Dead Broke

by Vannetta Chapman

  Agatha didn’t know a lot about fishing, but Tony had taught her a little. She understood that S shape wasn’t as easy to make as it looked.

  Daniel moved farther away, casting the line toward a small eddy in the water.

  “He loves to fish. This is what we envisioned doing in our old age.” Mary jerked on the ball of baby blue yarn, her lips settled in a straight line. “Our plan was to volunteer for a little charity work, relax—fish and knit, maybe even try our hand at shuffleboard.”

  “That didn’t happen?”

  Mary glanced at her, then quickly looked back down at her knitting. Instead of answering that question directly, she said, “My mamm was one for proverbs.”

  “Oh, ya. Mine too.”

  “One of her favorites was, You can tell when you’re on the right track. It’s usually uphill.”

  Agatha smiled and nodded. “I can remember my dat saying that one.”

  “The problem is that when you’re the person trudging uphill, you simply can’t tell if it’s the right track or not.”

  Agatha didn’t know what to say. She didn’t understand what was going on with Daniel and Mary. So she complimented the woman’s knitting, then hurried up to the Thompson cabin where Gina was standing on the porch and waving at her.

  She’d barely made it up the porch steps when Gina grabbed her arm and pulled her inside, thrusting several sandwich baggies into her hands.

  “What’s this?”

  “That is what I found stuffed between the mattress and box springs.”

  “Why were you looking there? You were supposed to be making the bed.”

  “Focus, Agatha. Those baggies are filled with weed.”

  “What?” Agatha dropped the bags on the floor and took two steps back. The contents had looked like dried herbs to her.

  Gina scooped up the baggies. “Each one is labeled with a number—I think it’s a location, possibly longitude and latitude.”

  “You’re watching too much television again.”

  “What else could it mean?”

  “I don’t know!” Agatha’s hands flapped at her side of their own volition. She had to fight the urge to laugh. She was moving quickly from depression to hysterics. “Shouldn’t you stop touching them? Your fingerprints are going to be all over the bags.”

  “Now who’s watching too much television?”

  “I don’t even own one.”

  “Valerie and Eric Thompson have been up to something from the moment they arrived. It was plain as day they weren’t here for the apple crisp.”

  “I wonder why the DEA agents didn’t search the cabins.”

  “They’d already found what they were looking for on your coffee table.” She stepped closer to Agatha and lowered her voice. “That platter of brownies was dropped off on your doorstep, probably by Valerie. She’s a crafty one, I’ll give her that.”

  Gina was a no-nonsense woman. She didn’t bother with any makeup other than a little blush and a touch of powder. Occasionally she’d pull out a tube of Chap Stick and swipe it across her lips. She was a naturally good-looking woman, but at the moment Agatha noticed the lines of worry between her eyes and around her mouth.

  Agatha glanced around, though she knew they were standing in the cabin alone. “You don’t think this had anything to do with Nathan’s murder do you?”

  “They arrived the evening after he died.”

  “If you killed someone, you wouldn’t stick around.”

  “Normally, you wouldn’t.” Gina thumbed through the baggies of weed. “Unless that someone had something you needed, like a marijuana crop.”

  “Nathan King was not growing marijuana.” Agatha wished her voice sounded more certain. How well did she really know Nathan? She’d thought him to be a gentle soul, but she hadn’t taken the time to learn much about him. He’d been so preoccupied with his goats. She’d assumed they were his entire life. “His business seemed to be doing well.”

  “Goats aren’t cheap.”

  “I suppose he might have had financial problems of some sort. Still, it’s hard to imagine.”

  “Maybe he’d found the crop and was going to report the location to the police. Maybe the growers needed to shut him up.”

  Agatha’s legs felt suddenly wobbly.

  She sat down in the rocking chair near the window. She could remember picking out that chair, envisioning some nice couple sitting there and enjoying the view. She had not envisioned drug dealers stuffing bags of weed between the mattresses.

  “Give those to me.” She hopped up and snatched the baggies out of Gina’s hands.

  “Why? What are you going to do with them?”

  “I’ll take them to Tony, but first we need to get this cabin back in order.” She stomped to the kitchen, found a Tupperware container, and placed the bags inside, sealing the lid tightly. “If Tony’s not home, I’ll keep these in my office until he gets back. Promise me that if the Thompsons return while I’m at the funeral, you won’t confront them about it.”

  “I wasn’t planning on doing any such thing.”

  “It’s best they don’t suspect that we know anything.”

  “All good and fine,” Gina agreed as they moved to remake the bed. “But when they check their stash and find it missing, they’re going to figure something is amiss pretty quickly.”

  “We’ll worry about that when and if it happens. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”

  “Amish proverb?”

  “Bible. Gospel of Matthew.”

  They put the cabin back in order, which didn’t take long since apparently the Thompsons hadn’t spent much time there. Then Agatha hurried over to Tony’s with the container of weed, but he wasn’t home. He’d left her a note, folded in half and taped to the back door.

  Gone to follow up on the boot and tire print. See you after the funeral.

  Agatha stared at the note, then put it in her pocket, next to the list she’d made earlier. The words from Matthew that she’d quoted to Gina echoed through her mind.

  Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

  Each day had trials and challenges. She understood that. She didn’t expect perfection when she slipped out of bed in the morning, but this day was developing into something else altogether. She was beginning to suspect that this day might have more than its ordinary amount of trouble. This day was shaping up to be a disaster.

  HENRY AND EMMA ENJOYED their morning kayaking. After they’d paddled back to Agatha’s, he decided to spray off the kayaks. Emma kissed his cheek, then headed back to the main house to make sandwiches. Henry had never heard of a B&B that provided all your meals, but on the other hand there weren’t many eating establishments around Agatha’s home. He supposed it made sense, but he thought that perhaps she should charge a bit more if she was going to feed people three times a day. After all, it was called a Bed & Breakfast. The title didn’t say a word about lunch and dinner.

  He had finished with the kayaks and was still thinking of that, of Agatha’s generosity, when Valerie Thompson streaked across the yard, barefoot and clutching her designer leather bag. Emma was at that very moment returning with two plates of sandwiches. She gasped, throwing up her hands and tossing the plates in the process. Henry pulled her out of the path of Patsy Wright, who was in hot pursuit of Valerie.

  Valerie was plainly winded, and then there was the fact that she’d lost her shoes somewhere.

  Patsy, on the other hand, was wearing what looked like athletic shoes, and was apparently in great physical condition. She didn’t even seem to be breathing hard. In fact, she looked as if she were rather enjoying the chase.

  Valerie was no match for Patsy, who caught her next to the outdoor fire pit, slammed her to the ground, and slapped a pair of handcuffs on her.

  “Get off me. Are you crazy? You’re ruining my clothes. These are Valentino jeans.”

  Patsy jerked the woman to her feet. “Those jeans are the least of your problems.”

  “Valent
ino—twelve hundred dollars, and now I have grass stains on them. You’re going to pay for this.”

  “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will...”

  “Eric!” The word came out as a screech.

  Henry and Emma both turned to look down the path, and there was Eric. His hands were cuffed behind him as well. Apparently Linus had caught him in the river because he was dripping water and had mud in his hair.

  “Tell this woman to un-cuff me right now.”

  Eric shook his head and let out a heavy sigh, apparently exhausted from his river struggle.

  Linus grinned as he passed Henry and Emma. “Morning,” he said, winked, then joined his wife.

  “She’s worried about her jeans.”

  “Uh-huh. This one tried to swim away from me.”

  “Guess he didn’t realize what an athlete you are.”

  “Apparently not.”

  Linus and Patsy marched the Thompsons toward Agatha’s. Valerie was still whining about her clothes, and Eric was telling her to shut up. The two were told to sit on the back porch steps. Linus watched over them, arms crossed, feet planted slightly apart. His posture seemed to be daring them to try and run. Patsy stepped aside and pulled out her phone.

  “Should we go up there?” Emma asked.

  “I suspect it would be better if we stay out of the way.”

  Agatha had already left for the funeral, but Gina walked outside, took one surprised look at the handcuffed guests and darted back into the house. She returned with a Tupperware container which she handed to Patsy.

  “Cookies?” Emma asked.

  “Doubtful.”

  Five minutes later, the Thompsons were loaded in the Wright’s vehicle. Linus pulled out of the parking area and turned toward town.

  “Where are they going?”

  “To the police station, I would imagine.”

  “Let’s go and ask Gina what was in that container.”

  “And find out who Patsy and Linus Wright actually are.”

  They never made it to the back porch. They were halfway to the house when Henry heard the unmistakable crack of a gunshot.

  Chapter Eleven

  Henry veered away from the back porch when he realized the sound of gunfire had originated from Agatha’s barn. He sprinted toward the structure. Emma was a few steps behind him and Gina was running to catch up.

  All three arrived at the barn door at the same moment, and then Henry heard the clip-clop of a horse and buggy. He sprinted toward the road, but only made it in time to see a buggy with a dent in the back. Had the person been in Agatha’s barn? Had they fired a weapon? Why would they do such a thing?

  His mind wanted to believe that he’d imagined the sound.

  Even if it had been a gunshot, perhaps the person had seen a snake and taken aim at it. But why were they in Agatha’s barn? And why had they run away?

  The buggy was now out of sight, and Henry understood that staring after it wouldn’t produce any answers. He hurried back to the barn. Emma had waited for him at the door, and together they walked into the structure. Henry blinked his eyes, trying to adjust his eyesight to the relative darkness.

  “Over here,” Gina called out. “Hurry.”

  The barn wasn’t overly large. The main area contained yard equipment, gardening tools and horse supplies. Toward the back were two stalls for horses, though Agatha had only the one gelding, Doc—and he was rarely actually in the stall given the area’s temperate weather.

  Gina’s voice came from the farthest stall—the one that should have been empty. She was kneeling by a young man. Henry immediately recognized Joey Troyer...or was it Joey Smith...from the picture Tony had shown them.

  Joey lay on the floor, clutching his side and moaning.

  “How bad is it?”

  “I have no idea. I’ve never seen a gunshot wound before.”

  Henry dropped down beside her, then looked across at Emma and said, “Find us some clean rags. Cotton would be best.”

  Gina pulled out her phone and dialed 9-1-1, giving the operator their location and the briefest of details. Henry was focused on Joey, but he heard “gunshot” and “hurry” and “I don’t know.” Pulling the phone away from her ear in exasperation, Gina said, “The dispatcher wants to know if the assailant could still be here.”

  “I don’t think so. I saw someone driving away—in a buggy.”

  Gina’s gaze locked with his. She blinked twice, then relayed the information.

  Emma returned with a plastic container of rags that had been laundered and neatly put away. Henry pulled out the largest, folded it twice and then pushed it against the wound.

  Joey opened his eyes, gasping in pain.

  “Try not to move. We’ve called the police. They’ll be here in a minute with an ambulance.”

  “Someone shot me.”

  “Who?” Gina crowded in next to them. “Who shot you?”

  “I didn’t see who exactly—the person stayed in the shadows.” He licked his lips, his gaze darting from Gina to Henry to Emma and back to Henry again. “They said, ‘You’ll pay for what you’ve done,’ and shot me.”

  “Man’s voice or woman’s?” Henry asked.

  “I don’t know. It was more like a screech.” Joey once more sought Henry’s gaze, locked his eyes on him.

  Henry saw such vulnerability there that he wanted to comfort this man. He wanted to assure him that everything would be fine, and that he could stop running from whatever or whomever was pursuing him.

  “Am I dying?”

  Henry didn’t have a lot of experience with gunshot wounds, but the boy’s color looked better and the bleeding seemed to have slowed. He pulled up the cloth as Emma handed him another. “I don’t think so. Why were you here...in Agatha’s barn?”

  “I’ve been sleeping here.”

  “You paid for a room.” Gina stood and stared down at Joey, hands on her hips. “Why would you stay in the barn when you paid for a room?”

  “I paid with a check. It’s going to bounce. I felt bad about that, so I didn’t come back.”

  “Why did you write a check that you knew was going to bounce?” Emma had wet another of the clean rags with water, wrung it out, and placed it on his head.

  “I don’t know. I just...I needed to talk to Nathan.”

  Henry, Emma, and Gina exchanged a look.

  “You knew Nathan King?”

  “Not really. I wanted to, though. That’s why I came down here, so I could...” But Joey wasn’t able to finish the sentence, because suddenly the shriek of a siren filled the air. Faster than a cat could jump off a hay bale, they were surrounded by medical personnel who pushed Henry, Emma, and Gina out of the way.

  As the medics tended to Joey, Henry pulled the two women back into the larger room where they wouldn’t be heard.

  “You saw a buggy?” Gina’s hair was short, but she grabbed a handful of it and squeezed, as if she could clear the thoughts in her head by doing so.

  “Heard it and saw it.”

  “Any idea whose it was?” Emma had crossed her arms, and Henry realized she was shaking.

  He stepped closer and slipped an arm around her. “Nein. Buggies all look alike. You know how it is. Except...”

  “Except what?” Gina’s look was sharp. “What did you see Henry? Do you need to draw it? Do you need a pen and paper?”

  “Nein. I remember well enough. There were several dented areas on the back, as if the buggy were old and well-used.”

  “First the Thompsons’ arrest and now this.” Gina widened her eyes and shook her head at the same time.

  “What did you give to Patsy and Linus? And why were they the ones that were arresting the Thompsons?”

  Gina quickly explained about the bags of weed, but before she could answer Emma’s second question, the police moved into the room.

  Fortunately the officer who had taken the call was Barella. He seemed a tad more pleasant than the woman officer they’d dea
lt with. “You’re the ones who found him?”

  All three nodded their head in the affirmative.

  “I’ll need to take your statements.”

  They spent the next hour answering his questions, though there wasn’t much information they could provide. Henry doubted it was helpful at all, but he knew an investigation could turn on the smallest of details. Still...a buggy in an Amish community was rather common. And he didn’t know for certain that the buggy had been at Agatha’s, only that he saw it hurrying down the road immediately after Joey was shot.

  Henry’s stomach began to growl, and he realized they’d never eaten their lunch. In fact, where was their lunch?

  “I dropped it,” Emma admitted. “When Patsy went tearing after Valerie.”

  The police had roped off the barn area and left, explaining they’d be back within the hour, so Henry and Emma tromped inside and Gina made them sandwiches. Daniel and Mary came in, asking what all the commotion was about, and looking more worried than ever. On hearing the news, Mary declared she needed to lie down, and Daniel followed her out of the room.

  “There’s something about those two that isn’t lining up either.” Gina paced back and forth in front of the kitchen table.

  After discussing their next move, Gina went into Agatha’s office to leave her a note, mumbling that it would “be much easier if certain Amish people would start carrying a cell phone.”

  Henry and Emma went up to their room to change out of their clothes, which were still slightly wet from the kayaking and slightly dirty from kneeling in the barn. By the time they’d come downstairs, Gina had called Tony.

  “He’s going to meet us at the hospital.”

  They piled into her red jeep. It was a twenty-minute drive to Kerrville, where the nearest hospital was located. They spent the time speculating on why Joey had come to Hunt, who had shot him, and how he’d known Nathan.

  They were directed to a waiting room. Fifteen minutes after sitting down, Tony arrived. They huddled in a corner of the room, their voices low and their eyes scanning the area—as if Nathan’s killer and the person who shot Joey might jump out from behind the vending machine. Henry realized with a start that they didn’t even know if it was one person or two they should be on the alert for. Were Nathan’s killer and the person who had shot Joey the same person?