A Path Made Plain (17 page)

He turned the corner to
Mammi’s
street and saw a vehicle in front of her house.

A police cruiser?

Thad broke into a run. A few neighbors milled outside on the front walk.

“
Mammi
!” He took the steps in one leap and stumbled through the front door and into the living room. A pair of Sarasota police officers stood in the center of the front room, with
Mammi
sitting serenely on the couch, her hands folded on her lap.

The three of them stared.

“It’s all right, Thaddeus. Someone broke into the house.”
Mammi
smiled at him. She might as well have said, “I weeded the flower garden this morning,” with her matter-of-fact manner.

“Were you home? Are you all right?”

“I’m perfectly fine. I had gone for my morning walk with my friends and I had just come back for breakfast. The others left before you got home, the men deep sea fishing and the women on a bus trip to explore Tampa.”

“And this is . . . ?” One officer—his name badge said Kitchens—glanced from
Mammi
to Thad.

“My grandson, Thaddeus. He’s been living with me.”

“Ah.” The officer nodded. “Mr. Zook, we’re going to need you to let us know if anything is missing from your belongings.”

“Uh, sure.” Thad remained standing, but he wanted to rush to
Mammi’s
side. “How did they get in?”

“The kitchen window, by the table. They cut the screen.”
Mammi
shook her head. “I’ve never had anything like this happen here, officers.”

“
Mammi
, we’re still in a city. I know it feels safe here, but . . .” Thad scanned the room.
Mammi’s
living room was tidy, uncluttered. The drawers to her coffee table rested on the floor, their meager contents of pen and note pads and a package of chewing gum, along with several wrapped mints, scattered on the floor.

“They were likely looking for any cash you may have tucked away anywhere.”

“But I don’t have any cash hidden.”
Mammi
lifted up her hands in surrender. “I keep it all in the bank.”

“It’s a safe idea, Mrs. Zook. And your grandson is right. It’s best to remember your neighborhood is part of a city containing some people who don’t follow the rules like you do.”

“I, uh, I’ll check my room.”

“Hold on. The crime scene tech is arriving now. They want to see if they can get any prints on the doorknobs and drawer handles.”

Thad forced himself not to fidget. “Can I sit down?”

“Sure, go right ahead.” The officer’s gaze narrowed as he studied Thad’s covered arm, with the lower edge of the tattoo exposed. “So. Can you think of anyone around here who’d want to break into your grandmother’s home?”

“No, I don’t know anyone outside the village. I’ve only been here about five weeks or so.” The realization he didn’t know anyone outside Pinecraft village in Sarasota startled him. But then, it’s what he wanted. To live quietly for the time being. To breathe.

What if he’d brought trouble
Mammi’s
way?

However, Pinecraft, he’d pointed out and others knew, wasn’t immune to the effects of the outside world, as much as the residents protected their peace and quiet.

They all fell silent. With the crime tech’s arrival, the officers spoke to the lady in low tones. She nodded, her dark ponytail swishing as she put on a pair of latex gloves and opened her kit. Then, she started to work.

“So, Mr. Zook, what line of work are you in?”

“I’m a pastry chef by trade.”

“You said you’ve only lived here for weeks. Where were you before this?”

“Columbus, Ohio, area.” His palms itched and he tried not to wipe them on his jeans.

“So what brings you down to Sarasota?”

“Family.”

Officer Kitchens nodded, then glanced at the tech, who was fluttering her attention to the window sill, the screen area, the door handles, and finally the coffee table.

“Mr. Zook, have you ever used drugs?”

“Now, what kind of a question is that? No.” He looked over at
Mammi
, but dared not meet her eyes. “Not anymore. Not for a long, long time.”

“How long?”

“Years, okay? More than five, at least. I don’t appreciate this line of questioning.” He tried to keep his voice even.

“We need to know. If there’s anyone who might have an interest in you, or your family, for the wrong reasons.”

Thad stared at the tile floor. He remembered hearing about Mitch’s body on the tile floor of Dish and Spoon. Caitlyn had crumbled into tears when she’d told him and the others about it, her first day back at work after the murder.

“
I’ve never seen so much blood.”

“No, there isn’t anyone.” He didn’t know it for sure. For a while at work, they’d all looked over their shoulders as workers speculated Mitch had been killed during a robbery in progress. Some, but not all, of the deposit money was missing from the bank bag, found at the scene.

“Well, if you happen to think of anyone, you’ll be sure to let us know.”

“Of course I will. If I knew something, I’d never want to bring my family into any harm.”

This had to be nothing more than a creepy coincidence. Just like someone had broken into his apartment two days before his decision to leave Florida. But his apartment complex wasn’t the safest place in the city.

At last, while Thad distracted himself by studying the variations in the shades of grout on the floor, the officers told him he could take a look inside his bedroom.

He headed down the hall, with the other officer following him. He tried not to glance over his shoulder, but the sensation of someone watching made his palms sweat.

He opened his bedroom door.

Whoever had broken in had yanked his mattress from his bed. His empty canvas duffel sat like a deflated balloon in the middle of the boxsprings. His dresser drawers, all three, had been pulled open, their contents in a heap on the floor. His closet door remained closed.

“I just came home when I saw a man run from the back of the house, then through my living room and dove out the torn screen.”
Mammi’s
voice grew louder as she approached his room.

“What other rooms did they search?” Thad asked.
Mammi
stepped into the room.

“My bedroom wasn’t touched, as best I can tell.”
Mammi
ran her hands over the sides of her prayer covering, her fingers tapping the hairpins.

“What did the man look like?” Thad had to know.

“Well, he wasn’t Amish, like I told the officers. He wore a gray jogging suit and a black stretchy knitted cap.”
Mammi
sighed. “I already told the police.”

“Does it look like anything is missing?” the officer asked.

Thad reached for the duffel bag. Empty. His only valuables were his cell phone, the motorcycle, and his culinary tools, tucked away in their case on the closet shelf. He opened the closet door, then reached up onto the shelf. There. He pulled the case toward him.

“All here,” he said as he scanned the knives. “I know they may seem like just knives, but this case has hundreds of dollars of culinary tools in it.” He closed the lid and latched the case before placing it back on the shelf.

“We think your grandmother interrupted him before he got into the closet. Unless the intruder didn’t know their value.”

Thad nodded. Good thing. He couldn’t afford to replace his knives and other tools of his trade.

“Well, if you can think of anything else, we’ll leave our contact information.”

Thad nodded again, feeling like a bobblehead. “Thank you.”

He and
Mammi
, along with the officer, left his room. Of course his prints would be all over everything, and
Mammi’s
as well. But
Mammi
had never been fingerprinted, nor had he.

As the door closed behind the officers,
Mammi
said, “I’m thankful nothing is missing. But if that man needed something so badly, he could have knocked on the door and asked.”

Thad didn’t respond. He still believed in a person’s right to defend their property. Sweet, kind
Mammi
, though, full of grace for whoever had broken into her home.

“Are you all right?” he asked her, again.

“I’m fine, just fine.” She waved off any offers of help. “I need to hang out the wash, since the washer’s stopped. Been stopped for a while.”

“Okay. Well, I’m going to make some phone calls and put everything away in my room.”

He headed back to his room to clean. He shut his door, then put his mattress back on top of the box spring. He pulled out the number to Home Craft Cabinets not far from Shipshewana, Indiana.

The automated call system gave him an option to select for jobs and careers, so Thad chose that one.

“Human Resources, Diana speaking.”

“Good morning, Diana. My name is . . . Thaddeus Zook, and I’m inquiring about one of your employees.”

“Ah, for which purpose?”

“I’m verifying his employment with your company. I’m in Sarasota, Florida.”

“Oh, Florida. Nice place to be this time of year. What’s the gentleman’s name?”

“Daniel Troyer.”

He heard the sound of fingertips on a keyboard.

“Daniel Troyer, you say?”

“Yes, Daniel Troyer. He said he worked in the billing department.”

“Well, we did have a Daniel Troyer employed in our billing department for ten years. But, unfortunately, he passed away in the spring. A tragedy, so young, barely forty years old.”

* * *

Pete Stucenski’s heart still raced as he unlocked the door to his rental and slipped inside. Sweat poured from his body and his pores sighed with relief at the cool air. He didn’t think anyone had seen him strolling the side streets of Pinecraft after his mad dash away from the Zooks’ home. He’d removed the knit cap and the gray jacket of his jogging suit, and stuffed them inside the canvas tote bag he’d hidden behind someone’s trash can around the corner from where Thad Zook lived.

It was early enough in the day, and not many people were out. Except for the old lady ruining everything by walking in on him. He’d kept his head ducked down as he ran through the living room, then the kitchen, and scrambled out the hole he’d sliced in the screen.

He should have spent the money and hired someone to do the dirty work instead of trying to do it himself. His right knee was already swelling from where he’d struck it on the Zook’s back patio.

But he’d had to seize the opportunity, after the entire Zook clan—minus Thad and his grandmother—had piled into a gigantic van along with a cooler and other gear. Where they’d all headed off to, he didn’t know or care, but the timing had been perfect to act.

Not hiring someone else meant fewer loose ends. He didn’t want to turn into a loose end, either.

Perhaps he could risk it all by encountering the Zooks, then securing an invitation to their home, and doing his own investigation that way. He’d barely gotten started on Thad’s belongings before the front door opened.

Pete hobbled to the kitchen and opened the freezer door. He could feel his knee joint tightening, the more he bent the knee. He found a plastic bag in a kitchen drawer and loaded it with a tray full of ice cubes.

He settled onto the loveseat and propped the bag of ice on his knee. He tried not to rub his itching chin, sensitive to the adhesive for his beard.

There had to be a better way to deal with the whole mess.

He could go back to Columbus and lie, say he’d searched through all of Thad’s belongings and found nothing. Halfway true. He didn’t know for sure. Then good old Murphy’s law would be against him. If he told them all was well, then Thad would undoubtedly come forward with information, and Pete could likely end up on a tile floor just as Mitch had.

Rochelle Keim would no longer be a distraction to him. After this morning, his charade, at least with her, would need to become nothing more than a Florida memory.

Chapter 18

18

D
id you hear about the break-in at the Zooks’?” Gideon asked as he walked into the bakery, not long before closing.

Betsy attempted to keep her expression even, not irritated, at seeing Gideon. He was a kind, good, gentle man and despite the zeal she found unnerving at times, there were worse men who could pursue her.

“Yes, I did. I’m thankful no one was hurt.”

“I can’t believe someone broke into the Zooks’ house this morning.”

“It’s too bad. However, no one was home.” Betsy shook her head. Even in peaceful Pinecraft, the ugliness of the world tried to intrude. Of course, such was the case when people were involved, even Plain people. Back in Ohio she’d heard of one or two Plain folk stealing from others, and the church handled matters itself without involving the authorities.

“I wanted to come, walk you home, for safety.”

“For safety, huh?” Betsy pulled the last remaining pies from the case, half a cherry pie and two slices of lemon meringue. She paused. “Gideon, would you like the rest of this pie? I can’t serve day-old pie tomorrow.”

He brightened. “Yes, thank you. Thank you very much.”

“It would be wasteful to throw out, and
Aenti
Chelle and I still have a few desserts from Thanksgiving. We certainly don’t need more pie in the house.”

“So . . .” he said as she reached for a box for the pie, “have you prayed any more about us? Sunday at the beach . . .”

Had she prayed? Yes, she had. She’d prayed for ways to keep telling him and showing him she wasn’t interested in anything besides being Gideon’s friend. Maybe giving him leftover pie was a bad idea. She’d couple the pie with another assurance that no, she was not interested in being courted by Gideon Stoltzfus.

“I enjoyed spending time with you and all my friends.” She slid the two slices of lemon meringue onto the empty space on the cherry pie dish. “But no, Gideon, I don’t want you to court me.”

“Did you pray about it, though?”

Betsy tried not to sigh. She set the nearly full pie plate inside the box. “Yes, I did.” She closed the box and snapped the tab inside the slot to hold the lid closed. “I prayed you would come to understand I don’t want to be anything more than your friend. I’m sure there’s a lovely young woman around for you, but it’s not me.”

Gideon frowned, pulling the box toward him. “But there’s no one else who catches my attention like you. You’re kind, godly, pure, hardworking, and you come from one of the best families in our district. A man would be daft not to see it. Not to mention to appreciate your cooking skills.”

She wasn’t sure how to reply to that. “Thank you.”

“And me,” he added. “I am a good, strong worker. I am devout, I cling to the
Ordnung
and our ways. There is nothing I would not do for you.”

The idea almost made her shiver.

“I’m done in the back,” Vera announced as she pushed through the door and entered the sales floor. “I left some hot soapy water for you to wipe down everything out here.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Byler.” She shifted uncomfortably on her feet. She’d been standing for several hours, and she wondered what the older woman would think of Gideon’s obvious attention.

Vera gave Gideon a pointed look, then did the same to Betsy. “I won’t leave until you’re ready to lock up the store.”

“I appreciate that.” More than the woman realized, probably. “I’ll just need a few moments to wipe down the case and make sure I grab the bank deposit bag.”

“No rush. I’ve had supper cooking in the slow cooker all day.” Vera settled back on a nearby stool, and crossed her arms. Another pointed look at Gideon.

Yes, Betsy was grateful for the older woman’s presence. No tongues would wag about Gideon being “alone” with her at the bakery after hours, no matter how small a time period. Her family had given her their trust, not just with their financial investment, but more. Not that there was any danger of anything inappropriate occurring, especially on her part.

She excused herself and went into the kitchen to find a clean cloth to wipe down the counter and the bakery case. The bell over the front door gave its merry
ching
. Ach. She’d forgotten to turn the sign to “closed.”

Betsy went back to the sales floor. An
Englisch
woman had entered. She wore jeans with a button-down shirt topped by a blazer. A small bag hung over her shoulder, and she clutched a narrow notepad and a pen. Gold bracelets clinked on her wrist and their flash matched her gold dangling earrings.

“Elizabeth Yoder?” The woman was probably closer to Thaddeus’s age. She glanced from Vera to Betsy.

“I’m Elizabeth Yoder.” Betsy set the damp cloth onto the counter. “How may I help you?”

“I’m Susan Cantrell, a production assistant with WSAS, a local Sarasota television affiliate.”

“Hello.” She stepped around the counter to shake hands with the woman.

“One of our producers had a chance to taste some of your pie, and he enjoyed it so much that he wants us to feature your bakery in our weekly segment ‘Around Town.’ ”

“What? My bakery, on television?” A television station, talking about her bakery? No. It couldn’t be. But she’d seen the company’s posters on city buses, advertising the local network.

“We will come here and film, likely for several hours, to watch you bake, talk to you and your customers. ‘Around Town’ segments run about five minutes. We want to feature your bakery.” The young woman smiled. Betsy had never seen teeth so white except on a toothpaste box.

Vera had stood up from the stool, her face wearing the expression of a thundercloud. She said nothing, but sealed her lips together into a thin line. She headed into the kitchen, the door swinging behind her.

“This sounds interesting. I’m, I’m glad your producer enjoyed the pie. When were you thinking of coming to . . . visit?” Making a video about her bakery. She couldn’t go on camera. The village . . . what would they think? What would her family think?
Daed
would certainly say no.

Susan opened the notepad. “We’d like to come first thing next week, if possible. Shoot on Monday, edit on Tuesday, then the segment would run on Wednesday morning.”

“Um, I should speak to my father first about this. Isn’t there some kind of an agreement I’m supposed to sign?”

“Well, yes.” The woman looked like she hadn’t expected that question from Betsy. “I do have a copy here, in my folder.”

“May I have a copy, to show to my father, of course?”

“Why, certainly.” Susan pulled the form from a portfolio in the bag over her shoulder. “Here’s my business card also. You have access to a phone?”

“Yes, I do. I’ll call you as soon as I decide.”

“Terrific. I’ll need your answer by this time tomorrow. Otherwise I have to move on down the list, you see.”

Of course, Betsy saw.

“We also need your employees and associates to sign similar forms. Is this your husband?” Susan glanced at Gideon.

The man needed no encouragement like that. “No, no Miss Cantrell. He’s not.” She looked over her shoulder. Vera still remained in the kitchen.

“Oh, pardon me.” Susan’s face bloomed red. “Sorry, Mr. . . .?”

“Stoltzfus. Gideon Stoltzfus. Millersburg, Ohio. Elizabeth’s pies are the best in the village. You won’t find one you don’t like.” He beamed at Betsy.

This was what she got for forgetting to turn the sign to “closed.” Although she had a feeling Susan Cantrell would be persistent, despite whatever the sign hanging in the window said.

“I’ll call you as soon as I have an answer for you.”

“Fair enough,” Susan said. “Don’t wait too long.”

* * *

Daniel Troyer of Home Craft Cabinets didn’t exist. Not anymore on this earth, anyway, except maybe in his family’s memory. Thad carried the knowledge around all day, as he put the contents of his room back together, took the motorcycle out on the road, and even as he started making a tiramisu pie after supper.

Mammi
had gone, leaving him the kitchen. He’d forgotten until returning from the market with all the ingredients that his
Mammi
didn’t use an electric mixer. However, the lack of electric baking tools wouldn’t hinder him.

His wrist had a muscle spasm the longer he beat the softened cream cheese. He stopped, set the wooden spoon into the bowl, then flexed and rotated his wrist as he pondered what to do next about the mysterious Daniel Troyer.

He needed more information about Daniel. One thing he knew, the Plain people kept track of each other, no matter what the distance. If a family moved to another district, the church would verify who they were, what occupation they held, and their standing in the fellowship. The sensation of living in a fishbowl chafed at him, even with the distance of time.

Troyer, a common enough name. Thad guessed there were likely dozens of Daniel Troyers in the Plain world, and perhaps a few who weren’t. Before venturing to question the man himself, Thad figured there had to be another way to find out more about him.

Henry Hostetler might help him. But then, Thad didn’t want to alarm anyone in the village, not if Daniel were a good man and the whole thing was a misunderstanding. However, why would someone pose as a dead man in Pinecraft? Was he on the run, or hiding from someone? Or maybe he’d merely committed the sin of wearing a fancy watch.

Thad had enjoyed his quiet for the past weeks, but he hadn’t assumed another name. It wouldn’t work, pretending to be someone else. Everyone in the village knew who he was, and some wouldn’t speak to him. He refused to let it bother him. Because not everyone ignored him. He knew a few probably prayed for his mortal soul. If he was a sinner, at least he was honest about it. Daniel Troyer was likely no more suspicious than he.

The timer dinged, jerking his attention back to the pie. Thad removed the baked crust from the oven. Perfect. He knew his crusts rivaled the quality of any Amish housewife’s.

Thad glanced at his phone. He ought to call Henry now, before it grew much later, and before
Mammi
returned home. She was out visiting a friend again and making plans for their food booth at January’s Haiti auction. And before coming to stay with his
Mammi
, Thad had believed all she did was sit around her home most of the day and quilt or cook.

He picked up his phone and punched in Henry’s number.

Henry answered after the second ring. “Good evening, Mr. Zook. How are you?”

“Doing well, Henry. I have something I need to speak with you about. While my
Mammi
is out tonight, preferably.”

“I’m just turning onto Bahia Vista now. I can be there in about five minutes.”

“Thank you, thanks very much.”

“It sounds serious.”

“Well, it could be. It might be nothing, but I’d rather get your opinion than be wrong.”

“Ah. Fill me in when I get there.”

“I’ll get the coffee brewing, if you’d like.”

“Certainly, it’s getting chilly out here.”

Thad ended the call, then started the coffee pot. No rush on the pie, as the crust needed to be completely cool before he layered the filling inside.

His recipe called for vanilla pudding mix and whipped cream. He made a stovetop vanilla pudding, which he allowed to cool beside the pie crust on the stove. A knock sounded at the front door just as Thad removed a metal mixing bowl from the freezer. Time to make some real whipped cream after he answered the door and let Henry in.

Thad opened the front door. “Come on in, Henry. I’m finishing a pie.”

“As in eating? I can give you a hand with that.” Henry rubbed his palms together.

“No. Making a pie.” He grinned at Henry’s glee. “But I know
Mammi
has some dessert on hand, if you want.”

“Naw, I’m just kidding.” Henry inhaled deeply as he entered the kitchen. “Love the smell of brewing coffee.”

“Here’s a cup. Pour away.” Thad set a ceramic mug in front of the coffeemaker.

Henry helped himself to the coffee, then took a seat at the kitchen table. “What kind are you making?”

“Tiramisu, sort of like the Italian dessert.” Thad poured the heavy whipping cream into the chilled bowl, then grabbed a nearby whisk. “Other than the crust, it’s no-bake, but involves lots of stirring.”

“So, what did you need to talk to me about?”

“There’s a man in the village, visiting, supposedly from Indiana. But, well, someone is wondering if he’s not who he says he is. And, it’s important they find out if it’s true or not. So they asked me if I could do some looking around on the Internet and make a few phone calls. And I did.”

He kept whipping the cream with the whisk. Good grief, but he loved mixers with commercial grade motors. This manual stirring was for the birds. He bit his lip and had a flashback to culinary school, one of the old lessons, learning how to mix and blend by hand, without benefit of an electric mixer. He’d aced it then, but he’d also been much younger.

“Huh, you don’t say. Wouldn’t be Daniel Troyer, by chance?”

Thad nodded. “How’d you guess?”

“I had Thanksgiving with the Yoders and Keims. Daniel was there.” He looked as though he wanted to say more, but he took a sip of coffee instead.

“Betsy is concerned about her aunt.”

“Of course, she’s protective of Rochelle. We all are. But then, we take care of one another here in the village.”

Thad grunted and stopped whipping the cream for a moment to give his wrist a break. “I don’t know if you can find out anything more, but I called the company he supposedly works for. Daniel Troyer died earlier this year.”

“Maybe it’s a different company.”

“Maybe. It would be nice to be wrong. I know I’ve had people make wrong assumptions about me.” Thad resumed whipping the cream. The consistency was thickening. Perfect.

“How so?”

Thad shrugged. “Because I didn’t join the Order, I’m an evil person.”

“Do you think you’re an evil person?”

“No. But if there’s no hope for me outside the Order, why try?” He whipped the cream faster. “I have nothing to prove to them, or anyone else. I have nothing to hide. But people still make assumptions when they look at me.”