Plain Death

by Flower, Amanda

  “The deacon was angry, and their conversation was heated. However, neither man stomped or yelled. As I told you, no one in the district would want to hurt my nephew.”

  Timothy watched Hettie intently. “What about outside of the Amish?”

  She sipped her coffee. “There may be one man.”

  “Who?”

  “An Englisch developer. His name is Grayson Mathews.”

  I almost dropped my mocha. “I met him on my first day at the college. He was meeting with Dean Klink.”

  Hettie wrinkled her nose. “Striking some kind of deal, I’m sure.”

  “Who is he?” Timothy asked.

  “He’s a local football hero from Appleseed Creek, or at least, that’s what Dean Klink said.” I set my drink on the table. “Don’t you know of him?”

  Timothy gave me a half smile. “I grew up Amish, Chloe. We don’t really follow football.”

  “Oh.”

  “Hettie?” Timothy turned his attention to her. “Why do you think this Mathews person would want to hurt the bishop?”

  “He wants to buy several homes in the district to build what he calls a planned community.”

  “You mean like homes for Englischers?”

  She nodded.

  “Not one of the families is willing to sell, but he’s relentless. He makes everyone uncomfortable. My nephew’s farm was one that Mathews wanted the most. He stopped by my nephew’s house many times, more often than the others. Mathews is not stupid. He knew if he could convince my nephew to sell, the other families would likely sell, too.”

  I turned to Timothy. “Did you know about this?”

  He frowned. “No.”

  “I’m surprised.” She set her mug on the table. “Your father’s farm is one of those Mathews wanted to buy.”

  Timothy’s eyes narrowed. “No one in the family told me this.”

  Hettie folded her napkin. “You are no longer part of the farm. It is not our way to tell outsiders our personal business.”

  Timothy’s face reddened.

  “Your father would have told you had you stayed in the faith.” Hettie pursed her lips. “The farm should have gone to you and would have if you stayed in the faith. Now, I suppose it will go to Thomas, unless he falls away too.”

  Timothy’s jaw twitched. “I didn’t fall away. I found another way to believe.”

  She shook her head and finished her coffee.

  I cut in. “Do you know how we can find Mr. Mathews, or where his offices are?”

  She wagged her head. “I think my nephew said that he was from Columbus, but that’s all I know.”

  If Mathews was a legitimate developer in Ohio, it should only take a couple of minutes to find everything I needed to know about him online. What was his connection to Harshberger?

  The bell above the door rang, and Isaac stepped inside.

  “That’s my great-nephew. He’s here to take me home. His mother needs me to help with the younger children. They are all taking this so hard.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and some of her toughness faded. Instead of an austere woman, I saw a grieving aunt.

  She started to stand, and Timothy rose and held her chair. Isaac’s glare spoke volumes. Had Becky tried to contact him since the accident?

  Hettie’s eyes cleared. She straightened her spine and scrutinized Timothy. “I trust you haven’t thrown any more softballs through anyone’s front room window, have you?”

  The color red tinged Timothy’s cheeks. “No, ma’am.”

  She nodded as if satisfied with his answer.

  After Isaac and Hettie had gone, we watched as their two-seater buggy passed in front of the picture window.

  I let out a slow breath. “What do you think about this Grayson Mathews angle?”

  Timothy looked stricken, his eyes wide, sad. “My father didn’t tell me.”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to upset you. There was no chance he was going to sell the farm, so why should he worry you?”

  He shook his head, his face grim. “That’s not it. Hettie was right. He didn’t tell me because I’m not Amish.” He stood up. “Let me take you back to campus.”

  I grabbed my purse and stood. “Can you take me to pick up my rental car on the way? The insurance company finally agreed to pay for one.”

  Timothy smiled, although it didn’t meet his eyes. “Sure, where are you picking it up?”

  I reached into my purse for the scrap of paper I had jotted the car dealership’s name and address on. “It’s called Uncle Billy’s Budget Autos.” I showed him the paper. “Here’s the address.”

  Timothy laughed now, and the cloud that had settled on his face when we started our conversation with Hettie lifted. “I don’t need the address. I know exactly where that is.”

  “Why is that funny?” I dropped the piece of paper back in my purse.

  “You’ll see.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Uncle Billy’s Budget Autos was a mile outside Appleseed Creek. The front lawn resembled an auto graveyard. The sad remains of hoods, engines, and truck beds covered the ground, which was mostly weeds and crab grass. A large white sign on a pole read UNCLE BILLY'S BUD.

  “Uncle Billy’s Bud?”

  Timothy glanced at me. “It used to have the whole name, but a storm came through here and tore most of the sign away.”

  “When was that?”

  He grinned. “Fifteen years ago.”

  “Oh.”

  A huge man with bushy red hair and a beard stepped out of the body shop as Timothy turned his truck into the pothole-ridden parking lot. “Hello there!”

  I climbed out of the car. “Are you Uncle Billy?”

  “Just call me Billy. I’m nobody’s uncle. Uncle Billy sounded more businesslike, you know?”

  Businesslike where? Mayberry?

  “Hey there, Timothy. In the market for any new truck parts? I’ll give you a great dealer on a carburetor.”

  Timothy shook his head.

  Billy shrugged his massive shoulders. “You must be Chloe Humphrey. Got your rental car right here.” He pointed to a compact car that had been red in a former life.

  “What is that?” My voice shot up an octave.

  Billy didn’t seem to notice my alarm. “It’s a 1990 Chevrolet Prizm. Isn’t it a beaut? I’ve kept her running long after her expiration date.”

  No kidding. The car looked like it was held together mostly by duct tape and prayers.

  Billy moseyed over to the car. I stepped up for a better look. I touched the driver’s side mirror, and it fell to the ground.

  “Not to worry,” Billy said. He produced a roll of duct tape as if from thin air. “We can fix that in a jiffy.” He then proceeded to tape the mirror back to the side of the car.

  I leaned close to Timothy, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Is this car safe?”

  Timothy nodded, and whispered back. “It might not seem like much, but Billy keeps all of his cars in working order.”

  Billy dropped the side mirror on the ground. “Whoops!”

  “Are you sure about that?” I stared at Timothy.

  My new car wasn’t the only item on Billy’s property covered in duct tape. So was his screen door, his mailbox, a line of milk crates that doubled as chairs, and his tool cabinet.

  “You must like duct tape,” I said.

  “I love the stuff,” he said. “I even made my wallet out of it.” He removed a duct tape-covered wallet from the back pocket of his low-slung jeans. “See. I only use the silver kind. It comes in colors now, but I’m a purist.”

  “Wow.” It was all I could manage.

  I circled the car. The bumper was held on by what else? Duct ta
pe. “Are you sure this is the car my insurance company approved?”

  “’Course it is. Then again, it was the only one I had available. Not too many people rent cars around here. Everyone has a junk truck or two they use for backup, and the Amish aren’t interested in my cars.” He laughed. “Timothy was the exception. He was over here all the time poking around in my shop even before he gave up his suspenders.”

  “Billy taught me everything I know about cars.”

  “Of course I did.” Billy chuckled. “Glad to see we have another redhead in town. We look enough alike to be brother and sister.”

  I don’t think so. I smiled.

  “If this is the only car you have, I guess I’ll take it.” I made a mental note to call my insurance company that night to straighten this out. The sooner I was away from the Prizm, the better. “Where is the paperwork?”

  “Oh right,” Billy said. “Be right back. I’ll step into the office and grab the forms for you. We have to make sure we charge your insurance company.”

  “We do.” After sending me to this dive, they deserved every surcharge Billy tagged on the bill.

  Billy disappeared inside the shop, and I turned to Timothy. “Seriously, is this safe? Because I’ve had enough car accidents in my life and don’t need another one.”

  “Another one? Has there been more than one?”

  I stared at him.

  The duct-taped screen door slammed shut. “Got your paperwork right here, Miss Chloe.” He handed me a duct tape-covered clipboard with the documents clipped to the front. He pointed to the papers. “If you could sign here, and here, and initial here.” He left a greasy mark every spot he touched on the paper.

  I signed, and Billy fished a set of keys out of his pocket. “She’s all yours. Treat her well. She’s one of my favorites.”

  I looked at the previously-red car. “I’ll try.”

  “Shame about the accident. I read about it in the Mount Vernon paper.” He rubbed his beard with the back of his hand. “Real sorry your sister’s in this mess, Tim.”

  Timothy thanked him.

  “Does she need a lawyer? I’ve got a good one. He’s real good and cheap to boot.”

  Timothy started to shake his head, but I interrupted him. “She does need a good lawyer. They assigned her a public defender, but I’m worried that person won’t fight hard enough for her.”

  “You’re probably right about that. My lawyer’s name is Tyler Hart. His office is just outside of Mount Vernon. He’s helped me out of a jam or two.”

  I wanted to ask Billy what those jams were but thought better of it.

  Timothy pursed his lips. “My father wouldn’t like it.”

  “Your father’s not talking to Becky right now, and he’s hardly speaking to you. We have to think about what is best for your sister.” I faced Billy. “Do you have his phone number?”

  “I know it by heart.” He tore a scrap of paper from the bottom of my rental form and scribbled a phone number onto it. “That’s his cell.”

  An alarm went off in the shop.

  “Whoops!” Billy jumped into action. “Nothing to worry about! That’s just one of the compressors. I’ll see you all later.” He galloped toward the shop.

  “Are you going to call that lawyer?” Timothy asked me over the alarm.

  “Yes.” My firm tone left no room for argument. “And we need to pay a visit to Mr. Mathews. It may turn into another dead end, but we have to check it out.”

  Timothy agreed. “I have a job in Sunbury tomorrow. I can’t go until Thursday.”

  “I could go myself or take Becky.” I was eager to talk to the developer. The sooner I did, the sooner I could cross him off my list.

  “I don’t think so. It won’t hurt to wait a day.” He inspected my “new” car. “There is no way this thing will make it all the way to Columbus and back.”

  I poked a fist into my hip. “I thought you said it was safe.”

  “Not that safe.”

  I sighed. “Okay, Thursday it is. I can get off work early. I’ll be ready to go at three.” I thought of Joel’s smart remark back in the office. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

  He nodded. “Why don’t you drive off first? I want to make sure the car will make it all the way to Harshberger.”

  I gave him a look.

  “You can never be too careful.” Timothy grinned.

  I climbed into the car. The interior smelled like wet socks. I leaned over the seat and rolled down the passenger side window. Then, I rolled down the window on my side of the car. I turned the key in the ignition, and surprisingly the car started right up. I waved to Timothy, who watched me through the windshield of his truck, and eased the Prizm onto the road. I tapped the brakes a few times, and the car reacted as it should. Timothy may have been curious about my stop-and-go driving, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

  The car had a couple of hiccups on the road but did not stall. I supposed I could make do with Billy’s work of art until my insurance company sent me a check to replace my totaled car. Who knew how long that would be? I certainly wouldn’t be making any trips out of Knox County until I had some new wheels.

  Timothy followed me all the way back, and I was comforted by his presence. As I turned into campus, he beeped his horn and waved before driving off.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  After returning to my office, I went online to find Grayson Mathews’s company website. Most of it crowed about his victories as an Ohio State football star back in the late 1980s, the colors scarlet and gray prevalent on his site. If all the hype could be believed, Mathews was a savvy businessman.

  I clicked on a link called Success Stories. He developed a planned community south of Columbus and another in Licking County, just west of Knox. Were there really enough people to live in all the mini-mansions Mathews planted across central Ohio?

  The plans for the Knox County Community sat dead center on a page called Future Communities. It boasted a clubhouse with gym, swimming pool, and even a general store. The fine print at the bottom of the plans read, “pending.” Pending what? Pending because he didn’t own the land, that’s what.

  I clicked on an aerial view of the planned community. I zoomed in to find the Troyer house and the Glick farm. My jaw clenched. I’m sure Mathews knew there was no risk of the Amish seeing his master plan since they had no access to the Internet. I printed the pages and tucked them in a folder. I had a feeling I’d need them for our meeting with Mathews. I also e-mailed his Web site link to my phone for good measure.

  Next, I checked the Knox County bar association website for information about Billy’s attorney recommendation, Tyler Hart, and found glowing references—even one from Chief Rose. I removed the scrap of paper Billy gave me from my purse and called Tyler Hart’s office. My call went to voicemail, so I left a message and asked him to call me back.

  I looked out my office doorway to see the conference table still littered with camcorder parts.

  Miller caught my eye. “It’s a goner, boss.”

  “I know. We’ll get a new one.” I made the promise not knowing if I could keep it.

  Joel peeked out from his cubicle and scowled. “With what money? Or are you too busy with your boyfriend to read campus e-mails.”

  “Man,” Clark said. “Lay off.”

  Joel scowled at him, but to my relief, he slid back behind his fake wall.

  I shook my head and called Becky at work.

  “Little Owl Greenhouse. How may I help you?” Becky’s voice held a slight tremor, as if unsure of herself.

  “Hi, Becky.”

  “Chloe!” She sounded relieved. “Cookie asked me to answer the phone, and I’ve been dreading the calls all day. You were my first one.”

  The greenhouse’s first call was at four i
n the afternoon?

  “How’d I do?” she asked.

  “Excellent.” One call or not, I hoped I reassured her. “I got my rental car and thought I’d pick you up from work tonight.”

  “Really? That’s great. I’m off at four thirty.”

  Instead of avoiding Butler Road as Timothy had, I let Pepper take me that way to the greenhouse. I pulled over on the side of the road before reaching Becky’s work. “Continue one point two miles.” Pepper’s instructions came with her usual irritation.

  “I’m glad you didn’t lose any of your spunk in the accident.” I exited the car. Didn’t everyone talk to their caustic GPS guide?

  The tree that the bishop hit was badly damaged. Most of its front bark had been torn away, revealing soft white wood underneath. A bright orange spray-painted X marred the wood, indicating that the county thought the tree, which I guessed by its broad leaves to be a sycamore, had suffered too much damage to be saved.

  In the mud below the tree, I saw what looked like hundreds of shoe prints. Probably police and other first responders. There were hoof prints there, too, and two deep ruts cut into the earth where the buggy’s wooden wheels had been pushed off the road.

  Nothing else from the accident remained, not even a shard of glass. I wasn’t surprised. Chief Rose was very good at her job. I wasn’t a crime scene tech and wouldn’t know a clue if it sat up and said, Look over here! Clue!

  And yet I couldn’t stop searching.

  A chill ran down my spine as I remembered another accident scene. My mother’s. On the day of her funeral, my father drove to the scene. A condemned tree marked with orange paint had stood there as well. Nothing else about the scene would tell you there had been an accident. As a family, we hadn’t placed a white cross with ribbons as a makeshift memorial on the side of the road like so many others had done. Dad would not allow it.

  My father turned off the car. We sat there on the side of the road, snow falling. Cars blared their horns at us as we sat in my father’s car on the other side of the curve. The curve that had been covered in black ice the day my mother died, sending her small car spinning into the tree.