Harmless as Doves (12 page)

“Over at the Brandens’.”

“Isn’t the professor on sabbatical?”

“Yes,” Cal said. “Down at Duke.”

“So?”

“Caroline’s home this week.”

“What do you want with her?”

“I thought she’d like to go out to see an Amish couple with me tomorrow,” Cal said, turning back to the room. “Over in the Doughty Valley.”

Rachel turned back to face her computer screen, and Cal asked, “Can you help a friend of mine learn the Internet?”

Rachel turned back to him. “Who?”

“You’d have to keep it a secret.”

“Why?”

“He’s that kind of fellow, is all.”

“What kind of help does he need?”

“FTP servers. Navigating sites.”

“You’re kidding.”

“A little, yes, but he needs to know more about Internet protocols. He can’t get by with just the basics anymore.”

“You going to tell me who it is, Dad?”

“If you can do this without letting anyone know about it.”

“OK, who?”

“Bruce Robertson,” Cal smiled.

Rachel came off her chair. “You’re kidding!”

“You’ve got to keep it a secret, Rachel.”

“I’ll blackmail the creep,” Rachel blurted.

“You can’t do that, Rachel.”

“You want me to help the
giant
sheriff of this
whole
big county learn to click a
mouse
through the Internet, and I can’t
talk
about it?”

“Right.”

“Can’t do that, Dad.”

“A favor to me?”

“Dad!”

“No, I’m serious. Maybe he could come over here for lessons. You‘d have him fixed up in no time.”

“Sheriff Robertson sitting here, next to a dwarf woman computer geek, and I can’t even take a picture?”

“It has to be secret.”

Rachel thought, ruffled her hair with her short fingers, and whistled. “Dad,” she said. “Are you serious?”

“If he gives you any trouble,” Cal smiled, “you just show him who’s boss. A couple of stern scoldings, and I guarantee you Bruce Robertson will come apart like a cheap toy.”

“Oh, you
guarantee
it, do you?”

“Well, not me. That’s what Linda Hart says about Robertson—that he’ll come apart like a cheap toy.”

Smiling mischief, Rachel said, “I’ll do it, if you let me tell Linda about it.”

Cal hesitated.

“I tell Linda,” Rachel said, “or no deal.”

“All right, but you have to wait until the Burkholder case is finished.”

“I don’t think I can do that, Dad.”

“That, or no deal, Rachel.”

“OK. After the Burkholder case is finished, I get to tell Linda Hart, right?”

“After the Burkholder case,” Cal said, “you can post it on the Internet for all I care.”

17

Thursday, October 8

9:20
A.M.

WITH CAROLINE Branden beside him the next morning, Cal drove his gray work truck up the hill and around the long horseshoe bend on Route 83 south of Millersburg. They came out of the ascending curve and dropped down off the high forest passage, traveled through several miles of open farmland, crossed lazy Bucks Run under a canopy of tall oaks and white-trunked sycamores, and turned east onto County 19, skirting the Doughty Creek. The road meandered through several miles of woodland and then came out into the wide Doughty Valley, where long stretches of field corn stood browning in the morning sun. One farm after another passed by, as Cal drove east along the curving lane—slowing at the crest of each hill, watching for the road apples that would mark the recent passage of a horse and buggy.

Considerably taller than the pastor, Caroline sat beside Cal and brushed absently with her fingertips at the curls of her long auburn hair, wondering how they would find Sara and Jeremiah Miller to be, raising their young family on Bishop Eli Miller’s old farm. She wondered, also, how they’d find Vesta Miller to be that morning. Cal had taken Vesta out to the Millers’ farm the night before, after Wednesday evening services, and then he had stopped at the Brandens’ house to tell Caroline about the murder of Glenn Spiegle.

Breaking into her thoughts, Cal said, “Vesta will probably want a ride into town this morning.”

“What?” Caroline asked, as Cal swung into the Millers’ drive.

“I think we’ll need to give Vesta a ride into town,” Cal said. “To see Crist.”

Caroline nodded and pointed ahead, as Cal pulled to a stop on the drive. At the end of the short drive, Jeremiah stood with his uncle Isaac in front of an RV the size of a Greyhound bus.

The two Amish men looked like a matched set of twins, their black chin whiskers round and full against their chests. Black felt hats covered identical Dutch-boy haircuts. Blue denim trousers matched their plain denim vests, hanging open in front over dark blue shirts. And side by side, the two men stood in front of the big RV wearing smiles that broke from ear to ear across their round, farm-tanned faces.

Cal parked on the drive and got out to shake hands with the men. Caroline followed behind him, and the two Amish men nodded bashful greetings to her. Knowing Amish reservations well, Caroline suppressed an urge to give Jeremiah a hug. Instead, she asked simply, “Is Sara here?” and angled toward the front porch. As she spoke, Sara came out on the porch and waved. Caroline climbed the front steps and slipped through the front door, turning back briefly to wave to Cal.

Once the two women were inside, Cal asked about the RV, and Jeremiah smiled, saying, “Sara’s former bishop got a lot of money from the Spits Wallace estate.”

“So, he bought an RV?” Cal asked.

“Bought some land, first,” Isaac responded. “Then the RV, so we could share it around.”

“Made any trips in it yet?” Cal asked.

Jeremiah led them over to the front porch and said, “This will be our first trip, Cal. Disney World. All of Isaac’s family, and all of mine.”

“You know how to drive it?” Cal asked.

“I’ve practiced some.”

“Got a driver’s license?” Cal asked.

Jeremiah smiled an evasive answer, but didn’t speak.

Cal shook his head and stepped up onto the front porch behind Isaac and Jeremiah. The men took seats in hickory
rockers, and as soon as they sat down, Sara toed the screened door open and asked, “Coffee?”

Jeremiah and Isaac shook their heads, but Cal said, “Sure, thanks,” and Sara went back inside.

Leaning forward, Cal said, “How is Vesta Miller?”

“She took a buggy into town already,” Isaac said, shaking his head. “To see Crist.”

Sara pushed the screened door open, came out onto the porch, and handed Cal a mug of black coffee. When she turned to go back inside, Cal noticed that her left toes dragged a little behind her leg, and after she went back inside, he asked, “Sara still having trouble from her strokes?”

Jeremiah nodded. “She still has trouble with the letters V and W. Her cheek droops a little. And she drags her leg when she’s tired.”

Cal tasted his coffee and asked, “How are the kids?”

“Fine,” Jeremiah said evenly. “Excited about the trip.”

Cal laughed. “I’d like to have a picture of that. You know—a picture of all you Amish, down at Disney.”

Blank stares came from the two Amish men.

Covering the silence, Cal assured them, “I wouldn’t try to take your pictures.”

Jeremiah nodded and laughed. Eyes dancing, Isaac said, “We’re just givin’ you the business, Cal.”

A peaceful, silent moment passed as the men rocked on the front porch, and then Jeremiah said, “Vesta’s father could smell money through an iron door.”

Slow to catch his thoughts up to that remark, Cal asked, “You know about him?”

Jeremiah nodded. “He’s been trying to get one of his daughters married into our district.”

Cal sipped his coffee and let another moment pass silently, knowing to let the men speak of Crist and Vesta when they were ready. They spoke of the weather, the crops, and the RV trip to Disney, and then, casting his gaze out over a distant field of corn, Jeremiah remarked, “Crist Burkholder was gonna be a big problem for Jacob Miller.”

Cal waited a beat, sipped some more coffee, and then carefully asked, “Because he wanted Vesta to marry Glenn Spiegle, instead of Crist Burkholder?”

Both Isaac and Jeremiah nodded.

“OK,” Cal asked, “but what did Glenn Spiegle have that Vesta’s father would have been so interested in?”

After a silence, Jeremiah answered, “Money, Cal. A lot of money, even by your English standards.”

* * *

“She’s still impaired, Cal,” Caroline complained sadly.

They were in Cal’s battered truck, driving back to Millersburg in a thunderstorm that was producing sleet, the pulse of the ice on the old metal roof sounding like a thousand wooden mallets pounding loose stone.

“She drags her left foot, Cal,” Caroline added over the rattle of the storm. “And her cheek is still sunken.”

“I know,” Cal said. “I should have prepared you better.”

Agitated, Caroline turned on her seat to face Cal and said, “A doctor told her that it’s dangerous for her to have children, but the bishop won’t let her use birth control.”

“How do you know that?”

“She told me, Cal. She wants me to help her get birth control. She says Vesta wants it, too, but they can’t tell anyone. The church doesn’t
permit
it.”

“Amish don’t use birth control, Caroline. You know that.”

“But this is Sara, Cal. She’s had strokes, and she shouldn’t have any more kids.”

Cal slowed at the junction with Route 83 and waited in the mounting storm for a buggy to clear the intersection. The sleet turned to rain, and Cal made the turn, with dark clouds pressing close to the road and the rain coming down so hard that it produced a spray on the pavement in front of his truck. Choosing his words carefully, Cal drove slowly through the rain and said, “Did you know that Isaac leaves money for artificial insemination in a secret place, behind a post in his barn?”

“What?” Caroline asked over the pounding of the rain.

“I’m trying to tell you something about birth control,” Cal said as he steered through standing water. “With the Amish, Caroline. Isaac has to pay secretly for artificial insemination.”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

They passed through a brief clearing and then through another burst of cold rain.

“For the cows, Caroline. They’re not allowed to use artificial insemination for the cows.”

“What has that got to do with Vesta?”

“It goes against nature,” Cal said, “so it’s not allowed. But they need it to sustain their herds. So at a prearranged time, all of Isaac’s family manages to be away from home, and they put the “candidate” in one of the milking stalls in the barn. Then the man comes to do his work. If he’s sure nobody’s home, he goes into the barn, does his thing, and takes his fee from the hiding place behind the post. It gives Isaac plausible deniability, and the bishop never has to know about it. Or at least he never has a reason to ask about it. And if he doesn’t ask, they can all pretend that he doesn’t know about it.”

“Seems hypocritical to me,” Caroline snapped.

Noting her tone, Cal said, “If they’re going to have birth control—Sara and Vesta—someone’s going to have to help them do it secretly.”

Fighting her emotions, Caroline rode beside Cal and tried to suppress her anxiety by listening to the rumbling of the thunder overhead and to the splashing of Cal’s truck tires as he drove through the standing water on the pavement.

Cal’s phone rang, and as he steered, he checked the display and answered it, saying, “Hi, Rachel.”

He listened, said, “OK,” switched off, and said to Caroline, “Can you come over to the house? I need to stop at home.”

Caroline shook her head. “Just take me home, Cal.”

“You’re upset about Sara?”

“I don’t know. I guess. Things seem to make me angry, anymore.”

“You going to be OK?”

“Yes,” Caroline answered halfheartedly. “Really, Cal, you should just take me home.”

Cal drove into town past the Walmart and said, “Is this more of your recent anxiety?”

“I don’t know. It’s probably just Sara and Vesta. You know, not being able to use birth control.”

“Because, if it’s more of that anxiety,” Cal continued, “then maybe we should talk.”

Caroline didn’t answer right away. They made the turn at the courthouse square, and Caroline said, “It’s just ignorance, Cal. With the Amish. It makes me angry. Lots of things seem to make me angry, anymore.”

“This isn’t like you,” Cal said. “Have you talked with Mike? About feeling this anger, again?”

“This isn’t about Eddie, Cal,” Caroline said. “It’s just Sara and Vesta. And Vesta’s father. And Crist Burkholder in jail, because her father wouldn’t let her marry him. All of it, I guess. And now, Sara needs help with something that ought to be easy.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is? You had that angry spell, after you killed Eddie.”

“Please, just take me home, Cal.”

“You should come over to my house,” Cal offered again.

“Doesn’t Rachel need you? Didn’t she just call?”

“Yes, but I think you could use the company.”

“Please, Cal. This isn’t about Eddie Hunt-Myers.”

Cal made the turn onto the college heights and pulled into the Brandens’ cul-de-sac. When Caroline got out, she wouldn’t turn to him to say good-bye. But, in the corner of her eye, Cal saw the tears starting to form.

18

Thursday, October 8

11:30
A.M.

RACHEL RAMSAYER was not a particularly small dwarf, but she was still nowhere near average in height. When she was seated at her computer, her feet touched the floor only because Cal had made adjustments to the legs and casters on her chair. And he had built the custom office furniture in her study, with a computer console set lower to the floor than average. So when he pulled his taller chair up to her monitor, she had to adjust its angle so they both could see it.

“Here it is,” she said, and clicked open her Google Earth program. Then with several clicks of her mouse, she drew down her focus successively closer to the stretch of beach in Bradenton where Billy Winters’s truck transponder had been located the day before.