, tough cookie image dropped, and Blondie stared at me with fresh eyes. “If that’s true, then I’m rooting you on, sister. Come on, or I’ll be late.”
Blondie jogged up the rest of the steps and I followed closely behind her. This hallway was different than the one where Jared’s private quarters were. There were a lot more doors and the walls were covered with a headache inducing red wallpaper. The scent of potpourri was thick in the air. I wrinkled my nose and just as Blondie turned the knob into her room, she looked over her shoulder. Call it instinct or just experience, but something prompted me to reach into my jacket and pull my 9 MM out of its holster. Blondie was already in the room when I made the action, so she didn’t see me.
I walked around the corner and immediately took in several things at once. The bright royal blue paint on the walls, the cluttered bookshelves, and the man sitting in the plush pink chair in the corner. When Blondie saw my gun drawn, her face said it all. She was in love with Michael Bruno and she’d do anything to protect him.
As Blondie shrieked, I kicked backwards, slamming the door closed. “Shut up, Blondie, and get over there with your boyfriend.” She opened her mouth to protest, and I silenced her by pointing the gun directly at her. “I came into this building knowing it was a snake pit. Do you really think I’m here to die?” I shook my head, angry. “The feds are only a few minutes away. Under the circumstances, if I have to put you both down, it won’t affect my life.” It wasn’t true, but the situation warranted saying it.
Blondie’s mouth snapped shut and she backed away from me. My gaze shifted to the man. How did I know he was Michael Bruno? The swarthy looks, designer suit, and expensive shoes were the first hints. And then there was his lopsided smile, and overly calm demeanor at having a gun pointed at his face. The forty-something year old was expecting me.
“You can put down your weapon, Sheriff Serenity Adams,” Michael said with his hands splayed. “As you can see, I’m unarmed.”
I chuckled. “Not happening.”
His shrug was loose, like he didn’t really care anyway. “Suit yourself. Just so you know, I’ve been aware of you and your partner from the get-go. My mole at the motel kept me up to date on your comings and goings. I figured the messiness with the prostitute and her lover put my motel and brothel on your radar. I was simply waiting to see what you did next. Now I know.” His smirk deepened. “Go ahead. Ask your questions.”
I was right. The cleaning lady was a spy. I let out a soft breath, thinking quickly. My hands were steady and my heart rate only slightly elevated. I had been prepared for an ambush in Blondie’s room. Knowing that she’d had an ongoing relationship with the brothel owner, I didn’t trust her. And I certainly didn’t trust Melinda or Lynette. The three women had accepted their fates in the brothel. Requesting an assassination by two law officers was unhinged, and up until this moment it did make sense. What I’d discovered online about the Bruno family and the Mt. Carmel Amish community had made me finally understand, but there was still a couple things that needed to be explained. Running into the one person I was dying to have a chat with in Blondie’s room wasn’t a shock, but Michael’s demeanor had me off balance. He pushed his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose, and then started tapping his fingertips together. It was the only sign of his anxiety. He watched me with what I could only describe as wariness in his intelligent brown eyes.
I relaxed my elbow a notch, but I didn’t lower my gun. “When it first came to my attention that eighteen-year-old women were going missing every four years from a neighboring Amish community, and they were ending up in a brothel in Nevada, I became highly intrigued. An interview with Fannie King led me to the conclusion that it was some kind of ritualistic event that the Plain people were not only aware of but had been propagating for decades. A little more digging and I found out that your family has owned interest in a large dairy farm in Mt. Carmel since the 1960s. What I’m still trying to figure out is how the Bruno’s ended up in Mt. Carmel, and why is there some kind of deviant agreement between your family and an Amish settlement?”
Michael nodded his head while I talked. His face was eager when he began to speak. “Very good, Sheriff. You’ve done your homework. I’m impressed that you became invested enough in the plight of these women to journey so far from your own jurisdiction to figure it out. Quite extraordinary. Although, I’m not too surprised. When Melinda called to inform me and Tommy that she’d caught a couple of rats, and she wasn’t sure what to do with them, I’m the one who said to set them free. So, you see, the very people you came to save don’t want your help.”
His voice had remained smooth the entire time he’d talked. It suddenly dawned on me that this guy was too savvy to be tricked into saying anything he didn’t want me to know. I was at his mercy as far as information was concerned.
“You haven’t answered my question,” I pointed out.
He settled back, pursing his lips, and made a humming sound. “I like you, Sheriff. You’re tenacious. When Melinda gave me your name, I performed exhaustive online research into your career. Quite impressive, really. You’ve solved cases from serial killers to organized crime. One thing that stuck out most on my internet wanderings was how many of those investigations involved the Amish.” His smile turned into a frown. “For such a curious woman as yourself, don’t you find that odd?” He raised his hand when he saw that I was about to speak. “The Amish people are far from innocent, isn’t that right, Sheriff?”
I paused and took a breath. I didn’t feel threatened, but I also didn’t like the line of his questioning. Toby was still working the downstairs. We’d planned for me to somehow get alone with Michael. Things were progressing as expected, although my heart still raced and I was tense. There was a prickling suspense in waiting for Michael to spill the beans. He was right. I wasn’t just curious, at this point, I was obsessed with knowing the truth about what was going on in Mt. Carme
l.
I’d play along with Michael’s little game. “Yeah, I’ve seen firsthand how much like us the Amish are when it comes to criminal behavior.”
Michael snickered. “Oh, so diplomatic of you. They are like us in many ways, but their culture creates a shrouded society—one where all manner of terrible things happen. Those secrets are not only kept but protected.”
Blondie quietly leaned up against the wall next to the chair that Michael sat in. She stared at the opposite wall with such intensity that I believed she was listening hard to what Michael had been saying. I was willing to bet that Blondie Jones wasn’t sure herself why she had ended up in this brothel nearly twenty years earlier.
I narrowed my eyes, shifting them between Blondie and Michael. “I know all about Amish secrets.”
“I assume you do.” His smile returned. “My sister was a secret.”
My brow knitted. “What about your sister?”
“That’s the connection you’re desperately looking for.” Michael folded his hands on his lap. “My sister was ten years older than myself, and twelve years between her and Tommy. We were just kids when Marie left home.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling as if was picturing memories in his head. “She was a beauty, but also a wild thing. It was the sixties after all. Our strict catholic Italian household was too much for my sister. Marie wanted to be wild and free, so one day, she packed a duffle bag and headed out into the real world. Even in her rebellion, she was respectful of our parents, leaving them a note. She stopped into our room and kissed Tommy and I before she’d left.” He touched his forehead with his fingertip. “I still recall the feel of her lips on my forehead. She muttered, ‘Be good, little twerp.’” His eyes were troubled when they focused on me. “It’s a strong memory.”
I inhaled deeply. The air was thick with foreboding. “Your sister went to Mt. Carmel?”
“Eventually, yes. After a few months of traveling with some friends, Marie found herself in an Amish community in Indiana. My sister always loved animals, especially horses. In hindsight, it wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to see how her journey took her to the serene countryside of the Midwest. She told us in a letter that she’d grown fond of the simplistic lifestyle of the Amish. She ended up renting a cottage inside the community and drove the Amish people to town in her car for extra money. Marie was only eighteen at the time. She was naïve and innocent. Soon enough, she’d fallen in love with one of the young bucks of the community. As with all new things, the allure of the religious lifestyle became too confining for Marie. She decided to return to her own family in Nevada, you see. But not without Ezra King, her beau.”
Hearing the name sent a jolt straight through me. Mt. Carmel’s bishop? Oh, Lord. This was getting interesting.
Michael paused, sucking in a breath while I held my own.
He composed himself and continued the story. “Marie’s car needed costly repairs for the trip home, and she’d reached out to our father for help. He was so thrilled to hear from his daughter and learn that she was returning, he purchased a new car for Marie and sent two of his best men at the time to take the car to Indiana for her. When the men arrived in Mt. Carmel, Marie was nowhere to be found. They contacted my father and he told them not to leave Indiana until Marie turned up.” Michael closed his eyes. “A week later, Marie’s naked body was pulled out of the Blood Rock River. She’d been strangled to death.”
Michael opened his eyes and stared back at me. I knew that hollow look. It came from intense emotional trauma—the kind that affected the family of a murdered girl. It was difficult to catch a breath. A quick glance at Blondie and I saw that she was a shaken as I was. Her mouth hung open and even for all her makeup, her skin had paled.
Marie’s death had happened fifteen years before I’d been born, but my memory had been triggered at the motel room. The internet had brought up her name and I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence. Now, years later, the case was finally going to be solved—at least for the authorities. The Bruno family and the Amish had known the truth for decades.
“Who killed her?” I suspected the answer, but I had to ask anyway. This was too important. Since Michael Bruno was talking, I needed all the dirty details.
“The Amish killed her. Ezra King was from a prominent family in the community. His own father had been the bishop. When they learned Marie was going to steal Ezra away, a group attempted to run her out of town. She was a feisty thing and fought back. They choked the life out of my sister behind an old tobacco barn and tossed her body into the river. Father’s men were approached by a woman—her name was Fannie. She told them that the boys got carried away and accidently killed her. Of course, if that were the case, she wouldn’t have been stripped naked.”
My skin prickled. Damn. Fannie King knew all along. “Why didn’t your parents take the information to the authorities?” I already knew.
“We didn’t need the police. It was our duty to punish Marie’s killers,” he said with a wicked glint in his eyes.
“Is that why King girls were stolen every four years on their eighteenth birthdays?” I asked. “To fulfill a vendetta?”
Blondie’s head swiveled to Michael as she waited for his reply.
“Father sent a small army to Mt. Carmel. The four men who had been directly involved in Marie’s killing were executed—”
I interrupted. “I would have heard about that.”
His sickly chuckle sent chills racing up my spine. “Oh, really? Even if the men were buried by the Amish and never spoken of again? You know as well as I do that those people live alongside each other in something akin to a cult. There aren’t public records for most of them, especially back in those days. Outsiders don’t pay attention to what goes on in the settlements, and the Amish are very good at keeping secrets.”
He was right about that. I nodded and flicked my hand for him to continue. Michael’s eagerness to talk made me wonder if he wanted to get it off his chest.
“But those deaths weren’t enough for my father. He informed the bishop and elders that if reparations weren’t made to the Bruno family for their loss, many more Amish would die. After seeing how efficiently the killings of their men had been conducted, the community members believed my father spoke the truth, and they were afraid. It was on a front porch on a rainy afternoon that a contract was drawn up between the Bruno family and the Mt. Carmel Amish. It was signed in blood. From that day forward, every fourth year, the Amish have given up an eighteen-year-old girl—one of the pretty ones—to us. That’s the way it’s been since 1965.”
I digested his words. The pieces fit together, and I did the math in my head. At least 12 Amish teenagers had been sent into a life of sexual servitude to settle a contract made by people who were probably all dead or elderly by now. It was disgusting.
“Were they always King girls or those related to a King on their mother’s side—was that part of the agreement?” I asked.
Michael slowly shook his head. “We didn’t stipulate that the girls had to be related to the boy who Marie had fallen in love with. If anything, that wouldn’t make sense for us and was never our goal.”
Blondie found her voice. “The elders decided that it must be girls from the King line. Ezra King brought the calamity onto our community by breaking the rules and becoming involved with an outsider—a daughter of a mafia family. Ezra was ignorant of who Marie was, but one of his own brothers was among the four men killed by the Bruno’s. It was a tragedy all around for Ezra King. He’d lost the girl he loved and his brother. When the elders came together, they decided it must be King girls to settle the debt and protect the rest of them.”
My mouth was dry. I teetered between elation that I knew the sordid story and a heart-pounding fear that Michael would never have revealed the truth unless he was confident I wouldn’t leave the room alive.
“Did you know you would be taken?” I asked carefully.
Blondie nodded once and her voice dropped slightly. “Yes. When I turned twelve, my parents told me I’d been chosen to settle a harsh debt, one that we were bound in blood to keep. It was an honor, they told me. So, I prepared in my mind for the day that I’d leave.”
“Were you aware of where you were going?” I asked.
Blondie forced a small smile, but her lips trembled. “No. I thought I was going to live as an outsider. I was never told the particulars, and I’m not sure what my parents knew.”
A tear dribbled down Blondie’s cheek and my own eyes were stinging. What a horrible thing for her to endure. Heavy pressure squeezed my chest as I replayed everything in my mind. It was incredible that this had been going on since 1965 without anyone on the outside knowing. If Blood Rock’s own bishop hadn’t asked Toby to look into Melinda King’s disappearance, the truth might never have come to light. The thought was terrifying in itself.
My head snapped in Michael’s direction. “Why did you tell me all this? You must know that I won’t keep the secret the way the Amish have.”
Michael’s smile spread even wider. “Up until a few weeks ago, Tommy and I thought our blood contract with the Amish people was under control. It had benefited us greatly over the years. Having a steady supply of attractive, healthy girls for the brothel was a benefit of our sister’s death.” He clucked his tongue. “Star Miller changed all that. She’s the first one to make a run for it since the beginning. We’ve lost some girls to suicide or illness, but never did one of them make a break for it. We couldn’t tolerate it. If one gets away, then others will follow. Our pact with the Amish—the dark secret—would have been revealed in time.”
I sucked in a breath. “You killed Star and Andre?”
“Not personally, no. But they were killed at my direction. And George Walker too. You see, I’m very thorough.”
Wicked Legacy (Serenity's Plain Secrets Book 10) Page 13
