Shunning Sarah

by Julie Kramer

  The bear center folks, especially Teresa, pleaded for compassion. As did other bear researchers worldwide, but no one for miles around wanted to risk living near Walden. So no local public support was forthcoming. The hastily assembled online outcry to Save Walden came from nature lovers who lived a safe distance away from the rogue bear.

  Using his radio collar, the animal was tracked and killed later that day.

  No media were allowed to record the execution. But shots of bloody snow led all the newscasts that evening.

  CHAPTER 67

  I speculated that Sarah must have discovered the Amish counterfeiting scheme while working at the store and threatened to talk. Maybe she tried to blackmail Ike. Or maybe she was simply offended by the deception.

  With both players dead, we’d never know the truth.

  The chain of evidence linking the quilt from Ike’s store to Sarah’s sinkhole convinced Sheriff Eide that he’d solved his first and only murder and could close the case with pride—two weeks before the election.

  • • •

  The Channel 3 van still sat torched by the side of the road. That Ike and Walden had both perished, and the fact that I had almost died, all weighed heavier on my mind. However, those casualties didn’t cost the station any actual money, so Bryce was more concerned that the price of my Amish murder investigation—one company vehicle, two broadcast cameras, and assorted other news gear, including my cell phone—was nearing sixty grand. For a television news director whose dream was to make more money being number two than number one, that’s a steep tab for any story.

  I felt isolated without calls, texts, or emails. Although the good news was I didn’t have to worry about Bryce being on the other end of any communication.

  I had unfinished business around Harmony, so my dad let me borrow their car, keeping the pickup for themselves. And because my purse had also gone up in flames, Mom gave me eighty-two dollars—the cash stash she kept tucked under the good china. I’d also used their phone to call the neighbor boy to take over Husky duties until I got back to the cities to hug my dog.

  Knowing I’d be unwelcome, I stopped at the Yoder farm anyway just to clear things up between us before I left town. Even though snow was on the ground, Miriam was hanging dresses and pants on the line. A large basket of wet clothing sat by her feet.

  She had already heard the news that Sarah’s killer had been found.

  “It matters not,” she said. “Judge not, that ye be not judged.” Not wanting to be drawn into the whole forgiveness debate, I got right to the point. “Here’s what her murderer’s death means in terms of the media and you. Because the case is closed, there won’t be a trial. Which means Sarah won’t be in the news much longer.”

  “No more stories?” she asked.

  “Not from me.”

  I was too personally involved in the case to cover it anymore. Bryce had sent Nicole down to report on Ike’s death. The law had put crime-scene tape around the bear den. I’d stood there, for my interview, pointing at the tree where I hid in fear, unsure if I’d die by man or beast.

  “No more putting her picture on TV?” Miriam asked.

  “I think that’s over, Miriam. The whole point of my questions and quest to tell her story was to bring her justice by identifying her killer. I know that’s hard for you to understand, but from my perspective, now Sarah can rest.”

  Miriam was so relieved, she stumbled, dropping wooden clothespins on the ground.

  “I’m sorry for the loss of your daughter, Miriam. And I’m especially sorry for all the ensuing intrusions into your world.”

  My recent encounters with the Amish had taught me that the adults were generally an unemotional lot in public. So I was taken aback when Miriam began weeping. She probably felt some guilt over Sarah’s homicide. If they hadn’t shunned Sarah, she wouldn’t have left, and wouldn’t be dead.

  “It’s never too late for a good cry,” I told her.

  Then I wrapped my arms around Miriam, and she sobbed against my shoulder like she was a child instead of a mom. I didn’t often get a chance to physically comfort someone troubled. Usually a camera was rolling and I had to stay professional during an emotional interview. As she quieted, I was glad I had come to visit.

  “Hey, Miriam, I don’t get down this way very often, but if there was any way we could be friends, I’d like that.”

  Sometimes families want to stay in touch even after their news cycle ends. Other times they want no reminders of the torment. But she shook her head, and I understood this was goodbye for us.

  Then her son, Gideon, pulled into the yard with the buggy. I didn’t hear the clip-clop warning because of the snow-packed road. He jumped out before the horse even stopped and raced over to us, shouting for me to go away.

  Then for the first time since I met her, Miriam raised her voice. “Be still,” she told him.

  And for the first time, I saw her flex her maternal muscles and take charge of her son. While I understood she and I could never be true friends, she had apparently decided not to let him be rude to my face. “The stories are finished, Gideon. She has promised to stop showing Sarah’s picture. It is finally over.”

  That calmed him down. And while I should have just walked to my car without another word, and driven off without a look backward, I wasn’t as fond of him as of his mother.

  Of course, she hadn’t held me down in the dark and cut off my hair. I pulled off my hat and threw it at Gideon. It bounced against the brim of his own.

  “I know you can’t give me back my hair, but at least give me back my camera.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You told the sheriff the truth about painting over Sarah’s billboard, why don’t you tell me the truth now? What did you do with my camera?”

  He started toward me, angrily, but Miriam held him back. I noted that he kept rather quiet so I took his silence as an admission of guilt.

  Because I was a one-man band, I didn’t have anyone to hold me back and keep me calm. “You think this haircut sent me a message, Gideon? Just be glad I don’t send you a message of my own.”

  “What is all this talk about cameras and hair?” Miriam seemed to be asking both of us.

  “Ask your son,” I told her.

  Then I left the world of the Amish behind. No regrets. I had expected a taste of mystery and had gotten an overdose of misery.

  Just then, the modern world didn’t seem so tainted. And if there was a devil, I was more convinced than ever that his weapon of choice was not TV.

  • • •

  I was an hour on the road before I remembered Sarah’s journal, hidden in my top drawer at the station. Between Walden and the quilt, I’d had no time to find someone to translate the German writing.

  Now that her killer was found, the urgency was gone. Sarah’s final thoughts no longer mattered. As a journalist, I respected that diaries are supposed to be confidential. So I was torn between honoring Sarah’s privacy and giving the journal to her mother.

  CHAPTER 68

  I was too sleep deprived to head to the station. I’d been working on adrenaline and caffeine the last thirty-six hours and was completely spent. I drove home torn between wanting to crawl between clean sheets and wanting to climb into a hot bath. Since it was just me, I decided the bath could wait.

  Except I wasn’t alone. A rental vehicle was parked in front of my house. And behind the wheel, reading a newspaper, was my former fiancé.

  He didn’t recognize me at first, probably because of my car and hair. I pounded on the driver’s-side window to get his attention. Within seconds, his arms were wrapped around me, and then our lips took over. Familiar kisses felt reassuring.

  “I heard what happened with the bear, Riley.” My lover had a Google Alert on my name. That’s how he always knew about my latest story or mishap. “I couldn’t reach you, and I decided enough with waiting for you to want me. I want you enough for both of us.”

  Soon we were inside, and rather th
an mention that I smelled like a combination of smoke, gasoline, bear, and blood, he merely turned on the shower and helped me undress.

  “Oh Nick, I’m too tired for a shower.”

  “I’ll do all the work, Riley. You just stand there. I’ll scrub your back, shampoo your hair, and give you a nice towel dry.”

  The steam and heat felt soothing. I closed my eyes and pretended Ike Hochstetler had never happened. Minutes later, Garnett and I climbed between the bedcovers.

  “Are you going to do all the work between the covers, too?” I figured Garnett didn’t fly all the way from Washington, DC, for a hot shower. Before he could even answer, I fell asleep curled against him and didn’t wake for fourteen hours.

  • • •

  When I saw the clock, I panicked. I should have been at work hours ago. Without a phone, the desk couldn’t reach me. Bryce would be furious. He’d probably write me up as AWOL.

  “Relax.” Garnet was typing away on his laptop computer. “I called the station and told them you were sick.”

  “Sick? I’m not allowed to be sick. I work in TV news.”

  “Sometimes you need an objective observer to decide what’s best for you, and I decided you were sick.”

  He was probably right. “The whole episode feels unreal. I almost wonder if I went a little mad out there in the woods. Maybe I still am.”

  “We all go a little mad sometimes.” Garnett leaned back as he said the line with meaning.

  I responded immediately. “Psycho. Anthony Perkins, 1960.”

  “See, that was a test, Riley, and you passed. Now I know you’re cured of any madness.”

  “Maybe I’m just mad about you, Nick.” And I took his hand and led him back to bed and proved it.

  CHAPTER 69

  The next day I insisted I was well enough to return to work. Garnett had to fly back to Washington anyway after finishing a security meeting out at Minneapolis–St. Paul International Airport.

  Usually he would try to talk me into going back east with him, and I would claim to be too busy at the station. But actually, I really didn’t like flying.

  Neither of us brought up any future plans this time, probably because we didn’t want to jinx our present status. The past also seemed better left off-limits. So that restricted our conversation topics.

  Both of our lives had changed forever that afternoon at Channel 3 when Garnett killed the gunman who was shooting up the newsroom. Even though he’d been a cop his entire life, he’d never actually taken a life. And I was struggling with my own disturbing problems after facing a psycho in an Iowa cemetery. I guess I thought if we didn’t talk about the bad, it wouldn’t be real and might just go away. But I’d since learned that theory was worthless. Maybe Garnett had, too. Maybe that was why he was back in my bed. I was afraid to ask him.

  “Want to walk the dog with me?” I said instead.

  “You have a dog?” He looked around the kitchen. “Where do you keep him?”

  “Husky. He’s with a neighbor. Remember him? First he belonged to Toby, then Noreen, now me. He rotates between living here and down at the farm.”

  Soon we were heading toward Lake Nokomis, just the three of us. We almost resembled a family. I wondered if Garnett still had the engagement ring that he had given me and I had given back. It held a deep red stone—a garnet. But instead of asking me to marry him again, he asked how things were at the station.

  “How’s the new boss working out?”

  “I hate him.”

  “Still making you shoot your own video?”

  “That’s the least of it.” If I told Garnett about Bryce’s technique for supervising women, he’d pound him. So I kept quiet because I didn’t want my once-again boyfriend behind bars. “Although if I’d had a photographer assigned to me, I wouldn’t have been running for my life alone the other night.”

  “There’d probably just be one more dead bear victim,” he said.

  “Walden got a bum rap. He deserved to see spring. I wish things could have ended differently for him.”

  “Well, the way I read the situation, if the bear hadn’t killed this guy, the guy would have killed you. I’d rather hear about a dead bear than a dead Riley.”

  “That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said.” Garnett was better at quoting movie lines than coming up with his own dialogue.

  “I do my best.”

  My ankle was still bothering me, so I suggested we turn back so I could elevate my foot.

  “Fine with me,” Garnett said. “All the walking is making me hungry. Do you have anything in your refrigerator?”

  I weighed the last time I’d been shopping with the last time I’d taken out the garbage. “Probably nothing edible.”

  We stopped by a local deli and I ran to use the ladies’ room and grab something to eat. This bathroom water was a little on the hot side, but what really got my attention was that one of the workers making sandwiches wasn’t wearing gloves. I knew that was a health violation, so I just stuck with two coffees and muffins in plastic wrap. When I came outside, Husky was rubbing against Garnett’s legs while he got his ears scratched. I made a mental note to swing by the grocery store on my way home from the station and pick up some basics like milk, eggs, and dog biscuits.

  Then I remembered owing Bryce another food story that was cheap, fast, and foolproof. That would probably be the first thing he asked me about when I returned to work. Not, how was I doing? But, what have I got for sweeps?

  I forced myself to think food. And suddenly, restaurant inspections came to mind. Instead of Channel 3 putting eateries to the test, we’d simply report what city health inspectors found. Cheap. Fast. Foolproof. Now I wasn’t dreading returning to work so much.

  Husky was eager for the walk to end. He didn’t like cold paws. When we got back to the house, he rushed to the door to embrace his indoor-dog status. Garnett and I clung together for a brief kiss and went back to our professional—but at times, unprofessional—worlds.

  CHAPTER 70

  As I drove to Channel 3, I was reveling in the benefits of not having a cell phone and not being constantly on call. I’d traded convenience for freedom. I’d decided to wait until the station ordered me to buy a new phone.

  But I didn’t go straight to the office. I stopped first at the Minneapolis Health Department to talk about health code violations, which are public record. Within minutes I was sitting at a small table with a large stack of files. The last three months of city restaurant inspections. I made a food index, noting which places had high grades and which had tanked. My story would be a report card to Minneapolis’s dining establishments. I wished all my research could be so easy. I set to work making photocopies.

  • • •

  The best part about my Channel 3 office was the location. Tucked in the rear of the building, I could enter through the station’s back alley entrance when I wanted to keep a low profile. I didn’t have to walk by the news director’s office or the assignment desk.

  By the time I arrived at work, the news huddle was long over. Most of the staff had scattered. I logged onto my computer, and made a spreadsheet of the restaurants and their scores. Just as I was heading to tell Bryce the good news, I ran into Nicole who was leaving his office.

  “Why didn’t you interrupt us?” She held up her cell phone. “I texted you.”

  “I’m phoneless, Nicole. What happened?”

  She looked around to see if anyone was watching us. I motioned for her to follow me to the ladies’ room. The restroom hadn’t been updated since the station was built, and had gotten shabby over the years. The faucet water was on the cool side. The women of Channel 3 had been campaigning long for a remodel, but had always been turned down due to budget constraints.

  However, the stalls were empty, and it was just the place for a private chat.

  “What happened?”

  “He complimented me on my job covering the bear attack. Then he asked if I’d received his message. I tol
d him I have conservative Christian values and didn’t appreciate that kind of picture. That I had deleted the photo and didn’t want any more.”

  “That’s actually good. You put him on notice.”

  She looked relieved. “Really? Do you think he’ll stop then?”

  “No, Nicole. If anything, he’ll want to prove he’s in charge.”

  CHAPTER 71

  I walked into Bryce’s office waving a printout of my spreadsheet. “Here’s your food story, boss, and it’s terrific.”

  My enthusiasm surprised him and he instructed me to close the door for our discussion so he could better concentrate. I thought about refusing, but figured that would just piss him off.

  I gave him the bottom line: Channel 3 would broadcast restaurant inspection scores. “We have some popular places with violations that will surprise viewers.”

  “So we’re good to air?” He sounded surprised.

  “Sure are, boss.”

  “This seems too easy.” He sounded suspicious.

  “Call Miles,” I said. “I’m not worried. Because a couple of these places with failing marks are large restaurant chains with their own staff attorneys, now might be a good time to bring him in to flag any legal issues.”

  While we waited for Miles, I explained the difference between critical and noncritical food violations. “Critical ones could cause food-borne illnesses. They might involve sanitation or undercooked meat.”

  Within a couple minutes, Miles had arrived. He shut the door for our attorney-client talk, but that was fine with me because I wasn’t alone with Bryce anymore.

  Miles had no objection to broadcasting the inspection scores as long as we gave the restaurants an opportunity to respond. Whether they decided to comment or not would be up to them.

  “Absolutely, we will,” I said. “But that affects timing. If we want to hold the story for the November sweeps, I don’t think we want to contact them much more than a week in advance. Otherwise they’ll have their advertising team call our sales gang to lean on us to kill the story.”