Reap a Wicked Harvest (20 page)

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Authors: Janis Harrison

BOOK: Reap a Wicked Harvest
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“—by the river,” finished my father. “When you quoted the
letter Dixie wrote to Jacob, you mentioned something about a spring. Can you repeat that part for me?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated. I prided myself on being able to memorize conversations I felt might be important. Softly, I said, “‘A spring keeps me in comforts that I need, but you do without.'”
I opened my eyes and stared at my father. “I think Jacob must have misquoted that part of Dixie's letter. The only spring I can think of is a spring of water. The Amish do without many things we consider a necessity—cars, telephones, electricity. What would a spring of water have to do with any of them?”
“I've got an idea, but I want to check it out before I say anything.” Dad turned off the key in the ignition. Without the deep rumble of the truck's engine, the night sounds crept into our space. Frogs croaked and crickets chirped a serenade. He opened the glove compartment and removed a flashlight. “Are you game for a walk in the woods?”
The thought of stretching my legs was agreeable. I nodded and climbed out.
My father locked the doors and came around the truck. Leaning on his new cane, he shone the flashlight at a break in the thicket. “Animals are creatures of habit,” he said. “They frequent the same route to get to their feeding grounds. We might as well start here and take advantage of their trail.”
I picked my way across the ditch. My knit slacks were ruined by the time I got to the other side. Thorns from wild rose bushes had snagged the fabric. Behind me, Dad groaned as he hobbled to my side.
Concerned, I said, “That photograph is eight years old. The terrain will have changed considerably and not for the better when it comes to hiking. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I'm sure,” he said grimly.
He shone the flashlight ahead of us, and we entered the woods. Once we'd passed the outer rim of shrubbery, the brush was sparse, the ground spongy with leaf mulch and green moss. Gray lichen grew on the tree trunks.
“It's as dark as the inside of a cow,” said my father.
I grinned. “The trees are close together so nothing much has grown under their dense foliage. It makes it easier for us to walk.”
“But not easy enough.” He stopped and swept the flashlight in a wide semicircle at what lay ahead of us.
We were at the edge of a steep grade that plunged downward. Below was the water pit we'd noted on the picture. Between the water and us were scrub oak, elm sprouts, and buck brush. Dangling from an occasional tree was wild grapevine as big around as a stout man's wrist.
“Nothing picturesque about this place,” I said.
“We're not on a sightseeing trip.”
Now that we were out from under the trees, the bugs had found us. The little critters nipped every inch of my bare skin. Before long there were nickel-sized welts on my arms and neck. Above us the moon was a useless lackluster crescent. The night air was oppressive. The trees had kept the day's heat from penetrating the forest. Here in the open, the warmth lingered. The squashy mulch of leaves had given way to rock outcroppings that were toe-catchers. We tottered down the rocky slope, picking our way over stones loosened by the changing seasons.
At the bottom of the slope we stopped to catch our breath. Dad had turned off the flashlight. Our eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness. I squinted and saw the ground dropped off again to a valley rimmed with trees. I pointed straight ahead. “I think the river bottom is on the other side of those trees.”
“If I remember that photograph correctly, I'd say you're right. But we aren't interested in that area. We want the valley.” He smacked his arm. “If these damned mosquitoes have their way, I won't have an ounce of blood left in me.”
Brush rustled ominously off to our right. Dad turned on the light and swung it in that direction. Three deer stood like statues. Their regal heads were held high, their necks arched. Eyes glowed in the light, giving us the impression that we were looking at alien creatures. We were the invaders, treading in their domain. We stood our ground and after a moment, the lead deer tossed his head and snorted before the three of them pranced off with their tails raised like white flags.
I patted my chest. “They were beautiful, but they startled me. Maybe if we walk closer to the water pit, we won't scare up any more wildlife.”
“We can try it.”
We didn't encounter any more animals, but the trail was treacherous. Shale slid under our feet. Pebbles skittered across the rocky ledge and seemed to take forever before they plopped into the water below. On our left grass grew waist high on the eroded slope. Around the lower end of the pit, mammoth gray boulders looked like a herd of elephants taking a snooze.
Once we got past the water pit, I heard the delicate splash of water trickling over rocks. Dad stopped and listened. “That sounds like something we need to investigate. It could be a spring. If I'm right, the cabin won't be far away. I'm dousing the light, so watch your step.”
The splashing grew louder. I angled down the slope and banged into something about knee high. I tried to catch myself, but I sprawled flat.
My father scrambled to my side. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
All I could manage was a grunt of pain. I lay there trying to
get my breath. Two things slowly registered—my shins hurt like hell and under my skinned hands I felt a smooth board. I sat up and tenderly touched the lump that had already formed on my leg.
In a hushed whisper, I said, “Dad, hand me your flashlight.”
“Here it is, but should you turn it on?”
“I have to see what I tripped over. Look quick. I won't leave the light on very long.” I cupped my hand over the lens and aimed it at the area in front of me. “Here goes,” I said and flipped the switch.
The light showed a wooden box that was approximately a three-foot square with a handle in the middle. I turned off the light. “Well?” I said. “What is it? Do we dare open it?”
I heard the excitement in my father's voice. “I've got a good idea, but let me have the flashlight.”
I handed it to my father and watched. He flicked the light on and shone it up the hill from where we were. In that brief illumination I saw a narrow stream running directly to the wooden box. Dad shone the light past the box. The water disappeared. He turned the light off.
“Where's the water?”
“Help me lift the lid, daughter, then I'll explain.” I did as he asked. Again he flipped on the light. We stared down at a screen filled with leaves and silt. My father chuckled softly as he turned off the light. “Just as I thought. This is the filtering system for a hydroelectric generator. A pipe is buried underground and carries the water on down the hill. The cabin will be at the end of that pipe.”
“Hydroelectric generator?”
“Water powers a generator that produces electricity. We shouldn't talk, and we can't use our light. We're too close.”
I didn't know exactly how a hydroelectric generator worked,
but I had a vague idea. We plodded on down the hill. I kept my gaze on the ground, though I couldn't see much. I was worried about falling and rolling unchecked over rocks and branches, when my father jiggled my shoulder.
I stopped and he whispered in my ear, “There's the cabin.”
I squinted and searched where he'd indicated. Little by little I made out the lines of a ramshackle building weathered to a dusky gray that almost blended into the shadows.
My shoulders sagged with disappointment. “We've wasted our trip. This can't be it,” I whispered. “It doesn't even have windows. No one would voluntarily live in such crude, depressing conditions.”
“Don't be fooled by a first impression,” said Dad. “Hear that?”
I tuned my ears past the crickets and frogs and heard a soft whir. Dad explained, “That's a hydrogenerator's waterwheel. If we could use the light, we'd see another wooden box where the wheel is housed. A wire leads into the cabin to a bank of six or eight car batteries where the energy is stored. From those batteries lights, a refrigerator, a television and such can be powered.”
“Why aren't lights on? Isn't anyone here?”
My father took my arm, and we walked closer to the cabin. In a hushed tone, he said, “See that? The windows are shuttered.”
We crept around to the front of the cabin. A Parker Greenhouse van had been backed into a grove of trees. I gulped when I saw it and squeezed my father's hand.
We'd found the hideaway. Now what were we going to do? I pulled my father away, putting space between the cabin and us. Once I thought it was safe, I whispered, “Let's use your cell phone and call Sid.”
I couldn't see Dad's expression in the dark, but I heard the scowl in his voice. “Isn't there someone else?”
“Sid is in charge of this case, Dad. He deserves to be the first one to hear what we've—”
Suddenly the cabin door opened and bright light spilled out onto the porch. Dad and I shrank back into the shadows. Alicia came out and leaned on the porch railing.
“I love this place,” she said. “Who would think to look at this rickety old building that it would have all the comforts of home.” She made a deprecating gesture. “Maybe not my home, but the way other people live. I love the stereo system, and I've never had my own television. The video selection is up-to-date. There's so much food and games and things to do. The next few months will pass quickly.”
I heard a low voice and strained my ears, but couldn't make out the identity of the person replying or what was said. Alicia unwittingly clued me in.
“—just a week earlier than we'd planned, but I'll make good use of the time. You've bought me the sewing machine. I never dreamed you'd buy so many different kinds of fabric. I love sewing and designing. When this is all over, I'll have money to go to college to become a fashion designer.”
She stopped and listened. I did, too, but whoever was inside was staying out of my hearing as well as out of sight.
Behind me underbrush rustled. A tree branch cracked. Were there more deer? I'd heard stories about panthers and cougars roaming wooded areas in this part of Missouri. I looked over my shoulder, wondering if some animal was crouched in the dark, waiting to pounce. I strained my eyes and ears, but I couldn't see or hear anything.
Alicia said, “Being alone won't bother me. At home I don't
have the space to spread out my patterns. Besides, someone is always nagging me so I can't concentrate.”
“Who is she talking to?” whispered Dad.
Grimly, I said, “Think about it. Who has access to young women with problems? Who hears their woes and counsels them to make the right decision? Who was late coming to the greenhouse appreciation-day celebration? Who knows this property as well as Dan and Natalie?”
Before my father could speak, a voice behind me said, “You have it all figured out, don't you, Bretta?”
I whirled around to face a killer.
Donovan switched on a powerful flashlight, spotlighting us like a poacher would his prey. I turned and saw the van was parked on a dirt track creased with deep ruts—probably an access road from when the quarry had been in operation.
Donovan said, “I told Emily a couple of busted flower shop windows wouldn't deter you, Bretta, but she wanted me to give it a try.” Using the light he gestured toward the cabin. “Since you're so interested in what we've been doing, you might as well see it all. Get moving. I have you covered, so don't think you can run away.
My father said, “I haven't the energy to run. In fact, I think I'll stay here. Bretta, you go on with Donovan.”
Donovan laughed. “Try again, Albert. That isn't an alternative.” He shoved my father. While Dad recovered his footing, Donovan grabbed Dad's cane. “I'll take charge of this,” he said. “And that cell phone you mentioned.”
I thought Dad was going to refuse, but he reluctantly handed over the phone.
Donovan said, “Albert, I want you in front of me. Bretta, you lead the way back to the cabin.”
We threaded our way through the underbrush to the road and on to the cabin. As we approached, Donovan hollered, “Emily, we have guests. Turn on the porch light.”
Immediately, the light flashed on. I glanced back at Donovan to see what kind of weapon he had trained on us. I saw nothing except Dad's cane and the flashlight. I stopped. “Where's your weapon?” I demanded.
Donovan shrugged. “I lied.”
Outraged, I said, “You can't keep us here.”
Donovan raised the cane and whacked my father across the shoulder. “Does that change your mind?”
My father nearly fell under the assault. Horrified, I tried to go to him but Donovan barred my way. Furious, I said, “I get the message, but leave him alone.”
“That depends on you. Go on up the stairs and into the cabin.”
We climbed the steps. I paused at the top and stared at Alicia until she finally met my gaze. She seemed embarrassed but not frightened by these events. “What you're doing is wrong,” I said quietly. She looked away. Feeling Emily's hostile gaze on me, I turned to her. “Where's your mask?” I asked.
“It's in the van,” she said in a clipped tone. “What difference does that make?”
“Just that it suits you. So much more in character.”
Emily took a step toward me. Donovan shook his head at her and then nudged me with Dad's cane. “Keep walking, Bretta. Emily, you and Alicia stay out here on the porch.”
Emily didn't say a word, but if looks could kill, I'd have dropped dead on the spot. Obediently, Alicia sat on the top step and folded her hands in her lap. Dad and I were herded into the cabin. Donovan shut the door and gave us a moment to look over our surroundings.
I had to admit it was cozy. We were in one large room. A light-stained wood paneled the walls. The luxurious carpet was a dusty rose. Paintings done in pastels brightened the room
with color. There was a sofa and a recliner facing a television set. Bookshelves contained an assortment of videotapes. The sewing machine Alicia had mentioned earlier was still in a box by the bed. The satin coverlet was nearly hidden under the bolts of assorted fabric. The kitchen was equipped with an apartment-sized refrigerator and stove. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air.
Donovan gestured Dad and me to the sofa. He turned a wooden chair away from a tiny kitchen table and sat down. “I was unloading the van when I saw the light up by the water pit.” Donovan nodded to me. “I kept track of your progress and heard you fall over the box that covers the filtering system.” He waved a hand to the brightly lit room. “As you can see the hydrogenerator works very well. From the outside this old shack looks abandoned. But in here, I've double insulated the walls for comfort as well as a noise barrier.”
He shook his head. “Where are my manners? I'm sure you're both exhausted from your jaunt through the woods. Can I offer you a cup of coffee or something cold to drink?”
“This is hardly a social call,” I said.
My father rubbed his shoulder. “We don't knowingly break bread with a murderer.”
Donovan nodded. “Events have gotten out of hand, but it's time the violence stopped. As I mentioned I have a proposition, but first I'd like to fill you in on a few details.”
I said, “I can't imagine you'd have anything to say that I'd be interested in unless you're willing to turn yourself in.”
Donovan's voice was crisp and businesslike. “No. I'm not going to jail. Until Marnie entered the picture, Emily and I provided a valuable service.”
I smirked. “By selling babies? I assume the young pregnant women contacted Emily in her capacity as counselor. They
poured out their hearts to someone they considered an authority figure. Emily probably asked the right questions so she could get a feel for their personality, their family life, and of course, their need for money.” I cocked an eyebrow sarcastically. “Money was the objective, right?”
“Yes. We pay our ladies thirty thousand dollars free and clear to do with as they wish. There are conditions: they have to stay here alone. But they don't mind. They are committed to a goal. They understand that if a problem develops due to a faux pas on their part, the agreement is null and void, meaning the money is gone.”
“But why bring them to the greenhouse to work for two weeks?”
“So they won't feel abandoned when we leave them in this wilderness. They're comforted to know that good-hearted people are a half mile away.”
“But they can't visit the greenhouse.”
“Absolutely not. None of them care to. Emily and I have done this for five years. We research our clients well. We cater to each woman's goal or interest. Dixie wanted to be a singer. We furnished her with a Karaoke system and a high qualityrecording device so she could perfect her voice. But radios, local television, and newspapers are not allowed.”
“Five years, five babies. That's a lot of money.”
Donovan shrugged. “Over a million dollars. Some prospective parents are willing and able to pay more than the going rate for a newborn. But we have expenses. We make sure our women are comfortable. We provide nutritious food and videos on natural childbirth. It all costs money, but we've never pinched pennies. Our women are a short-term investment.”
In a droll tone, I asked, “Like brood mares?”
Donovan's eyes narrowed. “If that's what you want to call
them. I prefer a more sympathetic approach. Emily and I think of these young women as victims of our nation's bureaucracy. If a young woman doesn't want her child, she either has an abortion or she gives up that child for adoption. If she chooses the latter, she doesn't receive adequate compensation for the mental anguish she has suffered. Emily and I make sure the amount of money she receives is sufficient to help her get on with her life. To become a vibrant, educated member of our society.”
I whirled my finger. “Well, hurrah for you. But you failed to mention how you've prospered at the expense of these women. Or how Dixie spends her time rocking faceless dolls in a psychiatric ward. What happened to Paige? And don't tell me she's taken her schooling to a higher level. I think she's dead or she would have contacted her mother by now.”
“She had a complicated pregnancy. The baby was born healthy, but Paige died. We gave her a dignified burial. Her body was wrapped and weighted and lowered into that water pit you passed on your way here.”
Dignified burial? I thought. And you kept all the money, leaving Mrs. Cooper with nothing.
I took a couple of breaths to regain a modicum of control. “How much did Marnie know?”
“I wasn't sure. She kept asking questions about how long employees worked at the greenhouse, and why they left. I wouldn't have thought much about it except Mrs. Cooper, Paige's mother, had made several calls to the greenhouse, asking questions about her daughter. I know now we should have varied our story, but at the time when we told our ladies to say they'd been transferred up north, it seemed best to keep things simple.
“I set up that meeting in the garden with Marnie. Dan's
plane was late, but not as late as Emily let on. I got back in plenty of time to park over here and hike across to the garden at the lodge. I learned that Marnie had talked Dan into letting her see old employee files, and that she'd told him about Paige's disappearance. Marnie was piecing it all together.” Donovan stopped to give me a smile. “But not as quickly as you, Bretta.”
A compliment from a murderer really made my day complete. “Why did you word your note—‘Life is precious. There are choices.'?”
“I wasn't sure if Marnie knew Paige was pregnant. If she did, that note would have a double meaning to her. If she didn't know, it wouldn't matter.”
“What about Shannon Plummer?” I asked. “Why did you kill her?”
“A very loose end. She was scared and nervous, which is a bad combination if you expect that person to keep a confidence. Emily used every counseling tactic she knew, but Shannon was inconsolable.”
“So Emily killed Shannon, and you killed Marnie.” I gestured to my father. “We're loose ends, too. What's our fate?”
“That's up to you. After I explain my proposition, you can make your own decision.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Alicia is pregnant. Her baby is due in six months. Emily and I will waive our regular fee, though we'll see that Alicia is compensated. She has plans to become a fashion designer, and we want her to have the money to make that dream a reality.”
My voice rose in outrage. “Do you think Dad and I can forget two murders because you're not taking money from the sale of Alicia's child?”
“Before you leap ahead, let me tell you what I propose. Alicia's
baby needs a good home. Alicia needs a fresh start in her life. You have it in your power to grant both. All it will take on your part is to forget the information that brought you to this cabin.”
“Forget it?”
“Have you shared this cabin's location with anyone?”
I didn't answer.
Donovan smiled. “I don't think you have.” He leaned forward, talking earnestly. “There isn't any need for this to go any further. Emily and I will wrap up our affairs and leave River City. You have our word that we won't participate in another such—uh—operation. We've learned our lesson. There are too many unforeseen things that can go wrong.”
I was astounded that Donovan would think that I'd take his word on anything. But I was aghast at the idea of meekly going on with my life while two killers went free. I wanted to rail at him, but I had to know what he had in mind. I said, “Why would I let you get away with murder?”
“You love Dan and Natalie. Natalie wants a child. Alicia's baby could be that child.”
I was shocked into speechlessness, but my father said, “In other words, for our silence you'd see that Natalie and Dan Parker get a baby?”
“That's correct.”
“There have been five other babies, so why haven't you approached the Parkers before you were backed into this corner?”
“Dan is too scrupulous. He would have wanted to know every detail of the adoption. A lawyer would have drawn up the papers with all kinds of questions asked. This situation can't tolerate that kind of scrutiny.”
“What makes you think Dan still won't expect that?”
“Before he arrives from Oregon, Natalie will have signed the papers. They aren't binding, but she won't know that.”
“I'm assuming you don't want Natalie to know you or your wife are involved in this. So who's your front person?”
“I don't see where that's important, but just so you'll know all the details, there's a woman who works with Emily who needs money. She called Natalie earlier this evening and talked over the adoption. I wrote the script for that conversation and I heard every word. Natalie has agreed. The paperwork will be delivered in the morning for her signature. As far as my niece is concerned, she's about to become a mother. Before Dan gets home, Natalie will have made a payment of fifteen thousand dollars. The baby will be delivered after the first of February, and the other half of the payment will be due.”

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