In Plain View (28 page)

This is what I know about pictures—they can be like water, sixty percent of you, if they get inside your head. With all the things I’d seen in my career, my contents label must read at least that much in human toxins.

What had Jenny seen that had led her here?

Was it something in me?

“Want to watch a little TV?” I whispered.

The mumbling of late-night syndication emptied my head at last. Politics and laugh tracks and Old Navy, still promoting their sale. Commercial breaks—the modern consumer’s mindlessly repeated prayers.

This is what I know about words—they can be like air, everything and nothing. Hot enough to choke. Cold enough to bite. Invisible but absolutely necessary.

Why couldn’t I find the words Jenny needed?

Did I even have them in me anymore?

I drifted off, comforted by a little girl’s even breathing and the modulated sound of happy, grown-up voices coming from the television.

I’m not sure how much later the faint trill of my phone had me up and scrambling. I grabbed for my messenger bag, trying to answer it quick, before the nurses caught me with my cell phone still turned on.

“O’Hara?” Gatt’s gravelly voice was even rougher than usual. “Did you send Ainsley off on a shoot alone?”

“What?” It took me a minute to organize my head. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“I’m not paying you to send the kid out by himself, O’Hara,” he said, in a voice rising in volume with every sentence. “I’m paying you to work with him.”

“I am working with him. He’s on a shoot for me.”

“And you are,” Gatt finished the question himself, “—in bed?”

I was sitting on the edge of Jenny’s hospital bed actually. No way was I ready to tell that to him. Personal problems are not welcome in my workplace. “Get to the point, Gatt. What are you asking me?”

“I just got a call from my sister. She wants to know why Ainsley is out there on his own, when he’s only done two shoots in his frigging life. So my point is this—get your ass out of bed and supervise him, or you can assume I won’t be requiring your services any longer. Got it?”

“Got it,” I said. He hung up. I hit Phone-Off.

The door swooshed and Tonya entered, her footsteps soundless. Her green neon track suit glowing loudly. “Hey baby,” she said. “How’s it going?”

“She’s asleep. They said she’ll probably sleep through the night.”

“Tell me everything. What happened?”

The recap didn’t take long. I remained sitting on the edge of the bed, the phone in one hand. Tonya stood towering over me, eyes shifting between Jenny’s monitor equipment and her face. As I filled her in, her frown deepened, then she added the slow head shake and the crossed arms, and finally, the
mmmghh
of disapproval.

“And to top it off, Gatt just called,” I said.

“The new boss?”

“Right. He told me not to come in tomorrow if I don’t go out and hold Ainsley’s hand for a simple dawn pick-up shot. One lousy shot!”

“Shh.” Tonya pointed at Jenny.

“The man didn’t even ask me for the details.”

She must have followed my line of sight. “Does he know about Jenny?”

“No.”

“You should tell him.”

If anything, my feelings now were even more complicated. I could barely admit it to myself, much less aloud to my boss. I was ashamed.

“You need this job, Maddy.”

“I know it.”

With helpful enthusiasm, Tonya said, “Go. Check on Ainsley. I’ll stay here with Jenny.”

“No. Thanks. If Gatt decides to fire me—” I blanked. I’d never faced this kind of work dilemma before. I didn’t even have a vocabulary for this kind of scenario. “I guess I’ll figure something out. I want to stay. I want to be here when Jenny wakes up. She might need to see a friendly face, you know?”

“Sure, baby.” She didn’t smile but I heard warmth in her voice and the next thing I knew, she’d grabbed my head with her two hands and planted a big kiss on the top of my forehead. “You’re gonna do all right. You’ll do fine.”

Half a smile crooked my lips. “Took me long enough.”

“That’s true,” she admitted.

“The least you could do is argue a little.”

She took up residence in the sleeping chair and I curled up on the empty bed. And we waited.

When the phone rang the second time, it was with the brutally unfamiliar jangle of the hospital phone.

“What?” I answered in a hiss. It was still pitch dark around the curtained window and I had that nauseous disorientation that lack of sleep brings.

Across the room I could see Tonya staring. Jenny, thank goodness, didn’t budge.

“Maddy? You won’t believe it—”

“Ainsley, is that you? What the hell time is it?” My eyes were burning. My brain wouldn’t compute the numbers on my watch into anything meaningful.

“How’s Jenny?”

“She’s still asleep. They say she may sleep for hours. Where are you?”

“I’m at the Jost farm. I’m ready to go. I’ve got the camera all set and, you won’t believe this, there’s a car at the end of the driveway.”

“A car?”

“A silver SUV.”
Ainsley made the words a sibilant tease. “And I saw someone get out and go around the backside of the house. What should I do? Should I go check it out?”

“No! Absolutely not. You keep recording and—” I considered and discarded a couple of options before I settled on, “Call the cops. Call Curzon.”

“What if this guy’s up to something? There are other people in there. Rachel. Her dad.”

“Call the police, Ainsley! You stay right where you are.”

“Good idea. You call Sheriff Curzon; he likes you. I’ll try to get a little closer, so I can make sure that nothing bad is happening. I’m turning off my phone now, so I can be quiet. I’ll call you back as soon as I know something.”

“Wait! No!”

Too late. He’d clicked off.

“What is it?” Tonya asked.

“Ainsley’s at the Jost farm,” I said. “He saw somebody drive up and creep around the back.”

“Who’d be driving up to an Amish house?”

“Somebody not Amish.” I started digging through my bag for my phone. “I’m calling the cops.” I tried the number I had for Curzon, got voice mail and left a message. I called emergency, made a report to the woman who answered. She seemed skeptical and definitely unconvinced of the urgency I was feeling.

“I’ll make a report to the sheriff,” she said blandly. “They’ll send a car to do a drive-by.”

“When?”

“I’m sure they will get to it as soon as possible,” she assured me.

“Crap,” I said the minute I hung up. I speed dialed Ainsley’s phone but got no answer.

“Well?” Tonya asked. She looked worried. Maybe I looked worried, too.

“I don’t like this.” I started to pace the small length of floor to the end of the bed and back. “The car he saw at the house, Ainsley said it was an SUV.”

“Same kind of car ran you off the road,” Tonya said.

“And followed us that night we went to Tom’s apartment.” Car references flipped through my head and another one clicked. “‘A shiny car.’ The little boy that saw Jenny walk off the playground today, he said she got into a ‘shiny car.’”

“Shiny meaning silver?” Tonya guessed exactly where I was going.

“Whoever he is, if he did this to Jenny, he’s dangerous. Ainsley’s in trouble. Maybe Rachel and Mr. Jost, too.” I looked at Jenny. I looked at Tonya. I felt petrified.

Jenny and Ainsley—they both needed me.

“What do I do?” I said.

“Jenny is safe here,” Tonya said. I understood her offer even before she added, “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t want Jenny to wake up without me.”

Tonya nodded. “Then hurry back.”

7:36:09 a.m.

It took me forever to get out to the Jost farm. Tonya’s Escort was not made for high-speed maneuvers.

The smell of smoke was apparent miles away. The first red lick of dawn was beginning to give way to a weak gray sky that was part smoke and part nasty weather.

When it finally came into view, the house was a shock. That perfect image of country life was a wreck of blackened timber bones. Smoke rose in drifting towers, solid yet impermanent.

The front porch and most of the entrance facade were intact, like an old movie sound stage. Straight through to the back, there were timbers still smoldering. The smell was intense. There was no escaping it, no shift of air current made a bit of difference. It clung to the inside of my throat and nose, rough and bitter. Coughing didn’t help. Neither did spitting. There was a low hum in the air, part buzzing sub-woofer and part baby-cry. It took me a while to figure out what I was hearing. The cows wanted milking, crisis or not.

People were everywhere. The Amish neighbors seemed focused on the animals. They moved deliberately, going about work that was as foreign to me as my camera would be to them. The county volunteer fire department had sent a pumper truck. Fire service types, easy to identify in their bulky uniforms, were raking out smoking clumps and spraying down others. I momentarily wished I had a camera in my hand when I saw a tired, dirty fireman in fifty pounds of gear standing near Rachel’s chicken shed while a rooster on the gable crowed the arrival of dawn—exhausted modern man glaring at old-time alarm clock.

I grabbed the arm of the first firefighter who passed me. “Ainsley Prescott? Have you seen him? Young, blond guy—not Amish.”

“The one who went into the fire? They’ve got him over by the ambulance.”

“Into the fire?”

The flash of the ambulance’s warning light led me over the grass, my footsteps tumbling faster and faster.

I found Ainsley sitting on the ambulance tailgate, having his hands wrapped.

“They keep slipping off,” he told the paramedic. The long shock of blond hair he usually combed so neatly off his face drooped over his eyes. He reached up to flip it back.

“Stop using your hands,” the paramedic said.

“Yeah,” I interrupted. “Try using your head.”

“Maddy!” Relief was all over his face. “What are you doing here?”

Looking at his hands bandaged like The Mummy, turned all my fear into anger. With all the trouble he was in, he should not be glad to see me. I did not understand this kid.

“How’s Jenny?” he asked, his face full of concern.

It was hard to launch into lecture mode with Jenny as the lead. “Fine. She’s going to be fine. She hasn’t woken yet. It may be a while—later this morning.”

“Good. That’s great.”

“What the hell happened to your hands, College Boy?”

He looked down at his wrappings, looked up at me and smile-shrugged. He was about as filthy as a fellow can appear in khakis and a Brooks Brothers button-down. The smear of ash on his cheek looked like the makeup department had arranged it for maximum cute with minimum muss.

The paramedic helping with his bandages jumped in. “Not to worry. Only second degree. And this guy’s a hero. Went in there and dragged the old man out.” Mr. Paramedic clapped him on the shoulder.

“I’m no hero.” Ainsley shook his head.

“Old guy might not make it,” the paramedic said to me. “Smoke. Really hard on the heart at that age. Took him to the hospital a few minutes ago.”

“Great. That’s where I’m headed next. What about Rachel?”

“She wasn’t in the house,” Ainsley answered. “It’s weird, Maddy. Nobody seems to know where she is. But nobody seems worried either.”

“That is weird,” I whispered, suddenly very aware of all the ears nearby.

“No shit,” Ainsley repeated all-seriousness.

I flashed back to the day I was hired and Uncle Richie’s concern. If teaching the kid street-French was a problem, second-degree burns acquired during unsupervised location shoots were going to be a hanging offense.

I sat down next to him and rubbed my throbbing head. “What happened here? You didn’t mention a fire on the phone. How’d it start?”

“Not sure yet,” the medic answered. “Looks like the kerosene stove had something to do with it. Everybody’s saying it started in the kitchen.” He tied off the last bandage. “No operating any heavy machinery today, got it? In a few hours, those puppies are gonna smart a bit.” For my benefit, he added, “I’d have someone at the ER give him the once-over. They can give him something for pain as well.”

“I’ll make sure he checks back.”

“Not yet,” Ainsley complained. “There’s stuff to do here.”

“Get there before nine. The wait won’t be as long,” the medic offered, before heading off to pack his gear. One guy’s emergency was another guy’s average day. I could relate.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well?” I asked.

Ainsley held up the swaddled palm of his right hand. “I used this one to open the door.” He pantomimed reaching for a doorknob, metal no doubt, and snatching back a burned hand. “This one,” he blocked with the back of his left hand, “kept something from falling on Jost.”

“As you were dragging him out of the house?” I said, marveling at my own calm.

“But don’t worry, I remembered to leave the camera rolling. I’ve looked at some of it, Maddy, and it’s not bad. I’ve got this great idea for a dissolve. Fire into dawn? Sort of re-create a time-lapse look?” He was so excited he stood up and waved his thickly padded hands in the air.

“Go on.”

“As soon as we hung up, I saw weird lights moving around inside the house. Not the same kind of lights though. Upstairs, the light was a muted yellow-red. Downstairs it was a blue-white light.” His eyebrows emphasized the point. “Really hot.”

“Halogen?”

“Definitely. Mondo flashlight, I’d bet. Remember, the kind Mrs. Ott said they used for courting?”

“Somebody was coming for Rachel?”

I could tell he was thinking the same thing, but he shrugged. “The blue light went out. And then I saw a yellow glow downstairs. It was a fire, Maddy, I could tell by the color and the smell the minute the wind turned. So I called 9-1-1 and ran across the yard, climbed the fence, got into the house as fast as I could.”

I started shaking my head. I felt sick again—the way I had when I found Jenny in the ditch.

“As I was going in the front door, I heard a car pull out. Gravel. I know I did.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“Yeah. They acted like I was the suspect. What was I doing there? Did I have permission? All these other questions.”

“They think somebody set the fire on purpose?”

“Yeah. But why?” His voice cracked. “Why would anyone want to hurt these people? These are good people.”

My sister. Jenny. Saint Ainsley the Hero. Goodness was no shield.

“Ainsley, Ainsley, Ainsley,” I interrupted that line of thought. “What’s the rule?
What is the rule?
”

“Rule?” He blinked, welcoming the chance to refocus his emotions before the tears dropped. “You mean about the camera? I left it on the tripod, running the whole time. Everything’s wide, but I checked it, Maddy. We’ve got some amazing stuff. Really.”

“Not that rule.”

“Huh?”

“The one that says you report the news.” I grabbed his closest hand and held it up between us. “You don’t become the news.”

He looked confused. “What do you mean? There were people in there. They could have died.”

“You could have died. You were there to do a job. Your uncle was counting on you. I was counting on you. By all means call for backup. Call fire. Call police. Call your mom—but I can’t have you rushing into burning buildings every time I send you out. My nerves can’t take it.”

“Your nerves? That old guy may still die.” He might look like spun sugar, but it was all grit now. “What about him?”

“The rule is you stay on your side of the camera, and they stay on the other. If you can’t handle that simple instruction, I can’t work with you.” My voice got loud enough to make some crows in the trees take flight. Nice Amish country people probably never shouted loud enough to scare birds.

“That how you handle it?” Ainsley leaned into my face.

“We aren’t talking about me, College Boy.”

“Right. Television is about entertainment, Ms. O’Hara. Even I know that.” His voice stiffened. He sounded older. “Nobody dies for entertainment.”

A mental flip chart of images appeared, one I was glad he couldn’t see. “People die for it all the time, kid,” I admitted. The smoky air surrounding us felt like a rasp down my throat. “
You
have to be careful.”

“Careful?” He took two big steps backward. “Careful? Right. Now explain to me how I live with myself the next day?”

“If you’re alive the next day, I’m good with that.” My vision was blurring and my nose was stinging. I blinked about a hundred times to keep the view cleared.

Ainsley shook his head in disgust and backed even farther away.

“I’ll get you back to the hospital as soon as the gear’s packed,” I told him.

“Don’t bother. I’d rather go with the ambulance.” He waved a club-like hand in dismissal, turned his back and stomped off.

Damn, I hate it when other people have a point. My phone rang and it gave me an excuse to put off chasing him down and apologizing.

“Miss O’Hara?” The voice was familiar—older, female.

The first person I thought of was the nurse who’d been helping Jenny and my heart stopped for a second. “Yes?”

“This is Grace Ott. We met the other day at my house. You recall?”

I pressed my shoulders back down, out of the hunch-of-dread. “Sure. What’d you need, Mrs. Ott?”

“Oh, nothing. No, I’m fine. I’m sorry to call so early but you seemed like the type that wouldn’t lay about come morning.”

“You didn’t wake me.”

“Good. I thought you should know, Rachel Jost is here with me.”

“With you? Where?” I blurted out the next thought as the light came on, “She’s left the community.”

“Yes. I think so. She’s going to stay with me a while anyway.”

“Mrs. Ott?” I closed my eyes, ostrich-style. “I have some bad news. There’s been a fire.”

“Yah. We know,” Grace replied, her accent coming through heavily. In a hushed voice, as if she were talking to herself, came the whispered words, “Patience. Patience.”

How long since I had stood on the porch talking to Jost? “When did she come to you, Mrs. Ott?”

“Yesterday. She and her father had a bit of a to-do.” She stopped all of a sudden. “Rachel wants to talk with you. I can’t convince her to wait. The only way I could get her to rest at all, was by promising you would come soon. Is that possible?”

“Um, that could be tricky. Maybe tomorrow?”

“I was hoping we might come and meet you.”

“I’m actually out at the Jost farm right now.” I did a full three-sixty, scanning the view—singed barn, ruined house, and resisted the urge to add the obvious,
what’s left of it.

“Goodness.” Grace laughed. “I will never get used to these phones.”

It seemed an odd thing to say, until I caught sight of a bundled gnome in the distance. She was near the road that led to the driveway, wearing one of those plastic rain hats old ladies always seem to have in their purses.

“Is that you?” I asked. My brain took a second to adjust. I had seen her image frozen on screen for hours yesterday. Here in this place, the real person was disconcertingly out of context.

“We’re parked across the road.” She pointed as she spoke. “I had to get out of the car to make this silly thing work. Now, what good is that?”

“Here I come.” I snapped my phone shut and walked toward the apparition of Grace at the end of the road.

She didn’t wait. At a surprisingly fast clip, she marched down the drive past the line of horse-powered vehicles parked along the country road, head down as she passed the buggies.

About a half mile up the road, an antique Ford Galaxie was parked on the shoulder. It was tan, of course, and more of a tank than a car—mostly hood and trunk, it must of packed enough steel to keep the Gary mills in business for a week. Grace got in on the driver’s side. Someone was sitting on the passenger side.

I knocked on the window.

Rachel.

She was sitting in the car. That’s why Ainsley had noticed no one was worried. Someone had seen her sitting in Grace’s car. They must have guessed that Rachel was leaving the community.

She popped the door latch and slid to the middle of the bench seat.

I climbed in beside her.

Grace didn’t speak. Rachel didn’t speak. We all sat shoulder to shoulder and stared straight out the front window.

Parochial school manners prompted my words. “Sorry for your trouble, Rachel.”

“I have something for you.”

Grace passed her the phone. Rachel passed it to me.

“A cell phone?”

“And this, too.” Rachel had wrapped herself in a giant triangle of black shawl. It covered her bonnet, her shoulders and the bulk of her plum-colored dress. She opened the shawl to reveal a pair of binoculars lying in her lap.

“Is this the phone I saw you holding that day in the bushes?”

She nodded.

“Where did you get these,” I asked gently, “the phone and the binoculars?”

“My father had them hidden in the barn. I found them both the day Thomas died.” She spoke without turning her head toward me. Her profile wore the stiff mask that covers heart-core panic.

“Do you know why he hid them?”

For a moment, her lip trembled. She reached out and took hold of Grace’s hand. “I was afraid to ask. The morning Thomas died, there was a call to the dairy. It was for my father. After that, he was gone a while. I found him in the barn,
grenklich
—not so good looking. So I asked, what’s the matter? He shouted me away, off to the house. ‘Back to your chores,’ he yells.

“I was pretty unhappy about that, the way he talked to me. I’m not a child anymore,” she insisted earnestly, her eyes glassy. “I went back to the house and then we all heard that big fuss with the sirens and car engines. That’s when they told us stay in the kitchen because there was
Englischers
everywhere with a fire truck, too.” She sniffed and raised the back of her hand against the end of her nose.