Reap a Wicked Harvest

by Janis Harrison

“Absolutely not. None of them care to. Emily and I have done this for five years. We research our clients well. We cater to each woman’s goal or interest. Dixie wanted to be a singer. We furnished her with a Karaoke system and a high qualityrecording device so she could perfect her voice. But radios, local television, and newspapers are not allowed.”

  “Five years, five babies. That’s a lot of money.”

  Donovan shrugged. “Over a million dollars. Some prospective parents are willing and able to pay more than the going rate for a newborn. But we have expenses. We make sure our women are comfortable. We provide nutritious food and videos on natural childbirth. It all costs money, but we’ve never pinched pennies. Our women are a short-term investment.”

  In a droll tone, I asked, “Like brood mares?”

  Donovan’s eyes narrowed. “If that’s what you want to call them. I prefer a more sympathetic approach. Emily and I think of these young women as victims of our nation’s bureaucracy. If a young woman doesn’t want her child, she either has an abortion or she gives up that child for adoption. If she chooses the latter, she doesn’t receive adequate compensation for the mental anguish she has suffered. Emily and I make sure the amount of money she receives is sufficient to help her get on with her life. To become a vibrant, educated member of our society.”

  I whirled my finger. “Well, hurrah for you. But you failed to mention how you’ve prospered at the expense of these women. Or how Dixie spends her time rocking faceless dolls in a psychiatric ward. What happened to Paige? And don’t tell me she’s taken her schooling to a higher level. I think she’s dead or she would have contacted her mother by now.”

  “She had a complicated pregnancy. The baby was born healthy, but Paige died. We gave her a dignified burial. Her body was wrapped and weighted and lowered into that water pit you passed on your way here.”

  Dignified burial? I thought. And you kept all the money, leaving Mrs. Cooper with nothing.

  I took a couple of breaths to regain a modicum of control. “How much did Marnie know?”

  “I wasn’t sure. She kept asking questions about how long employees worked at the greenhouse, and why they left. I wouldn’t have thought much about it except Mrs. Cooper, Paige’s mother, had made several calls to the greenhouse, asking questions about her daughter. I know now we should have varied our story, but at the time when we told our ladies to say they’d been transferred up north, it seemed best to keep things simple.

  “I set up that meeting in the garden with Marnie. Dan’s plane was late, but not as late as Emily let on. I got back in plenty of time to park over here and hike across to the garden at the lodge. I learned that Marnie had talked Dan into letting her see old employee files, and that she’d told him about Paige’s disappearance. Marnie was piecing it all together.” Donovan stopped to give me a smile. “But not as quickly as you, Bretta.”

  A compliment from a murderer really made my day complete. “Why did you word your note—‘Life is precious. There are choices.’?”

  “I wasn’t sure if Marnie knew Paige was pregnant. If she did, that note would have a double meaning to her. If she didn’t know, it wouldn’t matter.”

  “What about Shannon Plummer?” I asked. “Why did you kill her?”

  “A very loose end. She was scared and nervous, which is a bad combination if you expect that person to keep a confidence. Emily used every counseling tactic she knew, but Shannon was inconsolable.”

  “So Emily killed Shannon, and you killed Marnie.” I gestured to my father. “We’re loose ends, too. What’s our fate?”

  “That’s up to you. After I explain my proposition, you can make your own decision.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Alicia is pregnant. Her baby is due in six months. Emily and I will waive our regular fee, though we’ll see that Alicia is compensated. She has plans to become a fashion designer, and we want her to have the money to make that dream a reality.”

  My voice rose in outrage. “Do you think Dad and I can forget two murders because you’re not taking money from the sale of Alicia’s child?”

  “Before you leap ahead, let me tell you what I propose. Alicia’s baby needs a good home. Alicia needs a fresh start in her life. You have it in your power to grant both. All it will take on your part is to forget the information that brought you to this cabin.”

  “Forget it?”

  “Have you shared this cabin’s location with anyone?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Donovan smiled. “I don’t think you have.” He leaned forward, talking earnestly. “There isn’t any need for this to go any further. Emily and I will wrap up our affairs and leave River City. You have our word that we won’t participate in another such—uh—operation. We’ve learned our lesson. There are too many unforeseen things that can go wrong.”

  I was astounded that Donovan would think that I’d take his word on anything. But I was aghast at the idea of meekly going on with my life while two killers went free. I wanted to rail at him, but I had to know what he had in mind. I said, “Why would I let you get away with murder?”

  “You love Dan and Natalie. Natalie wants a child. Alicia’s baby could be that child.”

  I was shocked into speechlessness, but my father said, “In other words, for our silence you’d see that Natalie and Dan Parker get a baby?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “There have been five other babies, so why haven’t you approached the Parkers before you were backed into this corner?”

  “Dan is too scrupulous. He would have wanted to know every detail of the adoption. A lawyer would have drawn up the papers with all kinds of questions asked. This situation can’t tolerate that kind of scrutiny.”

  “What makes you think Dan still won’t expect that?”

  “Before he arrives from Oregon, Natalie will have signed the papers. They aren’t binding, but she won’t know that.”

  “I’m assuming you don’t want Natalie to know you or your wife are involved in this. So who’s your front person?”

  “I don’t see where that’s important, but just so you’ll know all the details, there’s a woman who works with Emily who needs money. She called Natalie earlier this evening and talked over the adoption. I wrote the script for that conversation and I heard every word. Natalie has agreed. The paperwork will be delivered in the morning for her signature. As far as my niece is concerned, she’s about to become a mother. Before Dan gets home, Natalie will have made a payment of fifteen thousand dollars. The baby will be delivered after the first of February, and the other half of the payment will be due.”

  I asked, “Where’s Natalie getting the money?”

  “That won’t be a problem.”

  I said, “What if Dan refuses the child?”

  Donovan laughed. “Come now. You know how much he loves Natalie, and you know how much she longs for a child. Do you seriously think Dan will deny her this opportunity when the agreement has already been made?”

  “He would if he knew the circumstances.”

  “That’s my point, Bretta. He won’t know.”

  Another couple of points were bothering me. I said, “Let me get this straight. It was only you at the lodge this evening?”

  Donovan nodded.

  “Emily picked up Alicia, terrorized me, wrecked my SUV, and then came out here to settle Alicia into her temporary home.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why did you call the lodge?”

  “To see if Natalie had told you anything about her previous phone conversation.”

  “But why did you come to the lodge? Was it for an alibi?”

  “No. I had no idea what you were up to. When I got to the lodge, I planned on saying that Emily had a headache and that’s why she wasn’t with me. I wanted to see Natalie for myself. If we could have an ordinary conversation without her telling me anything about the proposed adoption, then I felt sure I could trust her to keep it a secret.”


  I shook my head. “This is crazy. What happens if Dad and I don’t agree to your preposterous scam?”

  Donovan’s voice didn’t change. “You’ll die.”

  I gulped. “Just like that.”

  “The decision is yours.”

  My father said, “I have to think things over, look at all the angles.”

  Appalled, I turned to him. “Dad, you aren’t considering this?”

  He lifted a shoulder and winced. “I’m not ready to sign my death warrant, daughter.” He looked at Donovan. “You mentioned coffee earlier. Does that offer still stand?”

  “Of course.” Donovan rose and backed toward the cabinet, keeping an eye on us.

  My father sat on the edge of the sofa. “I take it black.” He glanced at me. “Don’t you want a cup, Bretta?”

  Short on patience, I snapped, “I’m not in the mood for refreshments.”

  Ignoring me, Dad said, “Pour her a cup, Donovan. It’ll settle her nerves.”

  I glared at my father, who met my stare calmly.

  In a normal conversational tone, my father said, “Bretta never knew her grandmother, a wise woman, whose life was cut short by a bout of pneumonia. My mother’s education didn’t extend past the sixth grade, but when it came to understanding human nature, she should’ve had a degree. She had an adage for any and all situations. She could sum up life in an abbreviated fashion that was often astute and candid. She had a favorite saying that was tailor-made for this occasion.”

  Donovan smiled politely. “And that would be?”

  “Sow a sinful seed, and you’ll reap a wicked harvest.”

  Donovan thought a minute, then said, “On the surface it sounds apropos. The babies we brought into this world might have sprung from a sinful seed, but their births could hardly be called wicked.”

  Dad’s stare was unrelenting. “The wickedness comes from your preying on the needs of people who can’t have children of their own. You harvested those innocent babies like they were a field of corn and sold them for the almighty dollar. I knew the cornucopia in the garden was symbolic of this case. It represents a time of fruitfulness. The good book says, ‘Be fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth.’”

  Donovan frowned. “Let’s leave religion out of this, shall we? I chose the cornucopia because it was close to the waterfall. The noise of the water flowing over the boulders would muffle my conversation with Marnie.”

  Dad’s tone was disgruntled. “I was sure the cornucopia was symbolic.” He turned a sharp gaze on Donovan. “Perhaps subconsciously you chose that piece of statuary—”

  I closed my ears to this absurd topic of conversation. Everything around me had a surreal feel. How could I seriously consider letting Donovan and Emily skip out on a double-murder charge? It was ludicrous, and yet, I loved Natalie. I would do anything for her. But why did it have to come down to this? The fate of a child.

  Stop it! I said to myself. There wasn’t anything to consider. I would have to take my chances against Donovan and Emily. Surreptitiously, I looked around the room for something I could use as a weapon. The kitchen table didn’t even have a vase of flowers that I could crash over Donovan’s head. No table lamps, just a ceiling light. No knives. No scissors. Nothing.

  Donovan interrupted my thoughts. “Let’s get on with this. Here’s your coffee, Bretta.” He handed me a cup, then turned to sit down. My father raised his steaming coffee like he was about to make a toast. Instead he tossed the contents at Donovan.

  Donovan shrieked as the hot liquid burned his eyes and face.

  Dad looked at me. When I didn’t move fast enough, he grabbed my cup and slung it at Donovan, too. We were on our way to the door when it opened.

  Emily took in the scene, put her hands up as if to physically stop us. I might not have known what my father had planned with the coffee, but I sure as hell knew what was expected of me at this moment.

  I drew back my fist and slugged her. Blood gushed from her nose. My bruised knuckles burned like fire, but I didn’t stop. I shouldered Emily out of the way and my father and I tore out of there, hobbling for our lives.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  My father had been sitting too long after vigorous exercise. His muscles were stiff, and mine weren’t much better. We staggered down the steps, past Alicia who didn’t utter a word, and away from the cabin, using the old access road for our escape. We made fair progress until Donovan switched on the van’s headlights.

  “I see you, Bretta,” he shouted. “You aren’t getting away. I treated you with respect. I gave you an alternative. Now to hell with you both.” His voice dropped, but I heard him say, “Emily, get behind the wheel. Drive out there and cut them off.”

  Dad glanced back, but I kept my gaze on the road. We could hardly walk, let alone outrun a van. There was only one choice. We had to leave this trail and cross the open valley. We had skirted this basin on our way down, drawn to the sound of the spring. But that route was back by the cabin, and we were too far away to change course.

  If we could make it safely across the open expanse of land, we’d have to climb the steep slope near the water pit. Going up wouldn’t be as easy as coming down, but I didn’t think the van had enough horsepower to navigate that rocky incline.

  My heart pounded. Dad’s breathing was erratic. I should have left him hidden among the trees and drawn Donovan’s attention, but it was too late now. We were out in the open, crossing the valley that was as treacherous as an obstacle course. The ground was littered with debris that had floated on a turbulent river but had been stranded on dry ground once the water had receded. Cans, bottles, pieces of rusty tin were waiting to trip us up.

  The van’s lights quivered and quaked to a bebop rhythm as the vehicle bounced across the uneven dirt, closing the gap between us.

  Abruptly, Dad stopped. “You go ahead, daughter. I’m slowing you down.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” I said, pushing my shoulder under his arm. “Use me like a crutch. We don’t have far to go.”

  He chuckled weakly. “We must be looking at different points on the horizon because the way I see it—”

  “Don’t talk.” We moved a few more feet and almost fell over a piece of driftwood. The log was scarred and battered from having floated down the river. Caught on land it had been bleached by the sun, buffed by the wind, and was almost smothered by weeds. The van was bearing down on us. I had a plan but it involved getting my father to move faster.

  Under my breath, I explained, “We have to maneuver Emily into a position so she’ll drive over that log. If she hits it, it might slow her down, and we can get up that steep embankment.”

  Emily came at us fast and furious like a hawk that had spotted its next meal. “Please, Dad, keep moving, but stay in line with that log. We won’t stand a chance if she doesn’t take this path.”

  He didn’t answer. My aching muscles screamed in protest, but I gripped him around the waist, and we moved forward. What if Emily saw the log? Could she swerve in time to dodge it? If she accomplished that, she’d have a direct path to run Dad and me down.

  I looked behind me. Emily plowed into the log, wedging it under the van’s framework. The engine roared as she gave it more gas. The tires spun, stirring up dust. The transmission squalled as she jerked the gearshift into reverse. But the van didn’t move. The log was jammed under the chassis.

  With the van off our tails, I slowed our pace. “That should keep her busy for a while.”

  “Where’s Donovan?” asked Dad.

  “I don’t know. The last I saw of him, he was at the cabin, screaming at us.”

  Dad shook his head. “I saw him get into the back of the van.

  I whipped around. Donovan charged us, whirling a rope over his head. The lariat formed a circle that grew bigger and bigger. “Run!” I screamed. “He’s—” I took two steps and stopped. My father wasn’t fast enough. The circle of rope snaked across the space and dropped neatly over Dad’s head, sliding down over hi
s shoulders.

  With a flick of his wrist, Donovan pulled the lasso taut, pinning Dad’s arms to his side. Donovan gave the rope a hard jerk, tugging Dad off balance. He lay on the ground, struggling to get free.

  Donovan stretched the rope tighter and walked back to the van where he tied the rope to the bumper. Emily had stopped revving the engine. She handed Donovan my father’s cane. I watched Donovan approach. He slapped the shaft of the cane against the palm of his hand. His gaze pierced mine.

  Donovan spoke quietly, “I don’t have an ounce of mercy left in me, Bretta. Get your father into the van.”

  I shook my head. “I won’t do that.”

  Donovan stepped forward and popped Dad’s thigh with the cane.

  My father groaned. “I’m accustomed to pain,” he said, clenching his teeth.

  “Not the kind of pain I can inflict if your daughter doesn’t cooperate.” Donovan raised the cane. “Help him up, Bretta. Do it now.”

  I was afraid to bend over my father. With my head down, I’d be too vulnerable. I glared at Donovan. “Move back, and I’ll do as you ask.”

  He took three steps away. Keeping my gaze on him, I put my hands under my father’s arms. I strained and struggled and got Dad upright. He wobbled, but he was standing. We moved toward the van to ease the tension on the rope, but Dad shrank back when Donovan raised the cane threateningly.

  I was ready to take my chances against Donovan, but I heard something in the distance. Caught by surprise, we listened to this strange noise that sounded like an enraged bumblebee caught in an empty fifty-gallon barrel. At first I thought someone had started a lawnmower, but on this unkempt tract of land that would have been absurd. The sound was closer.

  I turned this way and that, trying to locate the source and glimpsed lights weaving in and out among the trees at the top of the incline. The headlights were close together. The motor’s timbre was powerful. The engine accelerated, and the machine shot down the slope.

  When I saw it was an ATV, my spirits leaped with hope. Those feelings turned to apprehension when I recognized Jacob at the controls, dressed in his Amish clothing, his straw hat pushed firmly down on his head. As I watched he gave the machine more gas. The sudden burst of power nearly unseated him. He hunkered over the handlebars and thundered toward us over the rocky ground.