On Deadly Ground

by Lauren Nichols

  “No, sir, I’m not. But we’ll do that sometime soon.”

  Rachel eased forward. It was time to get down to business. “Elmer, Jake and I are hoping you can help us with some information. I imagine you’ve heard about the body that was uncovered at my place.”

  “Max Donner’s boy, Bryce,” Elmer said in an aging rasp. “Even babies in their cribs are yammering about that. It was a bad end to a life.”

  “Yes, it was, and someone needs to pay for it. But Jake and I think the police should be looking at more than one person who had a motive.”

  Elmer’s gaze sharpened. “More than one person? Who are they tryin’ to hang this on?”

  Rachel sighed. “A good man who couldn’t have done it. Chief Perris said he’s not ruling out anyone else, but …”

  When she told him about Perris’s visit and her need to clear David’s name, Elmer got his blood up again. “That’s what happens when a town hands a badge over to a big-city stranger. That young pup doesn’t know a thing about the people he’s here to protect.” He jerked an annoyed look at Jake. “You gonna help her out with this? Take care of her? Because she’s gonna take some guff over it. Folks don’t like other folks nosin’ around in their business.”

  “I’m in it for as long as it takes,” Jake assured him.

  Elmer slapped the arm of his rocker. “All right, then. What can I tell you?”

  “We need the names of anyone who might have wanted Bryce Donner dead.”

  The old man laughed until he wheezed. “You don’t want a list, boy. You want the county phone book. There weren’t too many folks who liked him. He cut wages at the mill, got himself in trouble with the union, drank too much and spent time with too many women who didn’t belong to him.”

  “Do you remember anything radical happening with the mill employees or the union?”

  “Depends on what you mean by radical. Tar paper nails showed up in young Donner’s tires, and there were a lot of busted windows at the mill. I believe he had to change his phone number, too, when crank calls got to be a problem. But that goes on during strikes.”

  “Nothing worse?”

  “Nothin’ to justify puttin’ a bullet in a man’s head.”

  Rachel grimaced. “What about the women, Elmer? Do you know who they were and if any of them were married?” When Elmer hesitated she went on. “We’ll be discreet. We won’t share the information with anyone but Perris. Elmer, he needs to know that David wasn’t the only one who had trouble with Bryce.”

  Elmer rubbed a liver-spotted hand over a day’s growth of white whiskers and rocked for a few moments. “I recall there bein’ some single ladies. Louise Sauder was sweet on him for a while, and Allie Kubyak liked him some. But I can think of only one of ‘em who was married. Saw her misbehavin’ myself.” He raised a cautioning finger. “But I ain’t accusing her or her man of anything.”

  Rachel shot Jake a brief, excited look. “We understand that. Go on, Elmer.”

  “I was pickin’ huckleberries down near the Restons’ camp when I cut through the backyard and saw him and her smoochin’ it up out there by the water pump.”

  “Him and her?” Rachel asked.

  “Tammy and Donner. I heard it said they were friendly for a long time, too.”

  “Did Joe know?”

  “Can’t say,” Elmer replied. “But if he did, there woulda been trouble over it. Bryce Donner and Joe Reston were friends.”

  Rachel released a long breath when they were back in the truck and on their way. Wind through Jake’s open window filled the cab with fresh air and drowned out the barely audible music from a country station. “Well, that was enlightening.”

  “To say the least. Now you have another name to add to your list. Maybe two if the relationship went sour, and Tammy wasn’t happy about it.” He glanced at her. “You’ve probably noticed the gun rack in the back of her truck.”

  “And the bumper stickers,” Rachel replied.

  “Well, none of it’s window dressing,” Jake said, steering around a pothole in the road. “I ran into her last month at the Sportsmen’s Club’s firing range. She’s a crack shot with a rifle, and nearly as good with a pistol.”

  “Lovely. Now my mind is positively swimming with crime-of-passion scenarios.” Maggie poked her red head over the back of the seat, and Rachel stroked her silky neck. “Do you think I should contact my guests again?”

  “And say what?”

  She raised an imaginary phone to her ear and spoke wryly. “Hello, Mrs. Smith. This is Rachel Patterson. I called last week to tell you that my home had burned to the ground? Well, now it seems that the fire was arson and someone has me in their crosshairs. Also—and there’s really no need for alarm—recently, a body was found on my land, and the killer could be one of the men I hired for campground security.”

  She dropped her hand to her lap.

  Jake glanced across at her again. “What did Mrs. Smith say?”

  “Nothing. She hung up as soon as I got to the arson.”

  Rachel turned to face him, straining her seat belt. “So what do I do now? Do I ask Joe to leave?”

  “That’s up to you. Just keep two things in mind.” He didn’t wait for her to ask what they were. “Reston might not have known about the affair. And Elmer was right about the people in this town—or in any town, for that matter. There’s going to be trouble if your friends and neighbors find out we’re poking into their pasts.”

  “Don’t I know it,” she replied glumly.

  They’d reached a straight stretch on the wooded road, and a quarter of a mile ahead, a horse-drawn Amish buggy turned right onto a side road leading to the sect’s farming settlement. Rachel spoke quickly. “Jake, take the next right.”

  A trace of crime-fighter amusement tinged his voice. “You mean, ‘Follow that buggy'?”

  “Yes. I’ve been meaning to ask Nora Zook if she wants to sell her fudge and candy at the camp store this season, and haven’t gotten around to seeing her yet.”

  “And the Amish don’t have phones.”

  “Right. Phones are ‘proud.’ I won’t be long.”

  The Zook farm was like the others in the settlement—lush and green and neatly tended, with colorful quilts on the clotheslines, a barn and silo scraping the sky, and several outbuildings and birdhouses for good measure. The smell of freshly cut lumber rode the air, and a sign at the bottom of the dirt driveway said “Amish-Made Sheds.”

  The young driver they’d followed to the Zook property leaped down from his black buggy and walked to Jake’s truck. In his early teens, Jonathan “Yonnie” Zook was dressed in plain black pants with suspenders and a blue shirt. His chin was bare, and thick brown curls stuck out from under his straw hat. He smiled when Rachel and Jake got out, leaving Maggie to watch from the open window.

  “Hi, Yonnie,” Rachel said. When they’d shaken hands, she introduced him to Jake.

  Jake offered his hand, too. “Guten Tag, Yonnie.”

  Yonnie raised his eyebrows, then repeated the greeting. His English was heavily accented, owing to a traditional upbringing by his parents and a community that spoke nothing but German when among themselves. “You know the plain talk,” he said.

  “Only a few words,” Jake replied. When I was in college, I did a paper—an article—on Amish living. There were Amish families nearby, and eventually I was invited to stay with one of them for ten days.”

  Yonnie remained amused. “You did the milking?”

  “I did a bit of everything. Shoveled manure, helped fill a silo, fed corn into a cutter. Attended a church service.”

  Yonnie nodded knowingly, a smile at the corners of his lips. “I think three hours of prayer was long for you.”

  Jake chuckled. “Yeah, it was long. But the music—the hymns—were nice.”

  “You made us look good in your paper?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Yonnie nodded again. “Gut. I’ll call my mutter for Rachel.” He sent Jake the sly, calculated l
ook of a salesman. “While they talk, you must look at the fine sheds we build. You’ll want one for yourself.”

  Dusk was approaching when they finally left the Zooks’ farm with a snitz pie for Rachel and a warm “guten nacht” for Jake, who’d ordered one of Yonnie’s sheds and a playhouse for Greg and Julie’s baby to grow into.

  “You’re full of surprises,” Rachel said.

  “How so?”

  “You were almost-Amish for ten days. You never mentioned it.”

  He turned on his headlights. “That’s because the secret to being boring is to tell everything.”

  As if he could ever be boring. “So what did you really think?”

  “I won’t lie to you. It was a lot of work, and getting up at four-thirty in the morning for breakfast was a major culture shock. But looking back, I really did enjoy my time with them.”

  “Thinking about converting?”

  He smiled. “I think ten days with me was about all they could handle. But I wouldn’t mind feeling that contented—that peaceful. I think the simpler our lives are, the easier it is to concentrate on the important things.”

  Night had fallen in earnest by the time Jake left for home, and the moon that had been so bright the night before was blanketed in clouds. From somewhere, the cry of a screech owl pierced the stillness.

  Feeling a sudden chill, Rachel closed the window over the screen in her bedroom, then called Maggie from the store area. But as the dog bounded inside, then leaped onto her sleeping bag and air mattress, she knocked over a box of clothing Rachel hadn’t yet found a place for.

  A gift-wrapped package fell out.

  For a second, Rachel froze. Then she shook her head and called herself an idiot. Killers didn’t send gifts.

  Scooting Maggie out of the way, she lowered herself to the mattress and picked up the package that was obviously a book. There was a note attached, and she smiled as she scanned it:

  We smuggled this in with your things as you were packing this morning. Be safe, and if you get tired of sleeping on the floor, there’s a bed for you here at the Blackberry.

  Love, Jenna and Aunt Molly

  Rachel unwrapped the Bible, then opened it to a page Jenna had bookmarked. There was a dot of yellow highlighter beside a scripture verse.

  Fear not, for I am with you. Be not dismayed, for I am your God.

  I will strengthen you, I will help you. I will uphold you in my righteous right hand.

  —Isaiah 41:18

  Rachel stroked the page. “Thank you, God, for my good friends and family,” she whispered. “Please bless them all—and tonight, Jake especially. You probably heard him say he wouldn’t mind feeling the kind of peace and contentment he saw in the Amish community. So even though he’s confident and secure in his life, he knows something’s missing. That something is a relationship with You.” She paused, becoming thoughtful. “I don’t believe he’s completely opposed to the idea—just hesitant to reach out. Please give him the nudge he needs to find his way back to You.”

  * * *

  The next morning, she was slipping into one of the two dresses she’d purchased when she moved to the Blackberry when she heard the high-pitched beep that signaled a visitor. Or more precisely, a vehicle because the sensor detected only metal. Quickly buckling the belt on her knitted, hunter-green shirt dress, she followed a barking Maggie to the front door and peered through the window beside it. A moment later, Jake’s dark blue Ram truck rolled down the hill and eased into a parking space.

  She kept her emotions in check as he got out, took a bag of dog food from the truck’s bed, then walked toward the store. The brown dress pants he wore with a cream-colored shirt and brown dress boots wasn’t too big a departure from his usual outdoorsy look. She unlocked the doors and backed up as he came inside.

  “You look nice,” she said.

  “Thanks,” he said, smiling. “You look better.” He put Maggie’s food on the floor and scanned her outfit. Everything from her hoop earrings to the gold buckle at her waist and the three unfastened buttons at her hem that made walking easier. “Nice dress.”

  She couldn’t stop a smile of her own. “Thank you.” She was about to ask why he was all dressed up when he added, “But your throat looks a little bare.” Jake walked over to her. “Turn around.”

  “Why?”

  “Just turn around. Please.”

  “Okay.” She showed him her back. “Do I have to count to ten or anything?”

  “Nope. Just hold still.”

  She heard a slight rustling, then he reached in front of her, and she caught a glimpse of gold. She knew what it was before he finished fastening the chain around her neck. Emotional tears stung her eyes, and Rachel raised a hand to her throat to touch the narrow filigreed cross, feel its golden weight. “Oh, Jake.”

  Turning her around, he smiled down into her eyes. “You’re welcome. Now don’t wreck the moment by offering me a check.”

  He didn’t take his warm hands from her shoulders. He didn’t step away. And suddenly the room seemed to shrink around them, and Rachel’s heartbeat quickened. Kiss me, she whispered in her mind as she watched thoughts cloud his eyes. Kiss me and tell me that you care. Give me a reason to step into your arms and tell you how deeply you touch me with your kindness and everything else you are. Tell me you’re not going back to Heather. Tell me.

  But with a look of regret that mirrored Rachel’s own deep disappointment, he stepped back and mustered a smile meant to break the mood. “If we leave soon, we can probably stop for coffee and Danish at the diner before church.”

  Hope rose in the midst of her regret. “You’re going to church?”

  “No, I’m taking you to church,” he said clarifying. “If I happen to stay for the service instead of waiting outside, I wanted to be dressed appropriately.” He looked at Maggie. “You stay here and hold the fort.”

  Was he being completely truthful? Rachel wondered. Or was driving her to church a stepping stone back to God? Either way, he’d be sitting beside her in the pew. It was up to Reverend Landers to take it from there.

  * * *

  The church bells pealed out a goodbye as Rachel and Jake filed out, shook hands with Reverend and Mrs. Landers, then walked toward the parking lot. They hadn’t gotten far when someone called to Jake and he excused himself for a moment. Rachel took the opportunity to talk with Jillian Donner, who was also moving toward the lot. They’d prayed for Bryce during the service today, and Reverend Landers had offered the congregation’s sympathies. But Rachel had yet to offer her personal condolences.

  Jillian was a tiny woman, smart and pretty, with skin the color of flour and a soft, agreeable manner. Despite her wealth and the fact that she was only two years older than Rachel, she wore her blond hair in a bun, and chose colors and clothing that didn’t call attention to herself. Today she was dressed in beige.

  Rachel spoke quietly as she approached her. “Hi, Jillian. I’m so sorry about Bryce.”

  “Thanks,” she replied, acceptance rather than remorse in her voice. “He wasn’t a saint, but he didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

  “No, he didn’t. Hopefully there’ll be an arrest soon.”

  “From your lips to God’s ears.” She brushed a wisp of blond hair away from her face. “Chief Perris stopped by to see me the other day. He wanted to know when I’d last seen Bryce, and if I still had the note he’d left.” She shrugged. “I assume you’ve heard about the note. Everyone else in town has.”

  Rachel nodded. There was no point in denying it. “You still had it?”

  “No, I’d thrown it away long ago. I guess he wanted it for handwriting comparison.” Her brows came together. “Funny, I don’t remember thinking that it wasn’t his handwriting—well, printing—but then, Bryce wasn’t the kind to leave me notes. Romantic or otherwise. But if he didn’t write it, that means that someone else left it with his ring on my kitchen table. I don’t like thinking that his killer was in my home while I slept.”
>
  Rachel knew exactly how she felt. Someone had visited her home, too, while she was unaware. “Reverend Landers said there’d be a memorial service in a few days. I’ll try to make it.”

  “Thanks.” When she nodded toward the church, Rachel looked that way, too. Jake was talking with Ben Caruthers now. “Nate’s inside talking to the reverend about the service right now. We’d like to have a dinner afterward in the community room, but I doubt many people would come.” She smiled then. “You probably know that Nate and I have been seeing each other for a while. Now that I know I’m free, we can start making plans.”

  “Wedding plans?”

  Jillian nodded. “Not immediately. That wouldn’t feel right. But maybe in the fall.”

  “How wonderful,” Rachel murmured. If anyone deserved a good life with a good man after living with Bryce, she did. But that thought brought his murder to mind again. “Jillian,” she said hesitantly. “I hope you’ll forgive me for backtracking for a moment, but … did Perris ask you who might have had a reason to kill Bryce?”

  “Yes, and I gave him a few names, but he was interested in only two of them. Me and my uncle Will.” She smiled wryly when Rachel looked startled. “Yes, I included myself. But I didn’t do it, so that leaves Will—who hated Bryce for reasons I don’t think I have to mention.”

  No, she didn’t.

  Jillian sighed. “Perris thinks Bryce was killed somewhere else because they couldn’t find a bullet.”

  Which meant someone had to have physically moved and buried him. At ninety pounds, Jillian couldn’t have managed it. Still, one good thing had come out of their conversation. Perris was looking at other suspects.

  They’d said their goodbyes and Rachel was moving away when Jillian stopped her. “Rachel?”

  “Yes?”