Falling to Pieces

by Vannetta Chapman

  Everyone in front of them froze, like in some graphic cartoon. For the space of a few seconds no one spoke. It seemed to Callie that no one dared to breathe.

  Finally Gavin raised his right hand, with his weapon clearly palmed there, but his fingers well away from the trigger.

  “Good. Bend down, place it on the floor, turn around, and kick it back toward me. Real slow like.”

  When Gavin turned, he only glanced at her for a second. It was long enough for Callie to see a myriad of emotions in his eyes. She saw feelings she hadn’t expected to see in another man’s glance ever again—despair, concern, and something more than friendship. She felt her heart catch in her throat, but before she could understand the emotions behind his deep blue eyes, his gaze turned to the man behind her, hard as steel.

  “Whatever you want, we can work it out,” Gavin said. “Everyone just needs to stay cool.”

  “Exactly my sentiments. Now your back-up weapon. Very slowly. I have an itchy finger as long as someone else is armed.”

  Gavin’s moves were deliberate and non-threatening. Had he been taught this in some training seminar?

  “Same thing with the radio.”

  Gavin did as he was told, never taking his eyes off the man who was holding a gun to Callie—though she realized too late he was staring into darkness. She was the one holding the light, and it was all pointed toward them.

  “Let her go. She’s not a part of this.”

  “Oh, but she is. It would seem she’s been a part of this from the beginning.”

  He was going to kill them all.

  The thought shot into Callie’s mind with the force of a lightning strike. Trent would never take that motorcycle ride to Sturgis. Gavin wouldn’t get a chance to settle down and have those two-point-five kids. And Deborah—

  Where was Deborah?

  She had left.

  Had she heard him coming? Had she escaped?

  Callie’s hands started shaking and the light wavered.

  “Easy, honey.” The voice was gravelly, reminding her of a pharmaceutical client she’d had who was a heavy smoker. “Remember our deal? The light stays steady, and you’ll be okay.”

  She didn’t believe him for a minute, but she nodded and gripped her right arm with her left, forced the tremor to stop.

  She needed to do something, needed to warn Deborah away. Deborah had children. She couldn’t die in the back hall of Daisy’s Quilt Shop.

  “God has plans for us, Callie.” Deborah’s words came back to her so strongly that for a brief second it seemed she was standing there, uttering them again.

  Was this God’s plan?

  Callie didn’t know, but for the first time in over a year, she began to pray.

  Deborah couldn’t have said why she’d ducked out of the room after Trent had opened the door. The urge had been too strong to deny.

  She’d slipped into the main room of the shop at the exact moment the dark, hulking figure had entered the back door, gun raised. She’d just made out his shadow by the light of the moon, but it was all she’d needed to see.

  The man locked in the storage room wasn’t the murderer. Deborah hadn’t stayed long enough to figure out who he was, but he wasn’t the person they needed to fear. The one holding the larger gun, creeping down the hall—the one now threatening her friends—was the person they had to stop.

  Suddenly she understood why the pieces hadn’t fit earlier, why this entire plan of theirs had felt like a quilt she was sewing together incorrectly, tugging at the different squares, forcing them into positions where they didn’t belong. And in that moment, she realized that she couldn’t fix this—it was bigger than her. She was only a woman, who liked to quilt, who cared for her friends. She wasn’t someone who could stand up to a real killer.

  It was easy to remind Esther and Melinda and even Callie about Gotte’s wille, but could she trust him now? Images of her kinner flashed through her mind even as her heart rate continued to accelerate. Panic flooded her bloodstream.

  Then Jonas’s words came to her, soft and low, or was it Gotte’s? “Small steps …”

  She couldn’t escape out the front door; the bell would ring and alert him.

  She couldn’t flee out the back. He’d hear her step on the broken glass.

  This man was a professional at what he did. She could tell that by the way he’d slid along the wall, holding the gun with the same confidence Jonas held his farming tools. The gun to him was second nature.

  No, he would hear the smallest sound.

  She couldn’t escape either of those ways, and she had to escape.

  Finding help for her friends would be their only hope.

  Slipping her flip-flops off her feet, she turned the corner into the hall and crept up the stairs. Once in Callie’s apartment, she opened the side window, praying the old wooden pane would raise silently. If she remembered correctly, there was a lattice work trellis on this side of the building.

  She put her shoes back on, and started down in the darkness. Daisy’s white roses had made healthy progress up the trellis, reaching well past the first floor. Deborah didn’t worry about them biting into her fingers, though she was careful not to let them tangle her dress. She had to hurry.

  She didn’t have long now.

  She landed softly in the grass below, saw a car on the far end of Main, and began to run.

  Not caring how she looked or what the Englisher driving the car thought, but knowing that they were down to a few minutes, she ran down the middle of the road. Arms waving, her kapp knocked askew, Deborah ran with all her might.

  She didn’t realize it was Shane Black until he screeched to a halt in front of her and jumped out of the unmarked car.

  “Deborah, you’re bleeding. What happened? Tell me what’s wrong.” He grabbed her hands, tried to wipe away the blood from the thorns.

  “Callie and Trent and Gavin. You have to hurry.” Deborah sucked in a breath. “He’s going to shoot them.”

  Shane looked in her eyes, and then he did the one thing she knew she could count on Shane Black to do. He acted first, and left the questions for later.

  “Get in the car.”

  “No, he’ll hear us. We need to run.” Deborah turned and took off back down the street. Shane ran beside her.

  They left the car, sitting there, idling in the middle of Main Street.

  Gordon Stone had rarely been so glad to have a job finally finished. At last he could leave this hick town behind him, hit the toll road going eighty, and never look back.

  He should have been finished weeks ago.

  He would have been too, if his boss had picked a normal place for the drop. But no, he had to pick the flea market in Shipshewana. The place was like stepping back in time. Everything about it gave Gordon the willies—from the clip clop of the horses to the absurd way people had of dressing.

  “Walk forward.” He tapped the brunette lightly with the gun. If he had time he would have talked her into going with him. This was one broad who did not belong in a do-nothing town. Unfortunately he needed to grab the boss’s package quick and split.

  “Hand the flashlight to your boyfriend.”

  When she started to look at him, he pushed the gun a little bit harder into the flesh on her neck. “Don’t turn around, hon. Hand it to McCallister, like I told you.”

  She moved forward, did as instructed.

  That was another thing he liked about this one; she followed directions well. Maybe he would take her with him.

  “Don’t worry, Callie. We’ll be all right,” McCallister said as he accepted the flashlight.

  Gordon raised his gun and cuffed the editor on the side of the head.

  “If I want to hear from you, I’ll ask you a question.”

  While he didn’t say anything else, Gordon noticed the guy did give Harper a weak smile. The last thing he needed was a hero in this group. At least the officer knew how to keep his trap shut, though he suspected the cop was simply biding his time
, waiting for a chance to make his move. No problem there; he’d dealt with the law before this assignment. He’d be long gone by the time Gavin figured a way out.

  “Okay, Harper, first I want you to take out Officer Gavin’s handcuffs and cuff his right hand to those utility shelves. They look like someone had the sense to weld them to the floor.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the officer as she took the cuffs off his belt and did as Gordon directed her.

  “Now take the other half of the cuffs and secure our burglar to the same shelf.”

  Stakehorn growled but didn’t argue. Apparently he’d learned from McCallister’s example.

  “You want this, I guess.” She took the package of one dollar bills from Stakehorn’s other hand, though he looked like he might fight her for it.

  “Nah. It was yours to begin with. You keep it. I’m guessing there isn’t that much in there anyway. Now tell her where the keys to the cuffs are, Gavin.”

  “Front shirt pocket, Callie.”

  Harper retrieved them. As she unbuttoned his pocket and pulled the keys out, Gordon noticed her hands were shaking. He thought that was kind of sweet.

  “All right. Toss them over here to me.”

  Catching them, he pocketed them in the front pocket of his jeans. “Here’s the easy part, and listen carefully or I’m going to have to kill everyone in this room. I need to know what you did with the package that old man Stakehorn found. If you give me the bag, then I’ll take it and leave. That’s all my boss wants.”

  Harper looked at the blond guy. He shook his head slightly and cut his eyes to the younger Stakehorn. Gavin was trying to catch Harper’s attention.

  Gordon figured he’d seen enough sleezeballs in his life to know one, and Roger Stakehorn qualified. As soon as everyone looked at him, he started singing prettier than the canary Gordon’s mama had once kept in the house.

  “Don’t start staring at me. You know I don’t have any package.” He tried to stand, tripping when he forgot that he was handcuffed to the shelf. “She probably stole it, just like she stole my old man’s money. She killed him too.”

  If Gordon had the time, he’d teach the little leech some manners. Instead he opted for pulling back the slide on his SIG Sauer P226. The feel and sound of the pistol brought him a measure of pleasure, as did the looks of fear on the four faces in front of him.

  “Shut up,” he said. “I told you I’m in a hurry, and I don’t have time to listen to this sort of thing.”

  “But she—”

  “She did nothing. You think she killed your old man? How’d she do that? He was already dead when she got there. You know how I know? Because I killed him, and I wouldn’t have had to do it if he’d just given me the package.” His voice rose and his pulse began throbbing in his temple as his patience ebbed away. “Now I’m going to count to three, then I’m shooting somebody if I don’t see that bag.”

  “One.”

  “We don’t have it,” Harper said.

  “Two.”

  McCallister moved and grabbed Harper, shoving her down on the floor behind him.

  “Three.”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  The unmistakable feel of a pistol pressed into the nape of his neck was enough to send Gordon into a rage. Then again, he didn’t want the guy standing behind him to do anything they’d both regret.

  “Easy, pal.”

  “Don’t speak. Don’t move.” The voice was calm and cool. Too calm. Whoever it was, he’d handled this sort of situation before, and that most certainly was not a good thing.

  The man leaned forward and relieved him of his semiautomatic, never easing up on the pistol’s pressure that was biting into his neck.

  Gordon didn’t like the way Harper was staring over his shoulder, like she’d spotted a knight in shining armor ride up on a white horse.

  He didn’t like the smugness in the guy’s voice.

  And he sure didn’t like knowing what his boss was going to say when he used his one phone call.

  Chapter 31

  Shipshewana, Indiana June 28

  “I STILL DON’T UNDERSTAND,” Callie said, staring down into her coffee, squished between Deborah and the wall of the booth. “If the poison didn’t kill Stakehorn, what did?”

  “And why was poison in his kaffi?” Deborah asked.

  Adalyn took a bite of the apple strudel in front of her and grinned. “You want to explain it, Trent? Or do you want me to?”

  “Be my guest.” He leaned back in the booth at The Kaffi Shop, tapping a rolled up sheet with his notes for Tuesday’s paper against the table.

  “This is all off the record, mind you.” She looked across at Trent and wagged her finger.

  “No problem. I have my own sources—some who are on the record and some who aren’t.” He grinned across at Callie and she felt her heart rate trip, then accelerate.

  She still hadn’t digested all her feelings from the last forty-eight hours. Max groaned and rolled over on her feet underneath the table, his bright red bandana resting nicely against his golden coat. Since the news had spread around Shipshewana, and the Gazette had come out featuring Max as a hero, he was allowed into any store or restaurant.

  Callie was grateful for that. She felt better with the Labrador at her side, though she knew she was perfectly safe with Stone behind bars.

  “From what we’ve been able to put together,” Trent said, “through Stone’s confession, a more complete revelation of Shane’s investigation, and of course most importantly finding the package is the following.”

  Callie pushed away her coffee and leaned forward, fidgeting with the plastic placemat that had cracked on the corner.

  Adalyn chimed in: “Gordon Stone was here to pick up twelve windsocks—all stuffed in a single shopping bag—a bag with SHOP SHIPSHEWANA on it.” She popped the final bit of strudel into her mouth and motioned to Trent to finish.

  “That’s why he broke into Margie’s place? He thought my bag was his bag?” Callie turned her cup round and round.

  “Correct.” Trent leaned back. “Margie took your bag home the day you were arrested. She meant to bring it by to you the next day. Apparently Stone thought he’d break in and pick it up.”

  “Why? What did he want the windsocks for?” Deborah sounded truly puzzled.

  “Each windsock was stuffed with a kilo of cocaine.”

  “I don’t understand.” Deborah scooted farther into the booth as Jonas approached the table with baby Joshua.

  “I thought I might find you here.” Jonas smiled at his wife as if he hadn’t just dropped her off at Callie’s shop an hour ago.

  What did that feel like, Callie wondered? She had experienced love and devotion once before, but it seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “Adalyn and Trent were explaining Gordon Stone’s motive to us.” Deborah told her husband.

  “Greed, I would imagine. Isn’t that usually the motive?”

  “In this case, you might be right—since the street value for that amount of cocaine is more than a quarter of a million dollars.” Trent’s grin broadened. “Guess they figured our little police department wouldn’t catch an organization like theirs.”

  “I’m not sure Stone’s motive was greed.” Adalyn put her elbows on the table, steepled her fingers and stared at them, as if she might find answers there. “I don’t personally believe any of that money was going to Mr. Stone. He does seem rather confident that he’ll be taken care of—both legally and financially before, during, and after his probable incarceration.”

  “Then what would be his motivation?” Callie’s palms went clammy at the mention of Stone’s name, as they did whenever she allowed her mind to travel back over what had happened two days ago—Stone’s voice, his hand on her arm, or the way he had held the gun to her head. She hadn’t yet dealt with the terror she’d felt then, and she wasn’t sure when she would.

  “I think possibly loyalty. Whoever he works for has been a good em
ployer, has taken care of him in the past, and he seems confident that boss will take care of him now.”

  Shane Black appeared at their table, and Callie wondered if they’d be forced to take their little party outside since there was not enough room for one more person.

  “I was headed over to the livery,” Jonas said, standing. “This little guy wanted his mamm.”

  “Meet you at the quilt shop?” Deborah asked, accepting the baby.

  “Sure, but no hurry. I still need another half hour.”

  Jonas stood, tapping the top of his straw hat to be sure it was firmly in place. Facing Shane, he hesitated, then held out his hand. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you for what you did, for protecting my wife. Danki.”

  “You’re welcome, Jonas. I’m not sure we’d have caught Stone if she hadn’t thought to climb out that window.” He left unsaid that Callie, Trent, Gavin, and Roger Stakehorn might all be dead.

  “Ya. She’s a good one for thinking fast on her feet.” Jonas left and Shane took his place at the table.

  “What’s the meeting about?”

  “Just catching everyone up,” Adalyn said.

  “Off the record,” Trent added.

  “Well, if we’re off the record I might be able to add a few things. If anyone deserves to know, you all do.” He was speaking to them all, but he sat a bit sideways and leaned forward so he could look directly at Callie as he spoke. “I knew a week ago that Stakehorn didn’t die of poison.”

  “What?” Callie nearly came out of the booth, but there was nowhere for her to go; she was pinned between Deborah and the wall.

  “The autopsy reports came back and showed conclusively that he died of a heart attack.”

  “But you said—”

  “What exactly did I say, Callie?” Shane pierced her with his dark eyes.

  She thought of the time she’d spent across from him in the interrogation room, thought of the visit he’d made to her parking lot, thought of the moment he came in and saved her from Gordon Stone.

  “I asked you about the poison. I asked you to make a confession.”

  “What was the point then?”