Plain Danger (Military Investigations)

by Debby Giusti

  Unfortunately the senator was a sham. Her mother had created a fictional tale about her father, and Carrie had created her own fictional impression of the senator.

  Both were wrong.

  But he wouldn’t tell Carrie about her mistake. She would have to find that out for herself, probably long after she left Freemont.

  Tyler would have moved on to a new assignment by then, but he’d always remember the pretty speechwriter who had tugged at his heart.

  ELEVEN

  The Amish Craft Shoppe looked as if it had stepped out of the pages of time. Carrie smiled when she spied the wraparound porch, welcoming hand-painted sign over the door and the winter pansies that circled the front of the building. Tyler braked to a stop on the gravel lot in front of the small establishment, and they quickly entered.

  Long, hand-hewn tables were covered with freshly baked breads, pies, cakes and cookies as well as jars of jam and vegetables. On the shelves behind the counter were bolts of fabric in subdued colors, no doubt in keeping with Amish rules of dress found in the Ordnung, the Amish guide as to how they were to live their lives. Felt hats for winter, straw for summer hung from a freestanding wire shelf, along with suspenders and sewing supplies.

  Thick quilts stitched in intricate patterns were draped over racks. Others were neatly folded and piled on a side table. Farther along the wall were bins of potatoes, both golden and sweet, onions, bunches of carrots and turnips and other tubers.

  A young Amish man stood near the counter with broom in hand. “Gut morning. May I help you?”

  “I’m sure I’ll find a number of things to buy.” Carrie glanced at Tyler.

  He stepped closer and held up his identification. “I’m with the Criminal Investigation Division at Fort Rickman. I’m looking for Matthew Schrock.”

  “Matthew sometimes works here but not today. Is there a problem?”

  Tyler shook his head. “Nothing that reflects poorly on him. He found a body in the woods about two weeks ago, and I wanted to talk to him about what he saw.”

  “Mr. Harris.” The clerk nodded, his face somber. “Everyone was so sorry to learn of his death.”

  “Did Matthew mention anything about calling the police?”

  “I was here when he and his Datt came to the store to use the telephone. Matthew was emotional, naturally. Uncovering a dead body would be very upsetting.”

  “Do you know where we can find the boy?”

  “You should find him at home.”

  Tyler nodded. “Could you direct us?”

  The clerk raised his hand. “Along Amish Road. Turn south when you leave the parking lot.”

  “Is it far?”

  “Three or four miles at most.”

  As Tyler talked, Carrie gathered potatoes, onions, a loaf of bread and an apple pie. She placed them on the counter.

  “Did you find everything you wanted?” Tyler asked.

  “I did. Plus some. From the amount I’m buying, it looks like I’m staying in Freemont longer than a day or two.”

  Tyler smiled. “If you buy too much, you can always invite a neighbor over for dinner.”

  She laughed. “That sounds like a good solution. Do you like apple pie?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “My Datt prefers peach pie,” the young man said, joining in the discussion.

  “Shall I get a peach pie, as well?” Carrie asked. “I could take a pie to Ruth. They’ve been so nice, and I’m sure she’s busy unpacking and washing clothes after their trip.”

  “I doubt Isaac or Joseph would object.”

  Carrie added a second pie to the counter and paid the clerk once he had totaled the bill. Tyler helped carry the food to the car and opened the door for her.

  “Did you notice the beautiful quilts?” she asked as she slipped onto the passenger seat. “I’d love to take one back to DC with me.”

  A muscle in Tyler’s jaw twitched, which she’d noticed every time she mentioned returning to DC. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but his enthusiasm had waned and his expression had grown somber.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Of course. Let’s drop the food off at your house before we talk to the Amish boy. It sounds as if his house isn’t far from your dad’s place.”

  “That’s fine with me.” She hesitated a moment before adding, “There’s one thing that bothers me about leaving the area.”

  Tyler turned expectantly and stared at her. “What’s that?”

  “Leaving my Amish neighbors. Ruth is a lovely lady, and although I don’t know Isaac well, he’s a good man, and Joseph has stolen my heart. Such a sweet little boy.”

  “The Lapps are good folks, and Joseph is a cute little boy.” Tyler’s muscle twitched again. “But what about the neighbor on the other side?”

  Surprised by the question, Carrie didn’t know what to say and laughed to cover up her mixed emotions.

  “I’m blessed with good neighbors on each side,” she finally added, hoping to deflect any more comments.

  Tyler seemed focused on the investigation and nothing else, but perhaps she was wrong about him. Maybe there was something more to the special agent than solving crimes.

  * * *

  Tyler pulled into Carrie’s drive and carried the produce and baked goods into the house.

  “Shall I fix sandwiches?” she asked. “It’s almost lunchtime, and I’m getting hungry.”

  “We should have stopped in town. I could have bought you lunch.”

  “That wasn’t necessary.” She opened the refrigerator. “Ham and cheese on wheat sound good?”

  “Better than I’d have at home.”

  She pulled the meat and cheese from the refrigerator and placed them on the counter. “You’re not a gourmet cook?” she teased.

  “I can grill. Does that count?”

  “Sure. Those burgers were delicious last night. A couple of them are left over, if you’d prefer that for lunch.”

  “Surprise me.”

  “Let’s do the ham and cheese. If you want, we can have leftover burgers tonight.”

  “I’ll need a rain check. I’ve got a meeting at CID headquarters. They often run longer than expected. I wouldn’t want to hold you up.”

  “And I didn’t mean to insert myself into your schedule.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.”

  But it probably was. Carrie had failed to consider that Tyler might have a special someone on post. Someone he saw on a regular basis. Next time, she would keep her ideas for a shared meal to herself.

  She fixed the two sandwiches, added chips and a pickle and placed them on the small table near the window, along with two glasses of iced tea.

  “Good view of my house.” Tyler laughed as he sat down and glanced out the kitchen window.

  “I hadn’t noticed.” Her cheeks burned.

  He stared at her for a long moment before he reached for his sandwich.

  “I don’t usually say grace,” she blurted out. “But being around the Amish and seeing my father’s Bible, it seems right.”

  Tyler returned the sandwich to the plate. “My dad never let me eat without giving thanks to the Lord for the food, as well as for those who had prepared the meal. He often prayed that the food would do good and not harm us in any way.”

  “Sounds like your dad was a good man.”

  “He loved the Lord. As I got older, I realized he loved me, as well.” He shrugged. “Raising a child alone is tough on guys.”

  She thought of her mother. “On women too.”

  “Sorry, of course, your mom raised you alone.”

  “But she wasn’t God-fearing, and she didn’t teach me to pray. I got it from an osmosis of sorts visiting friends who had more stable home lives. Sometimes I’d go to church with them, but never with my mother.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “At the time, I didn’t think I was so far out of the norm. Later, in college, I realized other moms weren’t quite as neurotic as mine, n
or did other moms have a need to constantly be the center of attention.”

  “You could never measure up to what she wanted?”

  “Exactly.” She bowed her head. “Father God, thank You for bringing me to Freemont and for all those who have lived in this house. Bless the farmers who grew the food we are about to eat and the people who prepared it for sale.” She glanced at Tyler. “Let it be good for our bodies and do no harm.”

  “Amen.” He bit into the sandwich and smiled. “Delicious.”

  “You’re just hungry.”

  “I never lie.”

  She laughed. “That’s a quality I admire.”

  “You haven’t mentioned the journal.”

  “I was so tired last night that I didn’t get much read. The journal belonged to a woman named Charlotte Harris, who lived during the Civil War. She loved her family, and she loved to write.”

  “Like you.”

  “Perhaps I inherited my appreciation for the written word from her. Charlotte had an older son fighting in the war along with her husband. A younger son and daughter lived at home with her.”

  “Any mention of treasure?”

  “I started at the beginning so I haven’t gotten to the page the fireman noticed. She wrote about hiding some of the family keepsakes, which is different from buried treasure. Plus, there was no mention of gold coins.”

  “But there could have been coins.”

  “Of course. I’m wondering if the letter we saw in the Freemont Museum was penned by her husband, perhaps before he went off to fight.”

  “Or he could have come home injured before the end of the war or before the Union forces headed into Georgia. The letter mentioned his concern about Northern aggression taking what rightfully belonged to his children.”

  Tyler reached for the second half of his sandwich. “Have you looked at any of your father’s things? He may have a family tree tucked away with his papers.”

  “There’s an office in the back of the house with French doors that lead outside. I thought it might have been a screened-in porch that someone turned into a sunroom. He has bookshelves and a beautiful antique rolltop desk.”

  “Have you found anything of interest there?”

  She placed the rest of her sandwich on the plate and wiped her hands on the napkin in her lap. “I know it sounds foolish, but I haven’t wanted to infringe on the private areas in the house.”

  “You haven’t opened the desk?”

  “Nor have I gone in his bedroom or through his papers. I’m living as if I were a guest in a home that rightfully belongs to me, or will when all the paperwork is completed.”

  “You’re not ready to accept him as your father?”

  “Maybe that’s the problem, but it seems a bit foolish of me, since he is my father, whether I claim him or not.”

  “Are you hesitant to embrace your father because of some skewed allegiance you have to your mother?”

  Carrie titled her head. “I never thought of that as being the problem, but perhaps you’re right.”

  “The people were nice at the first foster home I went to after my father’s death, but I wouldn’t open myself to them for fear I was dishonoring my dad. No one could or would take his place. At least that’s the way my childish logic worked. I was struggling with a lot of things—anger, guilt, grief. Eventually the family sent me back, saying I wasn’t willing to accept them into my life. Which was true at the time. Only—”

  She waited. “Only what, Tyler?”

  “Only that was the best home foster care could offer me. The next people were a whole lot worse, which only made me even angrier. I was kicked from home to home because of who I was. Each place was a step down, and my hate escalated.”

  “Sounds as if you were on a slippery slope to self-destruction. How’d you turn that around?”

  “A high school coach saw something in me. Plus, he needed a lineman for the football team. For whatever reason, I let him into my pain. He loved God and tried to get me to join his church. I never went that far, but I listened and some of it rubbed off on me. He encouraged me to join high school ROTC, and I found my spot. We worked with the local police, and for a number of reasons, law enforcement and the military drew my interest.”

  “Did you enlist after high school to join the CID?”

  “First the military police. Then I got a degree in criminal justice, thanks to Uncle Sam, and applied to be in the CID. I wanted to investigate crime and injustice done against military personnel and their families.”

  “You’re a success story.”

  “Maybe, but I still harbor a grudge against the past.”

  “At your father?”

  “At the man who killed him.”

  Carrie looked puzzled. “I thought your dad lost his life in an auto accident.”

  “He did, but the man driving the car that killed him was drunk.”

  She reached out and touched Tyler’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It happened long ago, but I still remember how the guy staggered from his car. He reeked of alcohol and slurred his speech when he asked me if I was okay.”

  “You were in the car?”

  “Luckily in the backseat. My forehead was cut.” He touched a small scar that was probably a constant reminder of what had happened.

  “He went to jail?”

  Tyler laughed ruefully. “If only the world were a perfect place.”

  “You mean he wasn’t found guilty?”

  “He wasn’t even accused of wrongdoing, Carrie, because he was a man of influence who knew the right people.”

  “Is there anything you can do now?”

  Tyler shook his head. “What’s the Bible say about vengeance?”

  “As I recall, something about vengeance being mine, sayeth the Lord.”

  “I’m waiting for God to bring the guilty to justice in my father’s case and working hard to help the Lord in the cases I can handle.”

  He reached again for his sandwich. Carrie took a sip of iced tea and tried to imagine what Tyler had gone through. She had thought her own childhood was hard, but it was nothing compared to his.

  As soon as they finished eating, she cleared the table and both of them rinsed the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher.

  Her phone rang, a local number she didn’t recognize. “I should take this.”

  Tyler nodded. “I can go in the other room if you need privacy.”

  “No, stay.”

  Once she answered, Sergeant Oliver identified himself as the soldier she had talked to outside the headquarters of her father’s former unit. “Ma’am, I wondered if you found any photos of your dad that we can use in the upcoming ceremony.”

  “Oh, Sergeant Oliver, I haven’t had time. I’m so sorry. Give me another day or two if you don’t mind.”

  “Certainly. Why don’t I stop by tomorrow night? As I told you yesterday, we have a few military pictures, but I think some personal photos would be nice, as well.”

  “You’re so kind to think of my father and to want to make the ceremony special. I promise I’ll search through his papers and let you know if I find anything that might be appropriate.”

  “Appreciate your help, ma’am. It must be difficult going through his things.”

  “I’m not moving as quickly as I had hoped.”

  “No problem. Call me and I can pick the photos up anytime.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant Oliver.” She hung up and informed Tyler of the sergeant’s request. “I guess that means I have to go through his desk.”

  “If you want to look now, I could drop the pictures at his unit when I return to post this afternoon.”

  “But you wanted to talk to the Amish boy. Let’s do that first. I’ll check for photos later.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  She picked up the peach pie. “I want to take this to the Lapp family before Ruth bakes a pie of her own.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Tyler said. “I need to ask Isaac if he kno
ws anything about Matthew Schrock.”

  The doorbell rang. Carrie looked quizzically at Tyler. “I don’t have a clue who that could be.”

  Tyler led the way into the dining room and peered out the window. “It’s Isaac and Joseph.”

  She called Bailey. “Joseph will want to say hello to you.” When she opened the door, she realized the little boy wasn’t here to play. His face was blotched from crying and his lower lip quivered.

  “Isaac, is there a problem?” she asked, looking from the tearful Joseph to his stern-faced father.

  “Yah, there is.” He tapped his son’s shoulder. “Tell her, Joseph.”

  “I am sorry for taking something that did not belong to me.”

  “Whatever are you talking about?”

  Tyler came and stood behind her.

  The little boy stretched out his hand and opened his fist. Lying on his palm was an old coin, covered with Georgia clay.

  “I found this on your land. Datt said I should have given it to Mr. Harris.”

  “When did you find it?” she asked.

  “Before Mr. Harris died. He is with the Lord now, so I kept the coin. Datt said I was wrong to keep anything that was not mine.”

  She held out her hand. The boy dropped the coin into her palm.

  “You have been a very brave boy and done the right thing,” Carrie said. “Thank you, Joseph, for returning what you found. Now I don’t think you need to cry anymore.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “I know you are, and I have something that might help you dry your tears.”

  She stepped away from the door and grabbed the pie from the table. “Do you think your mother would like to serve peach pie tonight after you’ve eaten your dinner?”

  He bobbed his head, the tears forgotten. “Yah, ist gut.”

  “Can you carry it home?”

  His eyes widened. “I will be careful.”

  “You do not need to do this,” Isaac said.

  “It’s a small token of my appreciation, Isaac. I’m grateful to have such fine neighbors. Thank you for helping my father and for helping me.”

  “That is what Gott would want us to do.”