Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3

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Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3 Page 30

by Amanda Flower


  Becky Troyer, my nineteen-year-old roommate, popped her head into the cloakroom, the cheeks of her heart-shaped face slightly red from the cold wind. Her long, blonde braid fell over her shoulder. “Chloe, what’s taking so long? Timothy’s waiting to take us home.”

  I felt a smile form when she said Timothy’s name. Timothy was Becky’s twenty-seven-year-old brother and I had a monstrous crush on him. I suspected he felt the same way about me, but we’d yet to discuss it. Both Becky and Timothy grew up Amish and left their district to live as English. Despite leaving the Amish way, they were close to their family—their parents, grandfather, and three younger siblings. “I can’t find my coat.”

  She scanned the black wall of fabric and plucked my peacoat from its hanger on the first try.

  I blinked. “How did you do that?”

  “I know what it looks like.” She handed it to me. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

  Outside of the cloakroom, Timothy waited for us. It took all of my willpower not to gawk at him. He and Becky shared the same white-blond hair and blue eyes. All the Troyer children had those features in common. He was just shy of six feet tall and had the muscular build of a man accustomed to working with his hands.

  When he saw me emerge from the cloakroom, his eyes crinkled at the corners. A silly grin formed on my lips but faded when I saw who stood next to him.

  Hannah Hilty, a tall, slender brunette, prattled in Timothy’s ear. “I’m so proud of you, Timothy. Daddy said that you will find great success as a contractor and your business will rival his.”

  Timothy tore his eyes away from mine and bent his head to meet Hannah’s gaze. As he did, his blond hair reflected the hallway’s ceiling lights. “That’s nice of your dad to say, Hannah. If I do half as well as he has, I’ll consider myself successful.”

  “You already are.” She placed a small, white hand on his arm as if in reassurance. Her pink-polished fingernails were filed to a sharp point. “Daddy says the Young contract is the biggest one in the county right now. He’s so pleased his protégé got it.” She sighed. “I wish you and Daddy would team up somehow.”

  I clenched my jaw. I knew exactly how Hannah wanted her father, one of the most successful general contractors in Knox County, Ohio, and Timothy to team up: with a wedding.

  “That’s a great idea, Hannah,” her friend Kim cooed. Tall and rail thin, Kim was one-half of Hannah’s cheering squad. Emily, the other half, was MIA.

  Becky rolled her eyes at me. “Timothy, I found Chloe.”

  I tried to plaster a pleasant expression on my face but a scowl formed instead.

  “Chloe, there you are,” Hannah trilled as if she had just noticed me. “I was telling Timothy that you might have gotten lost. The church building can seem so large and confusing to a visitor.”

  Kim covered her mouth.

  I forced a smile. “In the last few months, I haven’t gotten lost yet.”

  Hannah shrugged. “It takes time to find your way.”

  Becky skirted behind Hannah and crossed her eyes at me. I stifled a laugh.

  “Ready to go?” Timothy asked.

  I nodded and buttoned my coat.

  Hannah squeezed Timothy’s arm. “Before you go, have you heard the news?”

  I had a bad feeling about this.

  Timothy fished leather gloves out of his coat pocket. “What news?”

  For a second, I wondered if Hannah would say something about the conversation I overheard in the cloakroom. What did she know about the new rules in the Amish district or the bishop’s daughter?

  “Isaac Glick and Esther Yoder are set to marry on Thanksgiving Day. I’m so happy for them. They’re the perfect match. I see lots of little Amish children in their future.”

  Becky paled. Isaac was Bishop Glick’s son and formally Becky’s suitor. Their relationship died along with the beloved bishop during the summer. Esther had been waiting not-so-patiently to snatch up Isaac for some time.

  Kim’s mouth bent upward in a crooked smiled, this news bulletin had been carefully orchestrated.

  Timothy cleared his throat. “I knew they were courting.”

  Hannah laughed. “It is Amish wedding season. There’s been a wedding every Tuesday and Thursday this month.”

  Becky took a step back as if she knew what would come next.

  Hannah’s long, canvas skirt ballooned around her ankles as she spun around. She placed a hand on her cheek. “I’m sorry, Becky, I forgot about you and Isaac. This news must be upsetting, considering . . .”

  Sure, you did.

  Becky fingered her long, pale-blonde braid. “I’m happy for Isaac.”

  Hannah placed a hand to her chest and sighed deeply. “Good. I would hate to upset you.”

  I’ll bet.

  Kim turned around, her shoulders moving up and down in barely restrained laughter. A smirk played at the corners of Hannah’s mouth. After saying good-byes, the pair strolled down the hallway arm-in-arm, their heads close together.

  I stole a glance at Becky as we stepped through the church’s front door. She concentrated on the top of her boots—Ugg knock-offs we’d found on a trip to the Polaris Mall. Along with the boots she wore a knee-length pencil skirt, black tights, and a teal winter coat with a faux fur-lined hood over an orange sweater. She’d come a long way from her Amish upbringing of plain clothes. As for her physical appearance, the last remnant from her Amish childhood was her uncut, blonde air. Even braided, it hung all the way to her tailbone.

  I pulled a cotton scarf from my coat pocket and wrapped it around my neck. The late November wind bit into my exposed skin. A fine dusting of snow blanketed the church lawn, and an earlier-than-normal winter storm warning was in the forecast for later in the week. It seemed Knox County was due for a frosted Thanksgiving in addition to the standard white Christmas.

  In silence, we followed the walk that wrapped around the outside of the white-washed Mennonite church building to the parking lot. As we rounded the corner, Timothy’s blue pickup truck came into view.

  Other parishioners leaving the church gawked and whispered to each other. Appleseed Creek Chief of Police, Greta Rose, leaned against Timothy’s truck like she didn’t have a care in the world. Mabel, Timothy’s shaggy black and brown dog, stood in the bed of the truck trying, unsuccessfully, to convince the chief to scratch her between the ears.

  Becky pulled up short. “What is she doing here?”

  A knot formed in the pit of my stomach. There were few people I was less eager to see than Hannah Hilty, but Chief Rose was one of them. “I don’t know, but it can’t be good.”

  Chapter Two

  Mabel barked a greeting and her black plume of a tail wagged at a frantic pace. Despite the gloomy autumn skies heavy with the promise of snow, Chief Rose wore her aviator sunglasses. “Long time no see.”

  I linked arms with Becky. “That’s a good thing.” My young friend began to shiver, but I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold.

  The chief removed her sunglasses and appraised Becky with her peculiar peridot-colored eyes. Today, they were surrounded by purple eyeliner. The chief’s penchant for eyeliner was her one glint of femininity. Aside from the eye makeup, she was all business. “How’s it going with your probation officer?”

  “Fine.” Becky stepped closer to her brother, pulling me along with her. “Did he say something was wrong?”

  “No. According to Fisher, you are a model ward. He wishes he had twelve of you instead of the typical yahoos he gets saddled with.” She placed a hand on her gun belt. “How do you like your community service at the after-school arts program?”

  “I’m enjoying it,” Becky said. “The children are great, and several are very talented.”

  Becky was on probation and completing court-appointed community service for drivi
ng without a license and getting into an automobile accident with an Amish buggy during the summer. She totaled my car in the process. Although the accident wasn’t her fault—the brake line had been cut—it resulted in the death of Isaac’s father, the Amish district’s Bishop Glick.

  “I’m glad. You have a site visit Tuesday.” Chief Rose said this not as a question but a statement of fact. Clearly, she had been checking up on Becky.

  Becky squeezed my arm. “Yes. Officer Fisher will be visiting the school and observing my interaction with the children.”

  “Good, and you have plans for when you complete your community service?”

  Becky licked her lips. “I think I would like to teach art. Working with the kids has been so much fun—even more fun than working on my own paintings.”

  “That’s a good plan,” the chief said. “However, when you have a record, being a teacher is easier said than done.”

  Becky’s face fell, and I resisted the urge to kick the police chief in the shins for discouraging her. I almost had Becky convinced to take the GED so she could apply to college to get the certification she needed to teach art.

  I chimed in. “Becky’s making great progress on her hours.”

  Becky pulled mittens from her pockets and slipped them onto her small hands all the while keeping her arm linked through mine. “My service should be completed early next year.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Timothy shifted his feet. “You’re here to talk to Becky about her PO?” His tone was doubtful.

  “I like to check in with my citizens.” The chief blew on her bare hands. “I’m glad you all finally came out. My toes feel like ice cubes. Snow’s in the forecast for Thanksgiving. Leave your turkey outside. It will stay frozen.”

  “Greta . . .” Timothy eyed her warily.

  She set her sunglasses back on her nose. “Curt Fanning and Brock Buckley are back on the street.”

  My heart skipped a beat. Curt and Brock were the guys who harassed the Appleseed Creek Amish community last summer, which ultimately led to Becky’s accident and Bishop Glick’s death. “What? How is that possible?”

  Becky grabbed my hand. The wool of her mitten felt rough against my palm.

  “Turns out, Curt Fanning’s uncle was up to more trouble than his shenanigans in Knox County. The FBI’s been investigating his shady business dealings for years, and they cut a deal with Fanning and Buckley to testify against him. The end result is the uncle spends life in federal prison, and Fanning and Buckley walk.”

  I shivered. Curt Fanning’s drawn face, dirty goatee, and tobacco-stained teeth came to mind, followed closely by Brock Buckley’s deceptive baby face.

  “Do you think they would come back here?” Becky asked.

  The chief tucked a short, brown curl behind her ear. “Hard to tell, but I don’t see them going anywhere else. My officers are on the lookout for any sign of them.”

  Timothy’s jaw twitched. “How long have they been out?”

  “Two weeks.” She frowned. “I found out yesterday. Suddenly, it occurred to the county sheriff I might want to know about it.”

  “We haven’t seen them.” Becky let go of me and wrapped her long, thin arms about her waist. “That’s a good sign, right?”

  “Could be. But then again maybe they’re getting their act together before they come looking for you. Remember you and Chloe are the reason they went to prison. They are not your biggest fans.” Chief Rose clicked her teeth. “My advice would be to watch your backs.”

  I shivered. “Are they driving the same truck?” My mind conjured up the image of a rusted green pickup that stalked Becky and me during the summer.

  Chief Rose’s brow shot up. “You mean that beat-up green pickup? Yes, as far as I know. According to the BMV, it’s the only vehicle registered in Curt’s name.”

  Timothy scratched Mabel behind the ear, and the dog leaned into his caress. “They can’t possibly be dumb enough to bother the girls.”

  The chief pushed away from the truck and stood up straight. “I’ve learned not to underestimate the stupidity of criminals, and Fanning and Buckley do not have a reputation for being the brightest.” She met each of our eyes in turn. “You see them, you call me.” With that, she sauntered to her black-and-white police cruiser.

  Timothy scowled as he watched the cruiser turn out of the church’s lot. “The court shouldn’t have released them.”

  I silently agreed. “We’ll all be on the lookout for them like Chief Rose said. Chances are they will leave us alone.”

  “Not if they want revenge,” Becky whispered.

  I shot Timothy a look, then nodded at his sister, who looked like she was about to be sick.

  Timothy frowned. “Let’s not talk about them anymore. I hope you two will come with me tonight to Young’s. Ellie Young has planned a killer menu.”

  Young’s Family Kitchen was a favorite. I cocked my head. “Aren’t the flea market and restaurant closed on Sundays?”

  “Normally, yes.” Timothy wrapped his plaid scarf more tightly around his neck. “Tonight is a meal for the men working on the pavilions. Ellie asked us each to bring guests. You know she will have more than enough food for everyone.”

  A smile broke out on Becky’s solemn face. “Will she have pie?”

  “This is Ellie we’re talking about.” He tweaked her white-blonde braid. “Of course she will have pie.” He arched an eyebrow at me. “Will you come?”

  I smiled. “How can we turn down one of Ellie’s meals?”

  Becky and Timothy shared identical grins, the similarities between brother and sister almost startling.

  “Great,” Timothy said. “I’ll drop you at home now and pick you up around four. I have some errands to run this afternoon.”

  As Timothy drove us home, I stared out the window, looking for Curt’s green pickup.

  Chapter Three

  The doorbell chimed through our rented house on Grover Lane, a block from Appleseed Creek, Ohio’s central square. Becky lay on her stomach in front of the television on the hardwood floor, legs bent, her feet stirring up the air. Her upper half lay across a huge pillow with the word woof embroidered on top. Her chin rested in her hands. She’d been so proud when she bought that pillow with one of her first paychecks from Young’s, where she worked as a part-time waitress, that I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was a dog pillow. The pillow reminded me that Becky may look like any other English teenager, but she still had a lot of Amish left in her.

  My Siamese cat Gigabyte curled up on her back while a Paula Deen marathon played on Food Network. Becky wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. “I’ll get it.” I shook my head. She didn’t even move.

  I tried to settle my nerves as I placed my hand on the doorknob. I peered through the peephole and was relieved not to see Curt and Brock on the other side—not that I thought they would ever politely knock on my front door.

  Instead of the two newly freed criminals, a man in his early thirties stood there wearing bold plastic-rimmed glasses over green eyes. His hair was coal black and precisely parted on the side as if he created the part with a ruler. He held a pair of gray earmuffs in his bare hands, and behind him, snow fell in large dime-sized flakes. I opened the door. “Dr. Tanner?”

  He blushed. “You can call me Dylan.”

  “Okay.” My forehead wrinkled. Why is the chair of the biology department on my doorstep? “Is something wrong at the college? Is your computer down? I didn’t get a call or a text.” I served as the Director of Computer Services at Harshberger College in town, and it wasn’t unusual for me to get a frantic call from a faculty member during the weekend about an uncooperative laptop or a corrupted flash drive. However, this was the first time any of them made a house call.

  “No, no, everything there is fine. At least as
far as I know.” His eyes grew wide behind his glasses. “Is this a good time for the walkthrough?”

  I blinked. “The walkthrough?”

  He frowned. “The walkthrough of the house.”

  “House? What house?”

  “This one.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like an ocean buoy.

  “This house? My house?” He spoke in riddles. Why did the chair of the biology department want to walk through my house?

  Becky poked her head out of the door. “Chloe, what’s going on?”

  Dylan held out his hand to her. “You must be Becky. I’m your new landlord.”

  My mouth fell open. “You’re what?”

  Concern flashed across his pale face. “Didn’t the previous landlord tell you? He was supposed to send you a letter.”

  “Letter? I didn’t get a letter.” My landlord was a faceless man who owned a Cincinnati-based realty company. The only confirmation of his existence was the cashing of my rent check each month.

  Dylan twisted the earmuffs so tightly that the plastic headband threatened to snap. “I’m so sorry. He was supposed to do that. I take it you didn’t know I was coming today either.”

  I shook my head and stepped back, knocking into Becky as I did. “Please come inside. It’s cold out.” I closed the door behind the professor.

  Dylan removed his leather gloves and tucked them into the pocket of his dark wool coat. “It’s freezing out there. I predict snow on Thanksgiving.”

  “That’s what everyone’s saying.” I gestured to the sofa. “Would you like a seat?”

  He shook his head. “No. Why don’t you give me a tour? I’m eager to have a look at the house.”

  I hesitated. “I didn’t even know the house was for sale.”

  Dylan ran his hand along the marble mantel. “I’ve been watching this house for a while and snatched it up the minute it was posted online.”

  “You bought the house before seeing it?” I asked.

 

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