Whiskers of the Lion

by P. L. Gaus

  • • •

  Fannie stayed in her bedroom thinking for an hour before she unpacked her suitcase. She had heard Parker giving instructions to his men, and then the middle room of the suite had been quiet on the other side of her door. Alone in her room, she eventually found herself unable to remain idle.

  Fannie opened all the drawers in the bedroom and in the bathroom, and she tested all the lamps and light switches. She turned off most of the electric lights, leaving only the bathroom light switched on, with the door cracked open. Dim lights for dark thoughts, she told herself as she sat in the corner chair. A quiet place to think and to plan.

  After a while, Fannie turned her thoughts to what comforts the room could offer her. She paced on the plush carpet with her shoes off, crinkling her toes into the unaccustomed softness. She laid her head on each of the pillows and chose a soft feather pillow for herself. She picked up the handset of the phone and listened briefly to the dial tone. She turned on the hot water in the shower, thinking that she would bathe.

  But while the water ran, she decided against that. She turned off the water and watched it drain away. Caroline would be coming. There would be time for a shower once Caroline had arrived. Or maybe even later in the night. She could bathe after she had gauged Caroline’s intentions. After she had gauged her capacity for truthfulness.

  Restless and uninterested in sleep, Fannie opened her bedroom door and entered the middle room of the suite to check in the kitchen’s refrigerator. There she found only bottled water and a box of baking soda. She took out a bottle of water and carried it into the sitting area.

  With a magazine in his lap, an agent was seated on a couch. He watched her cross the room. Fannie sat in a corner chair and the agent opened his magazine again. Curious to learn what he would do, Fannie returned to the kitchen and stepped around the small dining table to pull the cord on the blinds over the kitchen window. As she took the cord in hand, the agent appeared at her side and said, “Please stay away from the windows, Ms. Helmuth.”

  Fannie released the cord and smiled demurely. “Can I go down for something to eat?”

  “Sorry, but no. We’re having food brought up.”

  “Where is Agent Parker?”

  “Making his rounds, Ms. Helmuth.”

  “And the three agents who were with him when they picked me up at the farm?”

  “Two are sleeping in the second bedroom. One is at his post.”

  “What can I do until my dinner arrives?”

  “There’s a TV in your bedroom, Ms. Helmuth.”

  “I don’t like television.”

  “Sorry. We have a few magazines.”

  “May I stretch my legs out in the hall?”

  “I’m sorry, but no.”

  “You could walk with me. And aren’t there some stairs we could climb? For exercise?”

  “There are two staircases, Ms. Helmuth, but you can’t use them. You need to stay inside, here with us. It’s for your protection.”

  “How are all of you going to get any rest?” Fannie asked, feigning concern for the agents. “There are eight of you, right?”

  “There are seven, Ms. Helmuth. And we have sleep rotations in place.”

  “Are you the seven who will be my captors until the trial?”

  “Well, we aren’t captors, really.”

  “What would you call it, if I can’t leave the suite?”

  “We are the acquisition team, Ms. Helmuth.”

  “Does that mean I’ll get a different team?”

  “Yes, a maintenance team.”

  “When? Monday?”

  “No. Probably tomorrow morning.”

  “Will they all be new people? Seven new people?”

  “Yes, but there will only be four. Four new agents.”

  “Will these four new agents know who I am?”

  “They will have been briefed, Ms. Helmuth. Really, wouldn’t you rather get some rest? You’ve had a long day.”

  “I could sleep,” Fannie said. “But isn’t there something to read?”

  “Only the magazines that are there on the coffee table.”

  Fannie turned to the center coffee table and took up the stack of magazines. She sorted through them and said, “Thank you, no.”

  “We can have some other magazines brought up.”

  “Is there a store in the lobby?”

  “It’s a newsstand and a small hotel store. There’s also a souvenir shop and a bakery.”

  “I suppose Caroline could get something for me after she arrives,” Fannie said.

  “The hotel store is still open, but everything else is closed, Ms. Helmuth.”

  “Then in the morning?”

  “That would be better, Ms. Helmuth.”

  “Thank you,” Fannie said as she turned for her bedroom. “Would you please knock on my door when my dinner arrives? I might be asleep.”

  • • •

  When Caroline entered the bedroom, Fannie was stretched out on the bed closest to the window. Eyes narrowed to slits, Fannie watched Caroline set her purse on the long dresser across from the foot of the beds. When Caroline switched on the bedroom lights, Fannie raised herself to sit on the side of her bed.

  Caroline came into the room and asked, “Are you OK, Fannie?”

  Fannie stood beside her bed and rubbed her eyes as if sleep had overtaken her. “Sleepy, I guess,” she said. “And I’m hungry.”

  “There’s food out there,” Caroline said. “They had to check everything before they would let it come up to the room.”

  Fannie went out to the middle room, and Caroline followed her. On a cart inside the suite’s front door, there was a stack of white dinner boxes. Two agents were sorting through them to select their meals. There was also a large white plastic carafe of coffee, and Agent Parker was pouring himself a cup. When Fannie appeared, he offered the cup of coffee to her, saying, “We were just about to knock on your door, Ms. Helmuth.”

  “Please, it’s just Fannie.”

  “Fannie, then. Would you like some coffee?”

  Fannie shook a sleepy “No” and took up a dinner box. Parker carried his coffee out into the hallway and closed the suite’s door behind him.

  Complaining, one of the agents grumbled, “They’re all the same. Amish broasted chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, and buttered green beans with bacon bits.”

  Fannie shrugged her condolences and said, “Typical tourist fare, I’m afraid. It will be food that was left over from the dinner buffet. Reheated in a microwave.”

  Once Caroline had taken a meal box, Fannie turned back into their bedroom. She sat on the edge of her bed. Caroline closed the door and sat on the other bed, knee to knee with Fannie. As they unwrapped their plastic dinnerware, Fannie began her series of questions.

  “Is there a big lobby downstairs?”

  “It’s fairly big,” Caroline said as she ate. “Most of the right half is restaurant. It’s closed now, so I gather that’s why we’re eating out of Styrofoam boxes.”

  “Are they going to let me go see any of it?”

  “I can ask, Fannie. Probably not.”

  “Why did it take so long for them to get dinner up to us?”

  “Well, Parker had the agents check everything. And they’ve been asking to see everyone’s ID.”

  Fannie laughed knowingly at Parker’s mistake. “Amish people don’t carry IDs.”

  “That’s why it’s taking so long.”

  “I recognized the maid with pillows,” Fannie said.

  “Who?”

  “When I first came up. The maid at the end of the hall was Wanda Mast. She’s Abel’s sister-in-law. And her supervisor is Diener Miller.”

  “That’s a deacon?”

  “Yes. A diener is a deacon. A servant of the church. Ben Miller is a deacon
in Abel’s church.”

  “Then you may know some of the other people who work here,” Caroline said. “Everyone is Amish.”

  Fannie nodded, forked loose a bite of broasted chicken, and smiled as if there was nothing that concerned her. “This is what most tourists think Amish ‘home cooking’ is like.”

  Caroline stirred her beans. “You can get the same meal in any restaurant in Holmes County.”

  “It’s not really like home cooking at all, is it?” Fannie said, striving for sincerity in tone, troubled by her thoughts. “Too many additives for my taste. You know, chemicals.” Was that chatty enough? Fannie wondered. Is this what will draw Caroline out?

  “Like what, Fannie?”

  “Oh, you know. Sugar, soy, preservatives. Chemicals. They’re in all the baked goods they sell to the tourists. You ought to read the label of ingredients sometime.”

  “But it tastes good,” Caroline said agreeably. “Most people think it’s authentic.”

  “I suppose so. Are they going to let me go down to the restaurant at all?” Was that a reasonable question to have asked? Fannie wondered. Was she raising too many alarms with all of her questions?

  Caroline set her box aside and stood between the beds. “I can only ask, Fannie. Right now, they’re pretty nervous about security. Maybe you could just give it a few days. Let everyone settle in, here.”

  “I suppose I can,” Fannie said. Three days until they move me to Cleveland. Three days to act. Fewer to test Caroline.

  As Fannie ate more of her dinner, Caroline took her box to the corner wastebasket, where she discarded the box and most of her food. Then she opened the bedroom door. An Amish maid was taking the dinner cart away. Her supervisor stood at her side.

  Caroline asked, “Wanda Mast?”

  Fannie heard the maid answer. “Yes, do I know you?”

  Before Caroline could respond, Fannie stepped to the bedroom door and introduced the two women to each other. Then Fannie spoke Dietsch to Wanda, and she spoke with Wanda at considerable length. Eventually, the Amish supervisor, Ben Miller, responded to Fannie, too.

  As the three talked, Fannie noted that the FBI agents were waiting to the side. Happily Fannie realized that they were uninterested in listening to a language they could not understand. They also seemed reluctant to interrupt. Fannie was able to explain herself thoroughly to Wanda Mast and Ben Miller.

  When Agent Parker appeared again at the suite’s door, he said, “Are we done here, folks? I need to move this along.”

  Fannie said a few parting words, and Wanda and Ben wheeled their cart away. Parker closed the suite’s door, and Fannie returned to her bedroom with Caroline. Fannie sat again on the edge of her bed, with her dinner box in her lap. As Fannie finished her dinner, Caroline sat and asked, “What were you talking about with Wanda?”

  “Oh, I just asked her to bring me some clothes,” Fannie said, thinking, How much Dietsch does Caroline understand?

  “Does she know your size and style?” Caroline asked. “For the clothes?”

  “I told her my size. I can wear her style, I guess. For a while.”

  Fannie set her dinner box aside. “What am I supposed to do after the trial? If there ever is a trial.” What honesty will Caroline give me now?

  “I suppose you could go into the witness protection program.”

  “Wouldn’t people still be able to find me?”

  “Not really. They change your name in witness protection. They give you a new identity.”

  “I’d rather just stay me.”

  “If you did that, Fannie, where would you go?”

  “There are Amish settlements all across America now,” Fannie said. “Wherever I go, I’ll be safe. And I’ll want to live Amish. After the trial, that is.”

  “Did Sheriff Robertson explain any of this to you in his letter, Fannie?”

  Caroline’s forthrightness is honorable, Fannie thought. “He said I would be safe among my people.” Could she trust her with more? She turned her attention to her dinner, took another bite of chicken, and looked back to Caroline.

  Smiling enigmatically, Caroline said, “Fannie, I’d bet any amount of money that the sheriff told you not to trust the FBI very much. I know Robertson, Fannie, and I’d bet that he gave you options. That he’s letting you make decisions, now, for yourself. That’s just how he is.”

  Fannie returned Caroline’s smile, thinking, She understands. It is unspoken, but Caroline understands. If so, has she guessed my intentions? Will she keep it to herself?

  “I like him,” Fannie said aloud. “Sheriff Robertson. I like it that he told me the truth.”

  “I do, too, Fannie,” Caroline said. “But you should understand, if the sheriff hasn’t already told you, that they might never capture Teresa Molina.”

  “I know,” Fannie said, thinking, There is Caroline’s honesty on display.

  In the pocket of her apron, Fannie’s cell phone buzzed. She drew it from her apron pocket and checked the display. “This is my friend,” she said to Caroline. “I need to take this call.”

  Leaving her dinner unfinished, Fannie entered the bathroom and closed the door to whisper to Jodie Tapp.

  • • •

  Jodie was crying when Fannie answered her call. “Oh Fannie! I can’t go to jail. I just can’t do it. I’ll die in jail.”

  “Wait, Jodie. Slow down. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Teresa Molina called me back. She’s really going to tell them that I was in her drug gang. And I don’t have the money. Not five thousand dollars, I don’t. Fannie, I’d just die in jail.”

  “Jodie, I’m sorry. I really can’t get away right now.”

  “Then let me come to you. I’ve got until noon on Saturday. And I know you have to be close by.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at a little motel in Akron. I can get to you, Fannie. Sometime tomorrow.”

  “You need to get far away, Jodie. You need to run away.”

  “I can’t, Fannie. They said they would hurt my mother.”

  “You talked to them again?”

  “Yes, Fannie! Don’t you understand? Teresa Molina is going to kill my mother!”

  “I have to think.”

  “I’m just going to kill myself. I’m going to jump off a building or something.”

  “You can’t do that, Jodie.”

  “Why not? People die every day, jumping off buildings.”

  “Let me think, Jodie. Let me think about this.”

  “What if the police find me? I’d have to tell them about you, Fannie.”

  “Tell them what?”

  “That you carried a suitcase for Teresa Molina.”

  “They already know that, Jodie.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying. I’ve lost my mind or something. Please, Fannie. You’ve got to help me. If I don’t have their five thousand dollars by noon on Saturday, they’ll kill my mother. Teresa Molina told me that.”

  “But why? Why would they kill your mother?”

  “These are really bad people, Fannie. You just don’t get it. Do you know the girl who was killed in a buggy accident yesterday in Indiana?”

  “No. I don’t know anything about that.”

  “They ran her over, Fannie! Don’t you get it? They killed her. They’ll kill me.”

  “Why would they kill a girl in Indiana?”

  “Oh Fannie. You’re so naive. I knew her in Pinecraft. Just like I knew you. And they killed her just because she knew too much. They’re cleaning up loose ends, and I’m next. Then they’ll come for you, too.”

  “They’ll never find me, Jodie.”

  “Well, they’re gonna find me, Fannie. If you can’t help me, they’re going to find me, and they’re going to kill me and my mother.”

  “I need
to think, Jodie. I need to figure out how I can get the money to you.”

  “I can come to you. Really, Fannie, I can drive all night if I have to.”

  “OK, let me ask Reuben.”

  “Thank you, Fannie! You’re saving my life.”

  “It will take some time, Jodie. Reuben doesn’t carry that kind of cash. He’ll have to talk to the bishop to get such a large sum.”

  “OK, Fannie. I can wait. I can wait until Saturday morning. Then I’ve got to get back here to Akron. To give them their money.”

  “Just give us some time, Jodie. There are a few things I have to do first.”

  “Are you close by? Will I be able to get to you in time?”

  “Yes. I’m only a little bit northeast of Akron. We’ve got time. Just let me think about this.”

  “Will you call me?”

  “Yes. But I have to make some arrangements.”

  “To get the money?”

  “Yes, Jodie. That, and a little bit more.”

  27

  Friday, August 19

  5:15 A.M.

  IT WAS the clang of a ricochet that broke Stan Armbruster out of his early-morning dream. It was the resonant clang of a bullet striking a bell. A note that couldn’t be unrung. The arresting transfixation of an alarm.

  The content of Armbruster’s dream vaporized as soon as he opened his eyes. But the ringing tone of the ricochet lingered in his consciousness like a threat.

  In his bathroom, Armbruster splashed cold water on his face, trying to refocus the dream. In his kitchen, he put up a pot of coffee, endeavoring to understand the warning. In his shower, he relinquished his efforts to recall the dream and struggled instead to scrub the bell’s insistent note from his mind. In this he failed. So as he dressed, he again made the effort to recall his dream. But it was gone. He could decipher only that it had been a nightmare that had woken him with the startling awareness of peril.

  Now he knew that something yesterday should have alarmed him. He understood this because of the bell of his dream. Something at the Mast farm? Something on the drive home with Lance and the professor? Perhaps something at the St. James.