The Revealing (36 page)

Mim had never known an occasion when her mother had been wrong or at a loss for a word. Her father, now, he was different, he had always been scratching his head and saying he hadn’t a clue about such things. But Mim felt her mother was born knowing all the answers. “Do I have to tell the bishop?”

Her mother gave that some thought. “Is the column truly out of your hands?”

“I don’t have any idea what Brooke Snyder plans to do.” She bit her lip. “Should I talk to her?”

Her mother gazed down at the guest flat. “She packed up and left this morning. She said she had gotten what she came for and it was time to leave.”

“What?”
Mim asked, shocked. She had avoided Brooke Snyder all week, unsure of how to handle the betrayal, and now it was too late. Mrs. Miracle was truly gone. For her, anyway.

“Mim, if you are asked about the column by the bishop or the deacon, then you must tell the truth.”

“I never actually lied about it. Not to you or anyone else.”

Her mother’s smile faded. “Mim, there are lies you tell with your lips and lies you don’t need your lips for. Once people start telling lies, then they become like spiders who weave their web about themselves. They become stuck—caught by the
lies all about them. And then they can’t get out of the web, no matter how hard they try.” Her mother shook her head in regret over these mendacious unfortunates, and then, as an afterthought, added, “That is a fact, Mim. A well-known fact.”

Brooke Snyder hated dogs. She would leap in terror when any dog gave a perfectly normal greeting. She was sorry to leave Eagle Hill today but wouldn’t miss that big yellow dog that jumped up on her whenever he saw her. Sorry, but ready to go. This time at the inn had been just what she needed. She felt refreshed, reinvigorated, a teensy bit guilty about making off with the Mrs. Miracle brand, but she assured herself she had done Mim Schrock a favor. A syndicated newspaper column would get too big for a naive Amish girl. It was all for the best.

Brooke had come to Eagle Hill to nurse her wounds and find a new life direction. And she was leaving with a new career as a syndicated newspaper columnist—amazing!—and a boyfriend! Jon Hoeffner might not actually be her boyfriend yet, but things between them were moving in that direction. She had never been happier.

Brooke did have a few misgivings about helping Jon with this safety deposit box signature, but each time she voiced them, he reassured her and she felt better. He was very reassuring, very persuasive. This afternoon, she was to meet him at the York County Savings & Loan so he could get the title. “The fellow who wants to buy my car lives in York County. This way, I’ll be able to get the car right to him.”

“But how will you get back to Stoney Ridge? Do you need me to drive you back?”

“No. I’m actually leaving Stoney Ridge. I’ve finished the work I came to do. My cousin said she could drive me. It’s all set.”

She looked at him blankly. “But where will you be? I mean . . . will I see you again?”

Jon slipped his arms around her waist. “Of course. Absolutely. Just try and keep me away.” He kissed her then, a kiss that left her breathless. He made her feel so special.

That was the moment when she decided to leave Eagle Hill. There was no reason to be in Stoney Ridge if Jon wasn’t there. And she had taken pains to avoid Mim Schrock this week, though she sensed that Mim was avoiding her too. That cranky grandmother was bringing down the breakfast tray each morning.

When she pulled into the bank’s parking lot, she waited in her car for Jon to arrive, feeling another spike of concern. Where was he? It dawned on her that she didn’t know what kind of car he drove. Not for the first time, she realized how little she knew about him. He fascinated her—she was determined to discover more. She glanced at her cell phone to check the time, then looked up to see Jon getting out of a car that had pulled up in front of the bank. A woman—his cousin?—would be dropping him off.

Brooke grabbed her purse, and as she got out of her car and walked toward him, she heard the woman shrieking, “You said half. HALF! Don’t think I don’t know what kind of trick you’re capable of pulling.”

Jon leaned down to say something through the passenger window. The car peeled away and squealed to a stop in a space across the parking lot. Brooke slowed, hesitating, confused. But Jon didn’t seem at all upset. As soon as he
saw her, his face broke into that smile that made her knees turn into Jell-O.

“Brooke! There you are.” He reached his hands out to her, smiling that charming smile. “You look gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous.”

Brooke relaxed. The woman in the car was forgotten.

He took her elbow and steered her into the bank. “Thanks again for helping me with this little problem. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.” He sounded as pleased and grateful as if she had offered to walk his dog while he was at work.

That tiny hitch in Brooke’s conscience silenced again. This would only take a moment, he had said. Jon went over to the teller and explained that they needed to open a safety deposit box. He gave the teller his driver’s license and signed in the book.

While the teller was distracted with another customer, he slipped a Social Security card into Brooke’s hand. “Here you are. Just sign on that line under my name and you’re good to go.”

Brooke glanced at the Social Security card to study the signature while the teller was away. Rose Schrock. Rose Schrock? She glanced up at Jon. “The innkeeper at Eagle Hill?
She’s
your sister?”

“Yes.”

“But she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who wouldn’t help you get the title for your car.”

Jon glanced at the teller, who was now occupied on the phone. “Trust me.”

Something wasn’t adding up to Brooke. She looked into his eyes. “Jon, what’s going on here? What’s really going
on? Who was that out in the car—that woman who said she wanted half? Half of what?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His relaxed façade stripped away as he stabbed the sign-in book with his finger. “Just sign.”

She looked at the signature book and saw Jon had signed his name as Jake Hertzler. Who in the world was Jake Hertzler? She felt a bead of perspiration drip down her spine. “And if I don’t?” Her words trailed off.

Jon leaned forward to whisper in her ear as his hand latched onto her forearm. “Then I will have to make a discreet call to the FBI to let them know that Brooke Snyder reproduced a Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot to be sold as an original on the market.” His fingers bit into her arm. “That she admitted as much and I have her confession recorded on my iPhone.” He gave her his most charming smile. “There’s an app for everything.”

She was so stunned, she didn’t move a muscle.

He had lied to her! There
was
no title for a car. There was
no
Amish sister. This man was doing something deceitful—something to hurt Eagle Hill innkeeper Rose Schrock. A veil dropped suddenly and she saw the true Jon Hoeffner. She could sense the vindictiveness in those cold, pale eyes, something worse than heartlessness. It was a malevolence with which she simply did not know how to deal.

Jon motioned to her that the teller was approaching and he put a pen in her hands. “Sign.”

She could sense his vengefulness growing, and her hand shook as she picked up the pen to write out Rose Schrock’s name. The teller glanced at their IDs, compared their signatures, and buzzed them into the vault.

Jon smiled benignly at the teller and turned to Brooke. “Rose, there’s no need for you to go in with me. You can leave.” He flicked his fingers at her. “Go.” He walked into the vault, whistling.

What had she done? What had she just done!? Brooke stared after Jon, realizing only now how weak-kneed she was. She sank onto a bench in the bank, hugging her shaky stomach.
Well, he backed
you into a corner, so what are you going to
do? Sit quaking like a pup with palsy or get
out of here?
She walked, practically ran, to the door and exited the bank, gasping in the fresh air. It was over.
Thank God!

Brooke searched the parking lot for the car where the woman who had shrieked at Jon was waiting. It was gone.

Then she felt a hand on her elbow and looked into the face of a very serious man in a dark suit. “Ma’am, you’ll need to come with me.” He took her purse and led her around the side of the bank to a waiting police car. Her eyes were wide in horror and her panic skyrocketed.

“He tricked me! He’s still in there. Go after him! Jon. Jake. Whatever his name is.
He’s
the one you want. Not me! I’m innocent. I don’t even know what he’s up to. I thought I was just doing him a small favor.”

“Relax, ma’am. We’re just waiting for him to finish emptying the box.”

Not a moment later, Jon strolled out of the bank, calm as could be, unaware that two undercover police officers were closing in on him. When he spotted them, he dropped his messenger bag and tried to run, but they cornered him against the wall and handcuffed him. “Jake Hertzler,” she heard the man in the dark suit say. “I’m with the Securities Exchange
Commission. You’re under arrest. These officers will read you your rights.”

Jon—or Jake? or
whoever
he was—looked angry and defeated as he was led to another police car under the efficient armlock of an officer. Jon was a sham, she thought angrily, he was a fraud. His con man’s eyes were as innocent as an altar boy’s. How could she have been so naive? So stupid?!

Brooke felt as if she had stepped outside herself and was watching this whole terrible scene without being a part of it. She heard the police officer read Miranda rights to Jon/Jake. He repeated them to her as he told her to put her hands behind her back and slipped handcuffs around her wrists. “You have the right to remain silent . . .” Everything had turned out in the worst possible way. A terrible emptiness took hold of her.

What
have I done?
she thought.
What have I just gotten
myself into?

21

A
llen Turner called Rose and said he was on his way to Eagle Hill, to expect him around half past eight. He asked if she could gather the entire family together to hear some important news about Jake Hertzler. “I’ll pick up Geena and bring her along, if that’s all right with you.”

Rose assured him that would be fine.

She sent Sammy to bed early, but Luke was invited to be part of the meeting and it pleased him to be singled out. Naomi and Tobe, Bethany, Mim, Rose, Vera, and Luke all sat at the kitchen table, waiting for Allen Turner to arrive.

The clock was ticking and there was a little whir between each tick. Rose had never noticed that before. The clock ticked on with its new whir, and none of them said anything at all.

Allen Turner arrived at 8:30 on the dot with Geena by his side. He sat down in the chair at the kitchen table where he had first interrogated Tobe, months ago. Rose wasn’t sure what had happened today at the bank, but she had a feeling that this night, finally, there would be closure. A revealing.
The
revealing.

“We seized the contents of the safety deposit box,” Allen Turner said. “There was over one hundred thousand dollars in cash. Jake Hertzler admitted he had been skimming off the top of Schrock Investments during the two years he worked there. Not enough to be noticed, just enough to feather a nest.” Allen let out a sigh. “That money will be divided up and returned to investors as part of their claims.”

“I’m amazed he confessed to all that,” Rose said.

“There’s a reason,” Tobe said, eyes fixed on Allen Turner. “He wanted to deflect other charges.”

“Yes, Tobe’s right,” Allen said, nodding. “What I wanted to tell you in person was that Jake Hertzler plea-bargained with the state to reduce the charge of homicide to accidental manslaughter.”

“Homicide?” Rose was confused. “I don’t understand.”

“According to Jake’s confession, your husband found him fishing at the lake early one morning. Your husband had figured out the whole picture of what Jake had been doing to Schrock Investments—skimming money from the company, keeping a set of cooked books, faking bank statements. Dean Schrock went to confront him.