Shadows of Lancaster County (27 page)

“In his phone message to you, Doug said that he was selling out his company, and that doing so was probably going to cost him his marriage and his job.”

“Yes, that’s what he said.”

“So why would Bobby be the killer? He may be a big fan of Updyke, but he’s not particularly invested in Wynn Industries, other than as a low-paid employee. I mean, haven’t you heard the expression ‘Follow the money’? A big medical scandal at the WIRE would be a disaster for Updyke personally, sure, but something like that would come at a much higher cost to Wynn Industries at large. The company would lose a fortune, not to mention its reputation, which in turn would further lower its value. The ripple effect could end up costing them millions—even billions. Given that, who’s to say that Orin Wynn didn’t kill Doug? The way I see it, that’s a much more logical conclusion, especially since Orin’s daughter was in a loveless marriage with Doug.”

“Orin Wynn also has an ironclad alibi. At the time Doug was killed, Orin was in a board meeting at company headquarters with nine other people.”

“So maybe Orin arranged to have Doug killed by someone else. Either way, I’d point the finger in his direction long before I would suspect Bobby. If
we’re comparing the two, Orin had a much bigger motivation. So did Updyke, who also could afford to hire someone to do his dirty work for him.”

Reed folded his arms against his chest, seeming to consider my words.

“To be honest, Anna, knowing all three of these men as I do, I can’t imagine any one of them doing something like this. They’re honorable and kindhearted, and they live with integrity.”

I waited for Reed to make his point, gazing out at the field beside us. In the fall, they would be bursting with beautiful cornstalks. Now, however, those stalks were nothing more than ugly nubs in the ground.

“If Orin and Harold and Bobby are all good men,” he continued, “then you have to think of their unique positions in this. If Orin or Harold killed Doug, it would have been a crime of calculation. But if Bobby killed Doug, it would have been a crime of passion, a coldhearted act motivated by greed. As much as you don’t want to hear this, Anna, the facts do point to a hothearted impulse motivated by the desire to protect someone’s reputation and career. Given that none of them is the type to commit a murder, which crime sounds more likely to you? I say the crime of passion makes a lot more sense. Bobby being the guilty one here.”

I also folded my arms across my chest and turned to face the same direction as Reed, leaning back against the warm car. The sun was creeping toward noon overhead, and I still hadn’t called the cops to tell them to check out that farmhouse. Now the man I had longed for and loved for many years was calling my own brother a murderer. Truly, at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to go home to California, sit on the rotting back porch, and forget all about any of this. Of course, given Kiki’s injury and attitude, not to mention the break-in at our house, things had changed back there as much as they had here. Maybe it was time to reinvent myself yet again, only this time leaving the country and starting over somewhere else, somewhere very far away, where no one would ever figure out my true identity.

“If you really think Bobby could have killed Doug, then why did you come,” I asked softly, “especially if you’ve already turned in your evidence to the FBI?”

Reed was quiet for a long moment, his shoulder warm against mine despite the cold air that surrounded us. When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle, the voice of a man who had suffered much and learned from his pain.

“I’m here because Bobby is my friend. Regardless of what he may have done, I came to see if I could talk him into voluntarily surrendering himself while he’s still in a position to make a deal. At the very least, I came to show him I’m here for him. People sticking by you in times of trouble, that’s one of the most important things in life. I think we all learned that the hard way.”

I nodded, knowing I certainly had.

“Besides,” Reed added, “I was worried about the impact all of this might have on you. When I heard you were in town, I had to come and see you and tell you what I knew.”

“Why tell me at all?”

“Because I didn’t want you hearing it somewhere else. As a friend, I thought I owed you that much.”

Though I resisted the impulse, what I most wanted to do, right then, was lean more tightly against him, maybe even rest my head on his shoulder. I thought about the years that had passed since we last saw each other, about the summer I met Reed and fell in love with him. He was smart and fun and good looking, yes, but as it turned out he hadn’t been the man I thought he was. Except for that one kiss, he also hadn’t been the least bit interested in me as anything other than a friend. We had corresponded when he was in prison, but even then his letters weren’t about us. They were about all the things that had happened and all the ways he was changing. Of course, his words had made up for what he had done that night and made me fall back in love with him again. Much to my dismay, the letters eventually came to an end, and once he got out, he never looked me up or made any effort to see me. Eventually, as I tried to nurse my twice-broken heart, I decided that I would not mistake Reed Thornton’s friendship for something else ever again. Judging by the phone call I had interrupted earlier, he was involved with someone now anyway, someone named Heather.

“So how are you these days?” he asked.

“I’m doing okay. Good job, friends, church. If I could erase the fire and everything else that happened that night, things would be a lot different, obviously, but I can’t complain. How about you?”

He shrugged, raising a thumb to scratch at his eyebrow, a gesture I fondly remembered.

“I probably work too much, but otherwise I’m good.”

“Good.”

Reed suddenly excused himself to go around to the back of his car and root around in the trunk.

“Here we go,” he said, coming out with a pair of binoculars. “These have been in there since football season. A gift from my girlfriend.”

He came and stood beside me and looked through the binoculars in the direction the car was facing.

“Here, take a look,” he said, passing them off to me as I tried not to think about his girlfriend remark. I put the binoculars to my eyes and peered through them in the same direction.

“What am I looking at? It’s all fuzzy.”

He tried to make an adjustment, took off his gloves, and tried again. That time, it worked. I still wasn’t sure what I was seeing, but after a minute of scanning the hillside in the distance, I realized that we were now on the opposite side of Bobby’s accident site. Watching through the binoculars, I saw the crowds of people along the roadway, the cops climbing all over the hill like ants, the crumpled piece of metal that had once been a motorcycle.

“I think the police are finally checking out that farm,” Reed said, and with a surge of hope I turned my attention in that direction, realizing the field we were in probably belonged to the people who lived there.

My hope faded a bit as I carefully scanned the scene and realized that the home and outbuildings looked as though they were abandoned. At least there didn’t seem to be any animals to speak of, any clothes flapping on the clothesline, or toys left in the yard. Uniformed policemen were swarming the property, though, so if Bobby really had gone there, I hoped they would turn up some sign of him, of what had happened next.

Together, we watched and waited, taking turns with the binoculars, until it was clear from the policemen’s movements and body language that they had discovered something. I wondered if they had found Bobby, but after a while it became obvious that their discovery wasn’t nearly that monumental. Still, they knew something, and Reed promised to find out what it was and report back to me.

Finally, we decided to go. As Reed took the wheel without his gloves, I was startled to see scarring on the back of his now-bare hands. That reminded me that he had been dealt one of the biggest blows that night, receiving third-degree burns on his back, arms, and hands while saving Ezra from the fire. Now, all these years later, I wondered if he had any lingering physical problems related to the burns or the scar tissue. How sad, that all our scars were emotional, but Reed’s were physical as well.

He started up the car, made a tight K-turn in the narrow space, and headed back up the gravel road. When he pulled onto the blacktop, turning to go back the way we had come, I asked him the question that was most prominent in my mind.

“So what happens next?”

“What do you mean?”

“With the FBI. I assume they’ll come to the WIRE and start investigating more recent cases, to see if the doctor’s illegal activity continued?”

“Yep,” Reed said, turning again as he reversed our earlier route down picturesque, winding roads. “If they decide that the files I gave them provide enough evidence of wrongdoing—which they should, especially if some of the blacked-out text can be recovered—then they’ll move in and subpoena other files, confiscate records, whatever is necessary to uncover the full extent of what’s going on there. As they do, you need to be prepared for the possibility of Bobby being implicated.”

We passed a cluster of Amish girls who were walking in single file along the side of the road. From the back, they looked like a gaggle of cute little white-topped geese. The tallest one seemed to be about eleven—the same age that the Schumann’s newborn son would have been now if he had lived.

Reed and I were both quiet on the drive back. When we reached the
area where my rental car was parked, I gestured toward it and told him he could drop me off there. After he pulled over, he grabbed a pen and a notepad from the glove compartment and wrote down his contact information for me, asking me to do the same for him. As we traded papers, I looked into his eyes and thanked him for coming to town, and for caring about my brother.

“And you,” he added. “I care about you.”

I studied his face, understanding completely why I had loved him all those years ago. I was about to say something in reply when we both noticed a commotion in front of the car. Before we could do anything about it, a bright flash went off in our faces.

We had been recognized by a photographer.

“Anna, get in your car and drive away,” Reed said evenly. “I’ll stall them.”

Thanking him, I did as he said, moving quickly from his vehicle to mine. Other photographers and reporters seemed to be catching on, but I managed to make an escape with only a few more flashes in my face. Reed, on the other hand, sacrificed for my sake, getting out of his car and saying something to draw everyone’s attention.

When I was past all of the cars and crowds, I pressed down the accelerator and went as fast as I could, away from it all. I took a few detours, just to make sure I hadn’t been followed, and then I slowly let out my breath and tried to regroup.

The moment I had been dreading had now happened, which meant our photo would likely make the front page of tomorrow’s newspaper—and my new identity would be blown to bits.

Please God, let the story just stay local this time.

For some reason, I had a feeling that was one prayer that wasn’t going to be answered the way I wanted it to.

August 9, 1812

There are rumblings in the palace, rumblings of dissatisfaction among Karl’s family. Luise is a particularly bitter pill, and she wishes nothing more than for this child of my womb to be another girl, proving yet again that I am incapable of providing a male heir to the throne.

Everything within me yearns for this child to be a boy, as that would shut up the vindictive and unpleasant Luise for good. Were it not for the vigorous kicks inside my belly that assure me of my child’s good health, I do believe Luise’s constant snide remarks and venomous complaints would drive me out of my mind.

As it is, the venom in her voice and eyes sometimes makes me feel not just hated but also unsafe. What could this woman’s hate make her capable of?

I pray I never find out.