While that was true, I knew it wouldn’t hurt to get my game back on and get busy finding my brother.
TWENTY-TWO
STEPHANIE
July 21, 1812
I have discovered a confection so enticing that certainly its very existence must be a sin: tiny, individual apple pastries that Priscilla calls schnitz pie. When I passed her in the fields today as I made my rounds, she shyly offered up a basket of this delicacy. One bite and I was convinced I have tasted heaven here on earth. I have asked for the recipe to give to the palace chefs, but she claims it was simply learned from her mother without thought to measure or timing. I asked how she came to make apple pastries in July, well before the fall apple harvest, and she explained that schnitz pie is made from dried apples, not fresh.
As I know I will see her again, I asked that she prepare more of these in the future, though not so often as to make me grow even heavier than this child in my womb is already making me. Between myself, my attendant, Priscilla, her toddler Francis, and Priscilla’s shy husband, Samuel, we finished the whole basket of delights. Next time, I will save at least one to bring back to the chef, in the hopes he could take that sample and approximate it in his kitchen.
July 30, 1812
I continue to be refreshed and delighted by my walks, strengthened by the physical exertion, and much reassured by my daily encounters with Priscilla. I do believe we have formed a genuine friendship, and I will be sad to see this friendship come to an end once my child is born. Perhaps it is for the best, as propriety would never allow the wife of the Duke and the wife of a tenant farmer, an Amisch woman no less, to meet under any other circumstance.
August 5, 1812
Today while visiting with Pricilla, I expressed my deep regret at having to terminate our friendship once our respective children are born. Certainly, she understood why our relationship must end, though she did offer up some hope by reminding me that my husband’s family has shown great kindness to her people in the past. In particular, she spoke of how just eleven years ago my husband’s grandfather, the reigning Duke at that time, abolished many of the old, unfair laws that had caused so much grief and hardship to the local Amisch community. Because of his kind actions, Priscilla said, her family had moved here to the fertile land of Baden to become tenant farmers, where they had thrived and multiplied. Surely, she said, the grandson of a man so tolerant of her religion might see fit to allow his wife such a minor daily social interaction as I have found on these walks.
I reminded her that it was my own husband who reinstated one of those old, abolished laws just last month, when he removed the exemption of her community’s males from the military.
She agreed and we were both downcast for a while until she suggested that we each continue to pray that my husband, Karl, would grow into the role of a benevolent ruler more in keeping with his grandfather’s rein—and that the men in her community would not be forced to take up arms when their religion so strictly forbids it. I added that my most fervent prayers would be for the continuance of our friendship and the opportunity to persist with these daily walks even when I no longer had pregnancy and doctor’s orders as my excuse.
TWENTY-THREE
ANNA
With all the trips I had made to Haley’s mother’s house as a teenager, I had no trouble finding it now. Technically, Melody lived in a neighborhood, though her driveway began where the road ended, curving completely out of sight behind a stand of trees so thick that the house could not be seen from the street, even now in the winter, when many of the limbs were bare. I turned onto the winding driveway, glad that the snow had already turned to slush, and took it all in as I went, surprised at how much of the property she had allowed to grow wild in the years since I had been here. Deep woods seemed to encroach on all sides, and though there was a tidy row of bushes along the front of the house, otherwise it didn’t seem as if she had done any pruning or neatening of any kind to the various forms of vegetation that had once graced the yard.
The cottage itself was small but cozy, with two bedrooms and a single bathroom. I parked the car, grabbed my stuff, and headed to the front door. Melody greeted me with a warm hug, and as we pulled apart, I couldn’t help but notice the view of the backyard, visible through the center hallway that led to the living room.
“Wow,” I said, walking toward that room now, where the windows gave a panoramic view of the outside. Directly in the center of the backyard was a huge crabapple tree, one that she had planted when Haley and I were teens. Looking at it now made me feel old, for it had grown tall and wide, its form beautiful, its branches spreading out perfectly to every side. “I can’t believe how much that tree has grown. I remember when it wasn’t much taller than I am now.”
“I know. I used a lot of compost with it, and of course the soil is a rich loam with a the perfect pH for crabapple.”
She pointed out a few other new features she had added to the yard, including a small pond and fountain. I was afraid she might launch into an extended discussion of her various plants and shrubs, but instead she simply suggested I go ahead and take my shower.
I did as she said, grabbing a towel from the closet in the hall and then letting myself into the bathroom. As I opened the door, waves of heat embraced me like a sauna. Delicious.
I would have loved to indulge myself with a long-drawn-out shower, but I thought that might be rude, so I showered and dressed as quickly as I could, turning off the space heater as soon as I was finished. After using a portion of my towel to wipe the fog from the glass, I put on my makeup and fixed my hair. When I finally emerged from the bathroom, I felt like a new person.
“I can’t believe anyone could suggest such a thing,” Melody said as I was walking up the hall, and a for a minute I thought she was talking to me. When she continued, I realized she was on the phone. “Honestly, people can be so stupid!”
She was in the kitchen, so I tiptoed up the hallway, intending to give her a wave of thanks and tell her I was leaving. Before I got there, however, she spoke again.
“Having a good life insurance policy on your husband doesn’t make you a murderer!”
I froze, realizing she must be talking to Haley.
“Tell them unless they want to bring official charges, you’re not talking. And get a lawyer in the meantime. Ask your father to hire the best in the business.”
I was trying to decide what to do—stand there and eavesdrop or return to the bathroom and pretend I hadn’t heard anything—when she suddenly concluded her call.
“What? Sure, fine. Keep me posted. Bye.”
She hung up the phone and all was silent. I waited for the count of ten and then continued on to the kitchen doorway.
“Hey, thanks so much for the shower,” I said nonchalantly. “Guess I need to get rolling.”
“Wait,” she replied. “I was just talking to Haley. You won’t believe this, but she’s now a suspect in her husband’s death.”
I moved into the room as she described their phone call. Apparently, the police had learned of a million-dollar life insurance policy that had been taken out on Doug just last year—and Haley had made the mistake of trying to cash in on it less than an hour after she was told he had died.
“Less than an hour?” I asked. “No wonder the police were suspicious.”
“Yes, well, Haley wouldn’t have wished Doug dead, but I feel sure that that policy was the first silver lining that popped into her mind.”
Knowing how fond Haley was of money, I had a feeling that was true.
“It’s her own fault,” Melody continued as I joined her at the table. “Frankly, I don’t think Doug was murdered at all. I think his fall was an accident. But Haley kept making such a big deal out of the whole motorcycle thing, and then with Bobby’s disappearance and all that, she kept saying, ‘Make sure it wasn’t a murder. I think it might have been a murder.’ Once the police started looking at it that way, she turned out to be one of their biggest suspects. If she had kept
her mouth shut, she wouldn’t be in this position.”
“Has she been charged?”
“No. And if I know Orin, he’ll make sure she never is. That man would move heaven and earth to protect his daughter. I have no doubt he’ll have some of the top lawyers in the country on the case by noon.”
She had that right.
“Speaking of Orin,” I said, hoping it wasn’t tacky of me to change the subject at such a difficult time, “I wonder if I could ask you a couple of questions about Wynn Industries, specifically the extension out here in Dreiheit, the WIRE.”
She seemed startled by my request, but she nodded. “Sure. What do you want to know?”
I told her about Bobby’s suspension and my conversation last night with Dr. Updyke.
“This is only one of several completely different avenues I’m exploring,” I explained, “but I have to wonder if Bobby’s disappearance could have been connected with something going on at the lab, maybe with Dr. Updyke himself. Do you know much about the research that goes on there? Is there any chance Bobby could have been abducted—or even killed—because of something he knew, or something he did that was related to the lab in some way?” She stared at me blankly, so I added, “You know, like are the WIRE’s secrets valuable enough to cost a life? I just don’t know anything about the world of DNA research.”
Melody stood and went to the breadbox, pulling out an Entenmann’s coffee cake. Before I could decline, she had cut two pieces and plopped one of them on a paper towel in front of me.
“Let’s see,” she began, sitting back down at the table. “What can I tell you? The world of DNA research, as you put it, is all about potential. With what’s been discovered so far—and I’m talking about all over the world, not just at the WIRE—scientists have enough information to be able to see where they’re going to go eventually, but not enough information to get there yet. Does that make sense?”
“Not really.”
“Okay, then I’ll be more specific. By studying human genes and the nature of DNA, scientists know that someday they’ll be able to cure a huge number of ailments not with pills or surgery, but through simple gene therapy. The body will repair itself. They know it’s going to be possible; they just haven’t perfected how to do it yet.”
“Is that what they’re working on at the WIRE? Manipulating genes?”
“I would imagine, among other things. Scientists love the Lancaster County Amish because most of them descended from the same small group of ancestors. To that, add the fact that almost no one ever joins the Amish religion from the outside, so it’s very rare for new genes to be brought into the mix. Consequently, researchers can study Amish DNA more easily than they can study the genes of your average person. The same thing holds true in Iceland, in certain Jewish sects, and really anywhere that breeding is essentially closed to outsiders. It’s called the ‘Founder Effect,’ and scientists find it useful because when you have an entire society with very similar DNA, it’s much easier to see which genes are the ones that are causing problems.”
Melody tore off several pieces of her cake and lined them up on the table as a visual aid.
“Let’s say these five people are all Amish, so their DNA is very similar. Now, let’s say this one is born with cystic fibrosis. Put simply, to figure out the gene that’s responsible for cystic fibrosis, all they have to do is compare the DNA of all five and see which gene is radically different in this person than in the other four, which would indicate a mutation. Or, instead of a mutated gene being present in this one guy, maybe there’s an important gene that the other four have that this person is simply missing, which can also cause problems. One by one, researchers have been able to isolate a huge number of genes that are related to genetic disorders by studying and comparing Amish DNA. Finding the gene is always the first step in creating a cure.”
“What if Dr. Updyke discovered the next step in creating a cure? Maybe he made a big breakthrough that nobody knows about yet? Wouldn’t that be valuable?”
Melody popped the five pieces into her mouth, one after the other.
“It’s more complicated than that,” she replied after chewing and swallowing. “Researchers already know how to do gene therapy. The hard part is getting the altered gene to go into the body and into the correct place and do what it’s supposed to do once it gets there. Some experiments have been more successful than others, but it’s going to be years before they have figured it all out. There are too many variables—and not just one answer. Each discovery is one little piece of a massive jigsaw puzzle, so nothing he could have discovered would be big enough in and of itself to put someone’s life at risk. Someday, yes, DNA is going to be a very lucrative field. Right now, I feel sure that places like the WIRE only lose money. The eventual payoff that everyone hopes for is probably worth the cost, but I can’t think of a single thing at this point that would be worth abducting or killing over.”
I considered her words, wishing I knew more about the science of it.
“Look at my field, for example,” she continued. “A lot of my friends have made a fortune manipulating the DNA of plants, because that’s simpler and much further along than human studies. From tomatoes with a longer shelf life to peaches that are more fragrant to potatoes that have added calcium, whatever the market will bear, that’s what’s being done in plant biology.”
“So when does your fortune come rolling in?” I teased.
“Probably not for a long time, not that it matters. I’m working in the field of edible vaccinations.” She went on to explain that she and the fellow researchers at her company were trying to find a way to insert the vaccines into the DNA of plants.
“One of the problems in the Third World is keeping vaccines refrigerated until they can be injected. Seeds are much more transportable, not to mention far less expensive. If we can get the tetanus vaccine into rice, for example, or the pertussis vaccine into bananas, then all we have to do to inoculate entire populations is to send them the seeds, which they will cultivate and consume. The science of it shows great promise, but we have a ways to go.”
I shook my head, marveling at the very thought of it. Obviously, as scientists unlocked the secrets of DNA, more and more of the impossible would become possible.
“Do you have any ideas about why Bobby was trying to look at classified information?”
It took so long for Melody to answer that for a minute I was afraid she hadn’t heard the question. But then she spoke, offering a variety of suggestions.
“Maybe he wanted to blackmail someone, and he needed their medical information to do it. Maybe he wanted to buy a certain drug, but he needed the contact information for the distributor. Heck, maybe he met a pretty girl who was a patient, and he wanted to find her phone number.”
“To cheat on his wife with?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m sorry, but I believe he really loves Lydia—not to mention that I just don’t think he is that kind of person.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. Melody had cheated on Orin Wynn, so she was that “kind of person.” I met her eyes, and I could tell we were thinking the same thing.
My face flushed with heat, I quickly moved the conversation back to Dr. Updyke, asking Melody if she knew him personally and what she thought about him.
“I mean, I know he’s well respected in the field, but is he a good guy? I definitely picked up a strange vibe from him last night.”
Melody shrugged.
“Every brilliant researcher I know gives off a strange vibe,” she said. “I wouldn’t read anything into it. Let me say this unequivocally: Harold Updyke would never risk such an illustrious career by doing anything outside the bounds of the law. DNA research is so heavily regulated by the FDA that even if he tried, he couldn’t get away with it. Trust me, Anna. There’s too much regulation, too many watchdogs. You’re barking up the wrong tree with this one.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
&nb
sp; “I mean, things used to be kind of lax until a man died in a gene therapy experiment in 1999. The FDA has been firmly in control ever since.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. Ask your old friend Reed Thornton. He’ll tell you the same thing.”
TWENTY-FOUR
My mood was somber as I left Melody’s house. I was upset with myself, frustrated that the mere mention of Reed’s name still caused my pulse to race. Surely there had to be an expiration date on the desires of the heart, a statute of limitations on past loves.
With a heavy sigh, I pulled out of Melody’s driveway and made my way to the main road. Next stop in my investigation was a trip back to Exton, to see if I could do a little forensic accounting on the computer Bobby had used at the Internet café the night he disappeared. I flipped on the radio as I settled in for the drive, but I had the volume so low I almost missed the breaking news alert. I thought I heard the name “Doug Brown,” so I turned up the volume and listened. My jaw dropped open at what was being said.
According to the reporter, a motorcycle belonging to Doug Brown had been found, wrecked and abandoned, along Dreiheit Pike in Lancaster County. Authorities believed it was the same motorcycle that was taken on Wednesday night by Robert “Bobby” Jensen, who was still being sought for questioning in the death of Mr. Brown.
I drove toward the highway as fast as I could. I wasn’t sure of the exact location where the bike had been found, but I was determined to drive up and down the road as many times as necessary to find it.
As it turned out, when I reached the site there was no question about where it was. Police cars lined the road, as did a number of news vans. Averting my face as I slowly drove past a clump of reporters, I realized this was why they hadn’t been out at the farm this morning. They had all been here, where the news was really happening.
Shadows of Lancaster County Page 16