Drizzle of Death

by CeeCee James

  In reality, the pictures portrayed a bleak situation of Jacob’s poor body, the boots, blood on the stairs, the piece of plastic, and all the little tidbits in between. It was only as I was looking through them again that I stopped at the boot.

  I realized it didn’t match what I’d see the other Amish men wear. I knew the Amish all bought and wore the same style of shoe from the local department store. It was easy enough to pull the boots up on the internet and find images of their design.

  Jacob’s boot was black, like theirs, and would have continued to fool me except for the metal plate declaring the name. I searched the name brand and it took me to a high-end boot store website. Within minutes, I found the matching pair that sold for over two hundred dollars.

  That was odd. Very odd. Why was he wearing boots like this? I flipped through the store’s pictures, trying to puzzle it out. The sole on the bottom had a distinct jagged-knob pattern, with a circle around the letter K.

  I froze, realizing I’d seen that imprint in the dirt all around the pond and Mary’s cave hiding place. He had been there.

  It didn’t make sense that he’d keep his English boots if he was committing to the Amish lifestyle. But I didn’t have the answer for that, so I set the observation aside.

  Sighing, I searched up Amy Carmichael. There wasn’t a lot on her, but there was a story about how the Carmichael’s had moved to Gainesville about eight years ago. My eyebrow raised when I saw they all were from Pittsburgh, which is where I lived with Derek before his death. Pittsburgh was a big town, but it made me wonder what her dad had done there.

  A few more searches brought up Amy’s uncle, Mr. Carmichael’s brother. Now, this was interesting. It seemed he ran a laundry business, maybe in more ways than one.

  So what was Jacob doing with Mr. Carmichael’s daughter? Was it really just about some juvenile canoodling? Why did Jacob have all that money? And even weirder, what about his boots? Why hadn’t he changed them out for more appropriate Amish wear?

  I wondered about Amish hierarchy. Was there someone above an Elder? What if I went to their church and talked with their bishop? Could I convince him that something was going on? Maybe he could even help find Mary.

  Thinking of the young girl decided it, and I grabbed my keys. I’d try it. What could I lose?

  As usual, the community was bustling. I was surprised at how industrious the Amish were, knowing they’d been up hours before me, beginning work before the sun even peeked over the tree line. A few waved as I exited my car, seeming to become familiar with my presence in the community. I relaxed. They must not think I was all that bad. Maybe I was being paranoid about the orders not to talk to me.

  I did wonder what they thought of my daily presence. Maybe they just chalked it up to an English woman snooping around, attempting to educate herself with their simplistic life.

  Taking in a cleansing breath, I walked up to the first group who was gathering the flowers from the front watering vases and carrying them inside.

  ”Hello, I’m Georgie.”

  ”Yes, we know.” A dark haired girl smiled and nodded. “Rebekah and Naomi have spoken of you.”

  I remembered that Naomi was Mary’s friend. Odd that she mentioned me. “Yes, they are very kind. I was wondering where the...your bishop is?”

  The young woman’s smile faltered only a moment before she glanced at the church.

  “Either in the church or at Sara and Jacob Goode’s home. They have a new one to add to the flock, a beautiful baby boy.”

  It was strange to hear the terminology that was so normal to them.

  “Oh, ok. Well, I’ll check the church and if he isn’t there I’ll come back when he’s less busy.”

  “I’ll be happy to take you.” The girl ducked her black-bonneted head and then turned and chattered to the others, her accent rolling out the Pennsylvanian Dutch language with beautiful fluidity. Then, back to me, “I’m Sara Moore.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.” I smiled and followed the girl down the street to the church.

  Outside the building were several buggies with orange triangles on their backs. Horses whickered and swished their tails. We walked up the wooden steps and through the front doors. She led me down the center aisle to a room in the back.

  Gently, she tapped the door.

  “Ye can come in!” a voice called. Sara opened the door to reveal the bishop sitting at a desk with an enormous book before him.

  “Bishop, this is Georgie Tanner. She’d care to speak with you, if ye have the time.”

  “Of course, come in.” He waved me in. “Thank ye, Sara.”

  The girl nodded and left me alone with the Bishop, who motioned to the empty seat in front of his desk.

  “Georgie Tanner. I’ve heard quite a bit about you lately.” He was gray and grizzled but with a kind smile.

  I nervously sat down, wondering exactly what he had heard. “I love your community and hope to educate our tourists who come visit. I appreciate the hospitality.”

  “Well, you’re very welcome. What is it you would like me to help you with today?”

  “Actually, sir…”

  “Bishop is fine, dear.”

  I swallowed hard. “Bishop…there’s another issue I was made aware of while I was here. Please let me explain everything and don’t blame those who wanted to help.”

  His lips pressed together and I felt my pulse quicken as I pulled out the photographs. I selected only the ones with the boot and internet search results of the boots and the cell phone piece. I reached across the desk, handing him the photos. His eyes didn’t leave mine as he took them.

  “I had assumed there was a secondary reason for your visit. We’re not fond of lying, here.”

  "I wasn’t lying, sir, I really do want to know more about the community. But then I learned about Jacob. I have had...some experience, I guess you can say, with looking into odd cases around our area.”

  “A parishioner has already admitted his guilt over the death of young Jacob. I don’a see why we need anything else said or done about this.” His jaw tightened.

  I flinched at the words but pressed forward. “With all due respect, I believe someone murdered that young man. Someone with wealth and power and who had a reason to want him gone. I think he was moved to the bottom of those stairs and someone is still out in the town and walking around, free and able to do such things again.”

  His face drew closed like a wall had come down. It was as if I hadn’t even spoken. “When did you get so close to his body to sully it this way?”

  “I’m sorry?” I was confused. “I didn’t sully it. He was actually alive and I was waiting for help. But something felt wrong so I took the pictures to study when I had more time.”

  The man gathered the pictures and handed them back to me. “I do not appreciate you taking advantage of our more naive and innocent people, tricking them into letting you play policewoman. I do not appreciate you desecrating his body, nor taking these images of him. I want you gone. Do not come on this property again.”

  “Sir, I…” I was shocked.

  “Get out!”

  His command made me jump. I grabbed the pictures, feeling tears well in my eyes, and ran through the church back to my van.

  Chapter 19

  I drove aimlessly for a while, slipping back into my old habit to cope with stress. When I finally realized where I was, I was hours from home, tired and hungry.

  But I didn’t want to go home and face that quiet apartment. And I didn’t want to go to Cecelia’s, as much as I loved her. I just couldn’t deal with the chance of running into Frank right now.

  So moonlight saw me standing on the porch of the only other place I knew to go. I hesitated and then knocked.

  “I’m coming. Hold your horses,” yelled the grouchy old man I’d become so very fond of.

  He opened the door and blinked at me, his eyes enormous behind his coke-bottle reading glasses. “You?” he asked, mouth dropping like I was a two-h
eaded goat that had just escaped from the circus.

  I shifted my weight to the other foot. “Yeah. Me. Can I come in?”

  He took a step back, his mouth still hanging open. It was then that Peanut realized there were visitors and came racing down the hallway from the living room as if her very steps were powered by barking.

  “Confound it. Georgie’s already inside. You’re useless as a guard dog,” Oscar said, waving his hand at the pup. He shut the door. “You were just snoring with your feet chasing after sleep bunnies, you little faker.”

  Peanut quieted as soon as she saw it was me and now jumped to get my attention, her front claws repeatedly raking down my shin.

  “Ow. Ow. Ow. Come here.” I scooped her up to save my skin. Then I stood holding her, watching for Oscar’s reaction. I buried half my face in the top of her furry head.

  He slipped off his glasses and studied me. He must have seen something he took pity on because he nodded. “Come now. Let’s get some tea.”

  He retied his bathrobe as he shuffled into the kitchen, his slippers scuffing against the worn vinyl. Once inside, I could tell Oscar had been busy. The kitchen looked a might better than normal, with the usual leaning tower of dishes missing from the sink.

  After a minute of grunting and grumbling, he located his tea kettle and filled it up. He set it on the stove and turned the burner on, then set about to retrieving two mugs.

  “Carol always said chamomile was what you drank at night.” He sighed and rifled through the box. “But you’re getting this fancy Rose stuff because I can’t find nothing else.”

  I smiled. “That’ll be great.”

  “You want some toast?”

  “All right,” I said.

  “Good, because that’s all you’re getting. I’m not a short-order cook.” He undid the twist on the bread bag and soon had two slices popped into a very old toaster. The glow from the overhead light was softer than normal since one of the bulbs had burned out. Soon he was scraping butter on the toast, the kettle was whistling, the dog panting at my feet. And I was doing nothing.

  I was at the end of myself.

  He brought over the toast and then came back with the mugs, clanking together slightly in his arthritic hand.

  “You dunk the bags,” he instructed me and I stifled another smile.

  “Got it,” I said, opening the paper wrapper and following his example like I’d never done it before. We did that for a few moments, exaggerated dunks of the tea bag before he pronounced it was done.

  “Come here, Bear,” he called the dog.

  The Pomeranian was happy at my feet. Oscar grabbed a piece of the toast and whistled between his teeth. The little fluff ball sprang away to his side.

  “Like a lady,” he said gently, and the dog daintily took the tidbit. He scooped her up and plopped her on his lap, where he proceeded to pet her rather aggressively. But her happy eyes showed she didn’t mind one bit.

  “Now, what’s got you out this late and at my door? You got trouble with the police?”

  I cracked a smile then. I couldn’t help myself. “No. Just feeling kind of —” I sighed.

  “Oh. Mmm.” He nodded a bit and took a sip of his tea. “The dolty-waggers. I get it.”

  “The… what?”

  He waved at me impatiently. “You know, that feeling that wants to bring you down, but you can’t let it. So you have to pretend you’re fighting it even if it seems like you’re losing.”

  I nodded. He got it.

  “What brought them about this time?” he asked.

  I cupped my mug, relishing the heat. Slowly, I told him the whole story, from meeting Mary, to finding Jacob, to the police, the cave, and finally the visit with the bishop.

  Listening, he ate his toast and brushed the crumbs off the table, most of them landing on top of Peanut. Occasionally he grunted or nodded in acknowledgment of some detail or another. At the end of my story, I sat there feeling like a deflated balloon.

  “You know, when an animal comes across something they don’t like, they naturally shy away,” he said, his eyebrows lifting sagely.

  What in the world? After everything I said, that was his response? “Uh, okay,” I answered, more than a little disappointed.

  “They just do it. Only human beings try to argue themselves out of their gut feeling. One of the hardest lessons to learn in this life is to trust your gut.” He took a sip of tea.

  “So, you’re saying…”

  “Confound it.” He scowled. “What is it with today’s generation? Electronics scramble everyone’s brain? If you think something’s wrong, then chances are something’s wrong. Instead of trying to think of ways to win people over to your way of thinking, focus instead on who did it and their motives. Put yourself in the killer’s shoes. You can’t convince people to believe anything but what they want. But you can focus on digging out the truth for yourself.”

  Peanut chose that moment to sit up and scratch her ear. Crumbs showered everywhere. Oscar set her on the floor, muttering, “What are you trying to do? Castrate me?”

  The dog smiled up at him, black eyes sparkling and tongue hanging out. “Go on,” he shooed. “Get to your bed.”

  Peanut scampered off. A moment later, I heard springs squeaking. He glowered. “In my bed, apparently.” He looked at me, guiltily. “Don’t be thinking that’s usual. She only gets to do that on special occasions.”

  She did it too naturally for me to believe that but I let him off the hook by nodding.

  He cleared his throat. “Anyway, back to your situation. Who are your suspects?”

  It was so refreshing to have someone believe me and to want to know what I was thinking, that several names tumbled out of my mouth. It took me off guard that I must have, subconsciously, suspected them all along.

  “There’s Amy and her boyfriend. And then there was a note left by Mary in her cave, saying the fat man was coming. I’ve met three so far, Elder Yoder, Mr. Murray, and Mr. Carmichael. Maybe one of them is involved.” I chewed my thumbnail. “Everything about Elder Yoder told me he did not like Jacob. It may even be his fault that Jacob died, through neglected medical care. Jacob caused Mr. Murray a lot of problems, not the least being he drove the man’s tractor into the pond. There was a rumor going around that Jacob kissed Amy, Mr. Carmichael’s daughter. It’s one reason I really suspect her boyfriend. Plus the gang that attacked Jacob is more in their age range.”

  “You got some solid suspects. That’s good. But don’t cross everyone else around him out. Even the closest to him, a friend, a sister, a mom, could have a motive.”

  I thought about it. “Oh, I doubt it.”

  He guffawed. “Sure. Like that girl Mary? Interesting she’s missing now.”

  “Interesting…how?”

  “She had a crush on him, right? Maybe realized he wasn’t ever going to return those affections. Heard he kissed another girl… wouldn’t be the first murder to happen that way. Didn’t you say she found him?”

  “But she’s disappeared!”

  “Right. Happens all the time.”

  My mouth dropped open. “You’re saying she’s run away.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Confound electronics. Of course, that’s what I’m saying.”

  I sat back in the chair, considering. Honestly, my mind was blown. “I was looking in a completely different direction. Amy Carmichael’s uncle owns a laundry business out in Columbus. I was a little suspicious of that.”

  “Hmm? What’s that?” Now it was his turn to look surprised. “Mikey’s Laundry. You telling me she’s related?”

  “Yeah,” I nodded, curious. “What do you know?”

  “I don’t know nothing about no Amy Carmichael. But Mikey’s Laundry was on our radar a long time ago. Back when I was with the Feds. Them and their sister company, Midnight Trucking.”

  My world reeled at his pronouncement. I clutched my chest and reminded myself to breathe. It’s just a coincidence.

  It h
ad to be.

  Chapter 20

  “What?” I managed to whisper.

  “What, what??” Oscar asked back, his eyebrows wrinkling crossly.

  I gripped my mug tightly. “Can you tell me more about the trucking company?”

  He put his glasses back on and peered at me through them. Sighing, he slid them off. “You’re as white as a ghost. Midnight Trucking. Did runs between Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Columbus, and over to Detroit. One operation I was overseeing during my time in the FBI was to watch them. Actually caught their trucks on a boat headed over Lake Erie to Canada once or twice. Every time we started to close in, they slipped out of our hands. We had a snitch somewhere in the line.”

  “What were they hauling?”

  He shrugged, his thumb rubbing the red knuckles on his other hand. “Who knows for sure. Rumor has it that it was money. Guns. Drugs. All the basics for bad guys.”

  “But not everyone who works there knew it. Right? Because some of their business was legitimate. Right?” Desperation for him to say yes made me nearly choke.

  “What is going on with you? Yeah. Yeah. Sure. Whatever makes you feel better.”

  I stood up, holding on to the back of the chair for balance. My pulse whooshed in my ears. “I’ve got to go.”

  “You sure are strange tonight.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” I grabbed my jacket and headed to the door.

  “Fine. But next time don’t forget my turnover!”

  I didn’t respond, instead slammed the door and pounded down the stairs. My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped the key as I climbed into the van.

  Only one thing was in my mind, rolling over and over, driving every thought out.

  Derek’s new job had been at Midnight Trucking.

  I remembered a while back Oscar seemed startled when I’d mentioned Derek’s last name was Summers. I wondered if he’d forgotten about that conversation, or if he was playing me to see what I knew.