Shadows of Lancaster County (20 page)

“Fine. I caught your brother trying to access restricted information. We have rules that are very well established, and policies that must be followed to the letter. He broke the rule, and so I had no choice but to enforce the policy. That’s the most I can tell you.”

“Any idea why he was doing that?”

The doctor hesitated, glancing again at his son, who was oblivious to our entire conversation. I thought Dr. Updyke was going to answer my question, but instead he simply shook his head.

“I have no idea,” he said, looking me straight in the eye, and for the first time in the entire car ride, I had the distinct impression he was lying.

I also knew, without question, that our conversation was over for now. I thanked him very much for his time, pausing just long enough to write down my name and cell phone number on a piece of paper.

“If you get any ideas,” I said, handing him the paper, “or have any other thoughts on the subject, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

With that, I quickly transferred from his warm luxury vehicle into my cold little rental car. I watched his taillights as he drove away, and I couldn’t help but think that the piece of paper with my phone number on it was probably going directly into the trash. He had no intention of speaking with me again.

Making sure to lock the car doors, I started up the engine and sat there for a minute, trying to decide where to go next. Putting on the headlights, they illuminated the snow that fell between me and the ugly blond brick
of the building in front of me. Looking at this place, a person would have no idea of the level of research going on inside. Despite what the good doctor had said, I had no doubt that abduction or even murder was not unheard of in high-tech industries such as DNA research. I just wished I knew more about the field in general. For the first time ever, I felt guilty for having tuned out my brother’s voice every time he went on and on about his work.

I thought it would be helpful to speak with someone who was knowledgeable about DNA research, just to verify the things that Dr. Updyke had told me, and to get a second opinion on the possibility that Bobby’s disappearance could have had something to do with his job.

For a moment, I thought of calling Reed Thornton down in Washington. Given that he was a medical ethicist working in the field of DNA, he could have told me everything I wanted to know. Putting the car in gear, I backed out of my parking space and headed for the main road, thinking that as much as I would have loved to hear the sound of his voice again, I knew I shouldn’t call him. I had spent so many years trying to forget him that talking to him now would be like an alcoholic with many years of sobriety suddenly tossing back a stiff drink.

Snow was falling more steadily now, and though I had hoped to get so much more done today, I didn’t want to be driving on slick roads in the dark, especially considering that I was completely out of practice. As I held on to the steering wheel with both hands, I realized I hadn’t even seen snow for seven years. Despite the reason for my being here and everything I had gone through to get here, I allowed myself a few quiet minutes to simply take in the beauty of the snowfall all around me. There was something about Lancaster County in the winter that belonged on a postcard. Maybe it was the size of the Amish farms—small by necessity because of the limitations their religion imposed on the types of farm machinery they were allowed to use. Whatever made it so quaint and picturesque, the sight of the rolling hills and rambling homes was only made more beautiful with the addition of snow.

At least the road wasn’t very crowded, which was a good thing because I was going well below the speed limit. The headlights of the car directly behind mine were too bright, and judging from the bluish tone, likely halogen. I tilted my rearview mirror just enough to keep them from blinding me and kept going, my grip on the steering wheel firm.

When I was about half a mile from the farm, I pulled over into a busy parking lot of a hardware store where it looked as though they were doing a brisk business with snow shovels and sidewalk salt. I had a few quick
phone calls I needed to make in the privacy of my car, but I didn’t want to talk on the phone while driving.

Sitting there in the parking lot, as well-bundled people rushed in and out of the store, I took a deep breath and dialed the number for Kiki’s cell phone. If all had gone according to plan, she would now be out of the hospital and safely ensconced at her mother’s house.

When Kiki answered the phone, I felt a surge of emotion, a mix of guilt and sadness and relief. In turn, her voice was oddly strained, though I didn’t know whether that was a side effect of all that she had been through or whether she was upset with me.

As we talked, it became clear it was the latter. I asked her to describe the attack from her perspective, which she did, but when I began sharing mine, she stopped me, saying that Detective Hernandez had already told her everything. She also had never heard of the Beauharnais rubies.

“He told me a whole lot, actually,” she said, and as I waited for her to go on, the tension coming through the phone line was palpable.

“Go ahead, Kiki. What is that you’re not saying?”

She had me hold on while she shooed her mother from the room. Coming back on the line, I could hear the hurt in her voice.

“Look, Anna, I know there’s a lot about your past I don’t know about, and that was always fine with me. I figured you had an abusive ex-husband or you testified in a big trial or something. I always figured you’d trust me enough someday to tell me what your big secret was. But now that I know you’re an ex-convict…I don’t know. I’m not sure what to think.”

Closing my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to form the right reply.

“First of all, it’s true I was convicted of a crime. But I was only seventeen at the time. House arrest followed by probation hardly makes me an ex-con.”

She didn’t sound convinced, and I felt furious with Detective Hernandez for passing his prejudice along to her. The more I thought about her reaction to all of this, I felt myself growing angry. Kiki knew me. She knew my heart. Was she really willing to toss out all of that based on the malicious slurs of one person?

“You know what?” I said finally. “I don’t want to talk about this any more. If you want the whole story, I suggest you get some copies of
Time
or
Newsweek
from August through December of 1997. Trust me, they had something about us at least once a month for that entire period.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. Why don’t you get yourself a copy of those news magazines and read what the media had to say. Then, if you feel like hearing the truth, why don’t you give me a call?” I knew my voice was sounding harsh, so I softened my tone as best I could. “I love you, Kiki, and you’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had. But if you’re going to throw away our friendship based on one man’s version of events that happened eleven years ago, then you’re not the friend I thought you were. Call me when you’re ready to hear my side.”

Hands shaking, I disconnected the call.

As I sat there in the parking lot and tried to calm down, I just kept thinking how a person’s entire world could change in a matter of minutes. Between Bobby’s disappearance and this single incident with the intruder, everything about my life was starting to fall apart. Whether Kiki and I were going to be able to mend this rift and continue being housemates remained to be seen.

I wanted to call Detective Hernandez to see what was going on with his investigation, but I didn’t trust myself to talk with him right now as I knew I might say something I would regret. Instead, I simply called Lydia on the phone I had bought for her and told her I would be at the farm very soon, unless it was still surrounded by reporters.

“No, they are all gone. I think the snow scared them off.”

“Good. I have more to do, but it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

She said that the bodyguard had left for the night, once the men had come in from milking. The women were just about to put dinner on the table, so my timing was perfect. We concluded our call and I pulled out of the parking lot, right behind an Amish horse and buggy.

Already the road felt slicker, and I didn’t even bother trying to pass it; I was glad to have an excuse to go so slow. Cars began to pile up behind us as we made progress down the road, but soon I again was bothered by
bright lights in my rearview mirror. When I reached up to make another adjustment, I realized that they looked like the same lights that had bothered me before: too bright, and with a bluish tinge.

Was someone following me?

It might have been a coincidence, but I didn’t think there were that many cars on the road with halogen lights. If it hadn’t been snowing, or if I had been more confident on the road, I might have done a few maneuvers just to see if the car stayed with me. As it was, I didn’t have much choice but to continue to my destination. At least once I got there I would be surrounded by people and presumably safe.

The car behind me turned onto a side road when I was about a block from the farm, which made me feel a little better. Once I got there, I turned onto the long, paved driveway and pulled up to the house that had played such a pivotal part of my past.

In the dark it was hard to see if it had changed much, but it didn’t look as though it had. Other than the
Dawdy Haus
being gone, it was still a collection of neat, white buildings, some of which were connected at the corners. The yard was dark, but within the glow of my headlights before I turned off the car, I glimpsed a big wooden swing set, a long clothesline, and a square area where a vegetable garden must grow in warmer months.

The front door opened as I was getting out of the car, and an Amish man stepped out, followed by Lydia, who was carrying a flashlight.

“Anna, we are so glad you are here,” Lydia said, waddling over to give me another hug.

As they came closer, I realized that the “Amish man” with her was about nineteen, and that he must be Caleb, Lydia’s younger brother. He had really grown up. Taller than me by several inches, the black felt hat he wore made him look even taller. He was clean shaven, a sign he was not yet married. Once Amish males married, I knew, they grew out their beards, though they continued to shave their upper lips, as mustaches were not allowed.

“Welcome, Anna,” he said in a deep voice, reaching out to shake my hand.

“Caleb, is that you? I can’t believe it. Last time I saw you, you barely came up to my shoulder.”

He was quite a handsome young man, with a sparkle in his eyes and a ruddy complexion that bespoke of the hours he spent doing farmwork every day, even in winter.

“
Yah.
Much time has passed since then.”

I popped open the trunk of my rental car and he pulled out my suitcase, handling it easily, as if it weighed nothing at all. The three of us trudged inside, where I was greeted with more hugs and handshakes and smiling faces.

Though my nose had picked up that old, familiar tinge of manure outside, inside the house smelled like heaven, a mixture of roasting meat and baking bread and something like apples with cinnamon. One by one, I greeted the whole family: Lydia’s brother-in-law, Nathaniel, who still wore small round spectacles and had a bushy beard; her older sister, Grete, who now served as a mother to the other siblings; Rebecca, who had trans-formed into a lovely young woman; Ezra, who looked to be about fifteen, and Tresa, Nathaniel and Grete’s daughter, a cute preteen wearing the traditional white
kapp
and blue dress. Last to say hello was Isaac, my nephew. He whispered something to his mother, and she nodded her head.

“Yes, this is your aunt. But do not whisper in front of others. It is rude.”

Politely, Isaac stepped forward and held out his hand for a shake. As he did, I felt a surge of emotion so strong I was afraid I might cry. This was my nephew, for goodness’ sake, my brother’s son, and I had not seen him since he was an infant. Now he was eight years old. All at once, the years that had passed since then—the years I had worked so hard at creating a new and separate life—suddenly felt wrong somehow, almost foolish, as if I had lost sight of what was really important in life. Swallowing hard, I took Isaac’s hand and shook it, but then I asked if it would be okay if I gave him a hug too. Blushing, he nodded, and I pulled him into my arms for a quick squeeze. I would have liked to hold on longer, but I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.