“Or both of us,” Brock said, his grin sickeningly wide.
Curt narrowed his eyes. “That’s an idea.”
I leaned against the fir tree, its branches like knives in my back, and the pot it was planted in wobbled slightly. I threw all my weight against it, and the pot fell over. Tree limbs and needles covered the ground, and I lay in the middle of it. I scrambled to my feet, and ran down the next row of trees.
Brock stepped into my path, and I pulled up short.
Curt ran up behind me and yanked my right arm behind my back. “Now you’ve made me mad.”
Tears sprang to my eyes. “Get away from me. Where’s Becky?” I glared at Brock. Dear Lord, help me through this. Please protect Becky.
Curt sighed as if my reaction was a disappointment. He tightened his grip. “We’ll take you to her.”
Brock grabbed my arm, knocking Curt out of the way. “She’s in the roses.”
I attempted to yank myself from his grasp. “I know where that is. I can walk there myself.”
“True, but then you would try to run away again,” Curt said. “Brock could use the exercise by chasing you, but he’s not in the mood for it tonight. Are you, big guy?”
“Naw, I’m not much for running.”
Brock dragged me toward the rose garden where I found Becky seated on the floor, her unbroken arm tied to her ankles.
Cookie and Scotch were on the cement next to her. Their hands were tied as well. Scotch had a gash over his left eyebrow.
I knelt in front of him. “Are you okay?”
“We’re sorry,” Cookie said.
Tears rolled down Scotch’s face and onto his overalls. “We tried to protect Becky. That’s why we drove her back and forth from the greenhouse. We had to know she was safe all the time, so they wouldn’t try to hurt her.”
Brock grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled me away from them. “You can see how well that worked out.”
Curt pulled something out of his pocket. A handgun. “Don’t try anything stupid, Red, or I’ll shoot all of them, starting with the girl.”
Becky’s body shook uncontrollably.
“What time is your uncle going to be here?” Brock asked.
Curt kept his watch on us. “Any minute.”
Brock hopped from foot to foot. “He’s going to be impressed with this.” He towered over me. “You’re not going to mess it up for us this time.”
“This time?”
“You snatched the girl from us on Route 13. Then we couldn’t grab her. You or that buggy-rider was always with her.”
I scrunched my forehead. “Why did you want to kidnap Becky?”
“Someone needed to show the Amish who is in control of this county. They’d sell their land to his uncle if we held the girl.” A smile spread across Brock’s face. “And I wanted to have a little fun with her.”
Curt grinned, giving me a full view of his tobacco-dip stained teeth. “He will no longer see me as a screw-up. I got it right this time.”
“You have to let us go,” Cookie said.
“Shut up,” Curt barked. “My uncle owns this place. You should be grateful for everything he’s done for you.”
My stomach dropped. “Grayson Mathews is your uncle?”
Curt glared at me. “Shut your mouth! Sit down next to the girl.” He pointed the gun at me. “You do anything stupid, I shoot the Amish girl.”
I sat on the cold cement next to Becky. “Becky, did they hurt you?” I whispered.
“No.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
Relief washed over me. “God will protect us.”
Curt’s head snapped around. “I said shut your mouth.”
A voice called from deep in the greenhouse “Curt!”
Curt gestured with the gun. “That’s my uncle. Go get him.”
Brock disappeared into the maze of plants. He returned with Grayson Mathews following behind him. “Curt, this better be worth me delaying my trip back to Columbus. I can’t stand all this country life. Those idiots at Harshberger bought my—” He saw Becky, Scotch, Cookie, and me sitting on the ground. His jaw twitched, and he swore. “What is this?”
Curt melted under his uncle’s glare.
“Curt, what did you do?” His voice was thunderous.
“I’m helping you. She was going to connect you to the accident that killed that Amish guy.”
“Connect me to the accident? I had nothing to do with it. That was another one of your mistakes. I gave the police an alibi for you, and you pull this stunt?”
Curt removed something from his pocket. I flinched, afraid it might be another gun. Instead, he removed a dirty business card. “She had your card in her car. She knew you asked us to mess with the Amish.”
I do now.
Mathews closed his eyes.
I squared my gaze on him. “You killed the bishop.”
Brock squeezed my arm and hissed, “The bishop was a lucky casualty.”
My eyes ran across the three of them. “One of you cut the brake line.”
“Yeah,” Brock said. “We meant to get you out of the way so we could get the girl”
Hot bile rose in my throat. I swallowed hard to force it down,
“If we had the girl, the Amish would sell the land to Curt’s uncle.”
I glared at Mathews. “You asked them to do that?”
“I’m not that stupid,” Mathews snapped.
Brock pulled his chin into his chest, his expression confused. “But you asked us to convince the Amish to sell, whatever it took.”
Mathews ran a hand through his JFK Jr. hair. “Next time, I’ll make a list of do’s and don’ts.”
“It’s because of the natural gas, isn’t it?” I said.
“We’re going to be rich,” Brock said.
“Would you two stop talking to her?” He glared at Brock. “We wouldn’t even be in this situation if you hadn’t been so stupid. I never told you to cut anything.” He balled up the business card Curt gave him and threw it on the floor. “The deal will never go through now, you idiot.”
“But Uncle Grayson . . .” Curt winced. “I was trying to help.”
“You’ve been a screw-up since the day you were born. You couldn’t even join the army.”
Curt clutched the dog tags hanging from his neck. “That wasn’t my fault. I wanted to serve my country. I’m not a coward like those buggy-riders.”
“I know all about your heart murmur, nephew. Your mother reminds me about it on a daily basis. You must be brain damaged too if you think kidnapping four people was a good idea.”
Curt licked his lips.
Brock stepped back from his friend.
“I was helping those filthy buggy-riders who don’t deserve that land and gas. What have they ever done for anyone? They don’t even fight for our country. They’d happily let someone else do that for them.” Curt trained the gun on Becky. I slid on my seat in front of her. “Don’t think I won’t shoot you, because I will.”
“Grayson, you have to let us go. This is going to ruin everything you worked for,” Scotch said.
“I don’t need your advice,” Mathews snapped and turned to his nephew. “Give me the gun.”
“They don’t deserve it. You do, uncle, and men like my father, who fought and died for this land. Amish scum.” He spat.
“Curt. Give. Me. The. Gun.”
Curt stared at his uncle with tears in his eyes. Slowly, he handed the gun to Mathews. “They don’t deserve it,” Curt whispered.
“I know,” Mathews said.
A man stepped out from behind a huge hibiscus bush and aimed the jet stream of a water hose into Mathews’s eyes.
I blinked. “Joel?”
Mathews covered h
is face and dropped the gun. The force of the water pressure forced the weapon to slide under a potted rose of Sharon.
Before he could dash after it, I donkey-kicked Brock in the knee, the same one he fell on the day I met Becky on the side of Route 13, the day I moved to Appleseed Creek. He cried out in pain and let go of my arm.
Then I ran to Becky.
“I think she broke my kneecap!” Brock rolled onto his side.
Curt stared at his friend.
Joel still had the water trained on Mathews, who struggled to his feet.
“Curt, you idiot, find my gun!”
Curt started to search the ground.
I grabbed a flathead screwdriver beside a stack of ceramic pots and tore through the duct tape around Becky’s ankles. She didn’t move. “Get up!”
She jumped up as if I’d electrocuted her.
Brock held his knee. Tears rolled down his baby face. He didn’t appear nearly as frightening as he did before.
“Find the gun!” Mathews bellowed.
“I’m trying.” Curt looked at his friend. “Should we take Brock to the hospital or something? He’s hurt.”
“I don’t care about Brock. I want those girls and the guy with the water hose.”
I pulled Becky along behind me. She gasped through her tears.
“Becky, you have to calm down. We need to think straight.”
She hiccupped.
Heavy steps crept up behind me. I spun around, brandishing the screwdriver.
It was Joel.
I kept the screwdriver in the air. “What are you doing here?”
“Following you.”
I pulled back. “Why?”
“I wanted to talk to you about firing me.”
I heard more footsteps and whipped a glance in their direction. “Can we talk about this later?” I shoved them both into the building. “How do you close this door?” It was an automatic door.
Becky just shivered.
“Becky, where is the button?”
She stared at me and reached behind a shelf of fertilizer. Slowly the door closed as Curt ran at it full tilt. It settled on the cement ground. Thud!
Joel quirked a look in my direction. “Did he just bounce off the door?”
I shuddered. “Would someone call the police?”
The greenhouse’s front door slammed open. “We don’t have to,” Becky said. “They’re already here.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Joel stood alone under a hanging basket. A silver sedan sat parked on the other side of an ambulance.
I pointed to the parking lot. “Is that your car?”
He nodded.
“Did you follow me home from the Mennonite church Saturday night?”
He nodded again.
I dug a hand into my hip. “Why?”
“I told you. I want to know why you fired me.”
“You weren’t fired. You were laid off.”
“As if that made it any easier.” The usual bitterness in his tone had ebbed somewhat.
“I’m sorry, Joel. I made the best decision I could for the department.”
He shook his head. His shoulders slumped.
What he’d done changed him. Much of the anger he’d harbored against me had dissipated. Heroics can do that for a person. Despite all of his failings, Joel was a hero. The fact was difficult for me to accept, but it may have been even more difficult for Joel.
I swallowed. “Thank you. You saved Becky and me.”
He hung his head. “I did what had to be done.” Then he wandered away.
Chief Rose sauntered up to me with her hands on her hips. “That looked awkward.”
I grimaced.
“See, I told you, you were the key in this case.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. “What does this mean for your department, Chief?”
“Crime does pay.” A sly smile spread across her face.
Timothy’s truck threw gravel in all directions as he swerved around a police cruiser.
Chief Rose shook her head. “Apparently none of the Troyers know how to drive.”
He jumped out of his truck. Becky, who stood with Cookie and Scotch, broke away from the EMT taking her blood pressure and ran into her brother’s arms. He hugged her to him while scanning the crowd.
Chief Rose nudged me. “I think he’s searching for someone.”
Timothy’s eyes locked on mine. He said something to his sister, and she let him go. I stepped away from the police chief and met him under the shade of the oak tree. “Chloe, are you all right?”
I ran my hands up and down my bare arms. “I’m fine.”
Timothy’s chest moved up and down as if he couldn’t catch his breath. His big blue eyes searched my face. “When Greta called me, I got here as fast as I could. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
I scanned the crowd. The police chief was speaking to a protesting Curt. Brock had already been taken to the hospital in Mount Vernon.
Mathews sat in the back of a cruiser not speaking to anyone. He stared straight ahead. His high-priced lawyer had taught him well.
Joel stood in the middle of a group of reporters, relating how he saved the day—which he had.
“Chief Rose called you?”
He nodded.
I bobbed my head, my eyes darting around. “I’m glad you’re here. Becky needed you.”
He winced. “Becky? What about you?”
I forced a smile. “I did too. You’ve been a good friend.”
Timothy flinched. “A good friend?”
I stopped. “Of course. I could have never gotten through this without you. I’ve seen what a wonderful brother you are to Becky and the children. You’re like the brother I never had.”
His brow furrowed. “I’m not your brother.”
I licked my lips, unable to meet his gaze. “I know that. You’re like a brother to me.”
He lifted my chin, the calluses on his fingers brushing my skin. “No, I’m not. I don’t want you to think of me as your brother. I care about you.”
“I care about you too.”
His face flamed red. “I don’t care about you like I care about my sisters.” He took my small and freckled hand between his two calloused ones.
“Oh.” The light was dawning. A smile began to form on my lips, but just as quickly it faded. “What about Hannah?”
“Hannah?”
“Isn’t she—aren’t you together?”
He barked a laugh. “She wishes.”
“You are promised to her,” I said.
“We dated. It was nothing serious, at least not for me. Hannah might disagree. I told her many times that it’s over between us.” He frowned. “I dated her because I knew it was what her father wanted. It’s been over for a long time though.”
“I can guarantee she doesn’t think it’s over. She pretty much told me the two of you were getting married.”
He rocked back on his heels. “I’m not going to marry Hannah.”
Inside of me, a little voice cried out with joy.
Chapter Ten
A stoplight greeted us at each intersection along the way to the hospital in Mount Vernon, and each time we stopped, Timothy’s grip on the steering wheel became a little bit tighter.
“How do you know the police chief?” The question popped out of my mouth, and I wished I could take it back.
Timothy kept his eyes on the road as we were held up by yet another stoplight. “Appleseed Creek is a small town.”
I suspected there was more to it than that. “You called the man you were talking with Deacon. Is that his name?”
“No. Deacon is his position in the church. We call him Deacon Sutter.”<
br />
Timothy made a left turn and we drove up a small hill that led to the hospital parking lot. The ambulance idled by the entrance to the emergency room. Timothy found a parking place quickly.
The waiting room was white with dark blue linoleum floor. Padded wooden chairs sat back-to-back in three rows. A flat-screen television in the corner played ESPN to an empty room. A sheriff’s deputy stood by the nurses’ station, drinking coffee from a paper cup and flirting with the pretty receptionist.
Although a different hospital, I remembered the horrible night my mother died and how my father dragged me to the emergency room.
Timothy spoke to the receptionist. “My sister, Becky Troyer, just arrived in an ambulance. How is she?”
The receptionist smiled at him. Her even, white teeth stood out against thick magenta-colored lipstick. The young deputy scowled. Obviously, he would have preferred she keep her smile aimed at him.
“She’s getting a cast for her arm,” the receptionist said. “It’s broken.”
I stepped up next to Timothy. “Can we see her?”
She scrutinized me. “Who are you?”
“Chloe Humphrey. I’m Becky’s roommate.”
The woman shook her head. “Only immediate family in the back. Her brother can see her.”
“How long will she be here?” I asked.
“They are with her now. It should only be a few minutes.”
The deputy shifted at the desk. “But then I have to take her to the sheriff’s office for questioning.”
Timothy winced. “Can we go with her?”
The deputy shrugged. “You can wait for her at the station if you like.”
The phone on the receptionist’s desk rang and the woman picked up the receiver, listening for a moment. “All right.” She hung up. “Mr. Troyer, you can go back and see your sister now.”
“I’ll show you where she is,” the deputy said.
Timothy’s brow wrinkled.
“Go on.” I shooed him. “I’ll be here.”
He nodded and followed the deputy down the hallway.
I removed my cell phone from purse, and the receptionist pointed at the NO CELL PHONE sign.
Outside the emergency room’s automatic doors, the humid air hit me like a wall. I checked my cell phone for the temperature. Ninety degrees. With nowhere to sit outside, I decided to make my phone call in Timothy’s truck, which he’d left unlocked.
Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3 Page 28