Plain Roots

by Becki Willis

  “There doesn’t seem to be any love lost between the two men. Among other things, Ahndray blames his father for his mother’s premature death.”

  “So he took two women from Ahndray’s life,” she sympathized. “My mother, and his.”

  “So it seems.”

  Taryn thought for a moment. “Did you get his father’s name?”

  “Tabor wasn’t sure he had ever heard it. Understandably, Ahndray doesn’t like to talk about his father, but through the years, bits and pieces of his story have come out. But I did manage to track down the company that contracted Ahndray to work for them, here in the States.”

  “Was this before he worked for Manuel King?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe he was contract labor, all along. Remember, Toad brought him here, that very first time.”

  “I should have known Toad worked into this somehow,” she mumbled darkly.

  “Ahndray worked for a company called Ines International.”

  Taryn was still for a moment, running the name through her mind. “Ines International. Ines International. Why does that name sound so familiar?”

  “I don’t think you would have found it so easily yesterday, but I did a little digging. Ines International has one quarter interest in Roi Ecuries.”

  This surprised her. “So Ahndray still works for them?”

  “I think it’s more than that. I think his father owns Ines. I think his American father is still bankrolling his life there in France,” Bryce surmised.

  She thought over his words. “It makes sense, I guess. You mentioned something about an apprenticeship. If his father arranged for the work visa, it makes sense he could have been the employer. It probably made it easier to jerk his visa away, when he wanted to send his son back to France.”

  “There’s more.”

  Taryn blew out a long breath. “Of course there is.”

  “According to their website, Ines International is a leader in cutting-edge genetics. They specialize in breeding horses for incredible speed and endurance, particularly for the racing industry.”

  Another frown marred her forehead. “Steroids?”

  “They call it genetic enhancement.”

  Dread pooled in her belly. “Would some people call that doping?”

  “I’m no expert in genetics or the molecular structure of drugs, but I can see where there could be a direct correlation between the two.”

  Taryn rubbed her fingers across her forehead. She suddenly had a nagging headache. “Okay, so walk me through this. Are we saying that Ahndray’s father brought him here to the United States with the express purpose of having him promote his shady business practices? That he coerced my father into… what? Selling illegal steroids within the industry? Drugging the horses himself?” She gasped when she realized what she said. Her eyes rounded into perfect orbs. “King Farms! Are you saying Ahndray truly was doping my grandfather’s horses?”

  “It’s a theory I’m tossing around,” Bryce admitted. “Think about it. His father pays for their life in France and provides for Ahndray and his mother. He arranges for Ahndray to come here and work in the family business. Even if Ahndray is opposed to doping the horses, what can he do? His father pulls all the strings, including the purse strings. He controls his life.”

  “Do you suppose his father was in cahoots with the Toad? They sound like a matched pair. Both greedy and controlling, and completely unconscionable.” Taryn’s finger drummed against her lip in irritation, growing more agitated with every tap, as she contemplated her theory. “They both find people’s Achilles heels and force them into doing their bidding. I bet they were partners, Ahndray’s father and the Toad. Don’t you?”

  “No, Taryn, I don’t think they were partners.”

  Something in his low, solemnly spoken words drew her gaze. Bryce’s steady gaze made her nervous.

  “Oh no,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. “No, no, no. Absolutely not. You can’t be suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”

  “It makes sense, Taryn. Think about the similarities. How easy it would have made everything. Think about your mother’s final letter.”

  Taryn recalled the letter in her mind’s eye. “The toad made it clear,” she whispered.

  Bryce took her hand, pressing the relevance into her. “We wondered why that particular phrase was mixed in with talk of his father. You thought she might relate all evil men to toads and warts, remember?”

  She still shook her head, reluctant to admit what she knew was true. “No. It can’t be.”

  “I think it is, Taryn. I think the Toad was Ahndray’s father.”

  “But he can’t be. He just can’t be,” she cried, turning her stricken violet eyes to his. “That—That would mean… That makes the Toad my other grandfather!”

  Chapter 29

  Bryce pressed her head against his shoulder, strictly for means of comfort. He would do the same for a child, or an aging woman. His arm circled her for support.

  To the girl coming up the walk, it appeared to be an intimate scene.

  Her bare feet made no sound upon approach. “Sorry to disturb you but die Mamm says to invite your young man to dinner.” Susannah’s eyes danced with mischief as she sashayed up to the gazebo, her long skirts swishing.

  “Oh!”

  Taryn jerked in surprise, jarring Bryce’s chin with the top of her head. He muttered a few choice words beneath his breath. He quickly released her and tended his bleeding tongue.

  “I didn’t hear you come up,” Taryn said, hastily wiping her face, lest a stray tear linger.

  “So I see.” Susannah squirmed in delight, clearly misreading the situation. She eyed Bryce with interest. “You’ll stay, won’t you? The family would like to meet Taryn’s new friend.” She put emphasis on the word, her violet eyes twinkling.

  Startled by the striking resemblance between the girl and Taryn, particularly in the unique color of their eyes, Bryce was clearly caught off guard. Like her younger sister, the Amish girl relied on her refreshing personality to sway him. Before she left to run back into the house, she had secured his acceptance to the dinner invitation. “Kummit esse!” she encouraged them.

  “My young man!” Taryn complained when they were alone again. She rolled her eyes. “You’re not even a full ten years younger than my aunt. She acts like we’re teenagers or something.”

  “I think it’s the something,” Bryce said dryly.

  “After the night before last, and now this, I’m never going to convince them we’re not an item,” Taryn complained.

  “Should I have declined the invitation?”

  “And insult my aunt? No way.”

  “If I can even eat,” Bryce groused, holding his injured tongue.

  She offered a grimace, if only in support. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  Dinner was every bit as delicious and noisy as Taryn had warned it would be. Bryce visited with the men, carrying his share of the conversation with ease. If she had briefly worried about him fitting in, she soon discovered it was for naught. Having lived in the area for so many years, he was more familiar with Amish customs than Taryn realized. He knew a surprising amount about farming, and deftly managed to work the conversation around to horses and the operation next door.

  Lillian’s son Jonah often helped his uncles and cousins when they took their animals to horse auction and spoke about the topic at length. Taryn remembered that Rebecca had mentioned the auctions in her journals. She couldn’t listen in, as Susannah was in the middle of a lively tale about the conclusion of today’s jelly making, but she made a mental note to ask Bryce about the conversation later.

  Taryn noticed that her aunt continued to be withdrawn during the meal, but as they pushed back from the table, she spoke up.

  “Taryn Clark, may I have a word with you and your young man? Susannah and Melanie will tend to the dishes.”

  Taryn felt like a schoolgirl, being called into the principal’s office. She followed her aunt into die Si
tz Schtubb, the sitting room reserved for visitors. Until now, Taryn had never been inside the room. The good parlor had a small settee, a straight-back chair, and the family’s heirloom rocker, passed down from generation to generation. A large hooked rug adorned the floor, pretty china and knickknacks graced a corner cupboard, and a framed piece of artwork hung on the wall. The artwork was done on canvas and quoted the first lines of ‘Amazing Grace.’ Taryn was surprised to see the tiny speaker at the bottom.

  When would she remember that the Amish appreciated music and beautiful things, just like everyone else, and most particularly when they praised God? Taryn chided herself for being surprised to find the piece there.

  “Taryn Clark, I have become quite fond of you in this past week,” her aunt said without preamble.

  Taryn chose to ignore the silent ‘but.’ Her voice was sincere as she replied, “I feel the same way about you and your family, Aunt Lillian.”

  “I know you are a grown woman. I know the Englisch have different ways. But I have young children in the house. They are easily impressed upon, ain’t so?”

  “I agree, they are impressionable,” Taryn said solemnly, wondering where this was going.

  “It pains me to point this out, but you spent the night out recently.” Lillian’s eyes wandered to Bryce. They brimmed with quiet accusation.

  “Ma’am,” he was quick to point out, “it isn’t what you think.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s what my children think. Susannah, in particular. She admires you, Taryn Clark. She fancies she sees herself in you.”

  Taryn smiled at the compliment. She felt the same way about the young girl, but now was not the time to be flattered. She had to do damage control.

  “I understand, and I will speak to her. But please understand, Lillian. Bryce is not my… That is to say, we’re not…”

  When she faltered with the words, Bryce stepped in to clear matters up. In his strong, commanding voice, he made a convincing argument. “The truth is, ma’am, your niece hired me to help her find her birth mother and the truth about her past. Allow me to formally introduce myself.” He stood and offered his hand. “Bryce Elliott, Keystone Secure Investigations. I’m a private investigator, ma’am.”

  Lillian’s hand wandered to her throat, and she paled by several shades. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, I see.”

  Because he was an investigator, and a good one, Bryce noticed the unease in Lillian’s response to his introduction. She smiled politely and asked the appropriate questions, marveling at her niece’s wisdom to hire professional help. She claimed she would never have thought to do the same. She took part in the conversation, but she was clearly distracted. For whatever reason, he obviously made the woman nervous.

  “I’ve shown Bryce the journals,” Taryn told her aunt. “Or at least the pertinent excerpts. And he’s read the final letter.”

  “Oh. I see,” she repeated the words. This time, her voice was as pale as her colorless skin. She darted nervous eyes to the man still looming over them.

  Realizing how menacing he must look, Bryce quickly took a seat. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, Lillian. Is it all right that I still call you Lillian?”

  “Of course.”

  “It occurs to me that you would have known the man Rebecca referred to as The Toad. Is that correct?”

  Her reply was stiff. “Yes, I have seen the man.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “Nee.”

  The one-word denial was not particularly forthcoming. Bryce had to fish for more information.

  “But you often saw him there on the farm? Is there anything you can tell us that could help us identify him?”

  When she still hesitated, Taryn put her hand on her aunt’s arm. “Please, Aunt Lillian. This is important. Bryce and I are both convinced it was this man, the man she called the Toad, who was responsible for my mother’s death. He was an evil, evil man. He got your mother addicted to cocaine. He forced your father to dope the horses. And when Rebecca overheard them arguing, and found evidence of his crimes, he threatened her. She ran away to escape him, and to keep her family safe. But I think he caught up with her in the end. And killed her.” Her voice was soft but filled with conviction. “The Toad killed your sister. My birth mother.”

  Lillian pulled her apron to her mouth, to capture the sob that tore from her throat.

  “Please, Aunt Lillian, tell us anything you remember. This man has to pay for his crimes.”

  Even behind the lenses, her eyes revealed her terror. “I—I do not know his name. It’s been many years since I saw him last.”

  “Would you recognize him, if you saw a picture of him?” Bryce asked.

  Her answer was evasive, her gaze skittering off to hide in a corner.

  “Perhaps. But it’s been so long.”

  “Did he have any distinguishing characteristics? Did he have a scar, or a limp, or was he missing any fingers?”

  Lillian shook her head. “I don’t remember.”

  Bryce pressed for more details. Did she remember where he was from? Did his car have Pennsylvania plates?

  “You must remember, I was but a child, too busy with childish games to notice my father’s business dealings. Even that fateful year, I was only twelve, barely thirteen.”

  Bryce let out a frustrated sigh. He caught Taryn’s eye over the top of Lillian’s bent head, buried once again in her apron. He recognized the subtle warning he saw there. They weren’t likely to get anything else from her tonight, and his formal interrogation wasn’t helping.

  “Thank you for your help, Lillian, and for that delicious meal,” he said. “If you think of anything else, be sure to let Taryn know. Taryn, I’ll walk you to your room before I go.”

  “I’ll talk to Susannah,” she promised her aunt. “Thank you, Aunt Lillian, for dinner.”

  After goodbyes, Bryce walked her up the exterior staircase and across the wide deck.

  “Your aunt knows more than she’s saying,” Bryce said, keeping his voice low.

  “I think so, too, but what? And why is she so frightened? Not that your questions were helping,” she chided. “You sounded like a military sergeant, barking one question after another. This wasn’t an official interrogation, you know.”

  He blew out a deep breath, not bothering to defend himself. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

  She softened, but only marginally. “Would you like to have a seat?” It was a nice night out. The moon hung low in the sky, still making its trek across the darkened heavens.

  He pulled a chair out for each of them, positioning them to overlook the barns and fields beyond.

  “Now that my aunt knows about the investigation, should we warn her of the danger?” Taryn asked.

  “Believe me, Taryn. Your aunt is fully aware of the dangers. Didn’t you see how frightened she was?”

  “Yes, but of what? We’re the only ones who know she has the journals. Even with them, it’s more speculation than proof. Her father’s been dead for years now. Her mother is apparently comatose. Rebecca is gone. There’s no one left who can prove any of our suspicions.”

  “You don’t suppose your uncles were in on the doping, do you?” he speculated.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Rebecca never hinted at that in her journals.”

  “I agree, but it was worth a thought.”

  “Should we go to the police, Bryce? No offense. It’s not that I doubt your abilities,” she was quick to say, “but should we tell them about the messages? About someone following me?”

  “No offense taken. I’m friends with most of the guys on the sheriff’s department and with the town police. They’re a fine group of men and women, but they won’t be of much help on this. They don’t have the manpower, or the budget, or the experience to handle this. On a scale of one to five, this won’t even move the meter.”

  His answer disturbed her, until he explained. “So far, they haven’t done anything illegal. F
ollowed you a time or two. Called you. Even the messages haven’t been direct threats. From a legal perspective, there’s not a single thing the law can do.”

  “Someone is harassing me.”

  “But without knowing who that someone is, there’s nothing to do for it.”

  “You’re right, of course.”

  Bryce’s dark eyes glittered in the moonlight. “That doesn’t mean you and I can’t do something about it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you remember your analogy about the ice cream cone?” he asked quietly.

  She frowned, uncertain where the conversation was going.

  “You said you were so close to having everything you wanted, but not really. You said it was like someone handing you an ice cream cone, and then telling you not to lick it.”

  “Your point?”

  “We find out who’s harassing you.”

  Her frown only deepened. “What does that have to do with the ice cream cone?” she asked in confusion.

  “We don’t have to let the ice cream melt. You were only told not to lick it. No one said you couldn’t bite right in and take out a chunk.”

  Chapter 30

  Bryce returned her car early the next day and parked it in visible sight of the road.

  “So, how do I look?” Taryn asked, twirling around for his inspection.

  “I have to admit, if I didn’t know it was you under that get-up, I’d never recognize you.”

  “You know,” Taryn said with a bit of a giggle, “I’ve dressed up before. This is the first time I’ve ever dressed down.”

  Her face was free of makeup and her honey-colored hair parted in the middle and coiled into a bun at the back of her crown. The simple burgundy dress hanging from her shoulders boasted no remarkable characteristics, its fit intentionally loose. A black work apron wrapped around her waist and there were no shoes at all upon her feet.

  Melanie shared a familiar saying among their People. “If you can’t drop a Coke bottle down your waistline, your clothes are too tight.”