Secrets of Harmony Grove (45 page)

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Like I said earlier, I feel sure it was intentional, not accidental. People don’t usually take pains to cover up accidents.”

“Sometimes they do. What about hit-and-runs?”

He nodded, considering.

“Here, brainstorm with me,” Heath said, walking over to the gift shop area and grabbing a little quilted beanbag. “This is how my roommate and
I used to toss ideas around in college. Whatever you do, don’t let it hit the floor. It helps you focus.” Positioning himself there, he threw the beanbag over to me.

Catching it easily and tossing it back, I said, “Okay, if he didn’t do it on purpose, why would the person who shot Floyd with the tranquilizer dart want to hide the fact?”

He caught it and threw it back.

“It could have been someone who didn’t want the police to know, for whatever reason.”

“Why wouldn’t someone want the police to know?”

“Maybe he got the ketamine illegally.”

“Or maybe he had a lot of outstanding parking tickets.”

“Or maybe he’s just scared of cops in general.”

That caused me to falter, nearly missing the beanbag as I thought of my uncle. Emory was scared of cops, that was for sure.

“Maybe it has to do with the animal itself,” I said, finding my footing and tossing it back. “Maybe a big dog got loose and attacked Troy.”

“A dog? What about the avian coccidiosis?”

“The dog ran through a chicken coop on the way and got the parasite on his fingernails.”

“Dogs don’t have fingernails.”

“Tell that to Liz. She paints Mrs. Prickles’ nails every week.”

“Yes, but Mrs. Prickles isn’t a dog. She’s a human in dog form.”

We were getting silly, but suddenly silly seemed to be the order of the day. Tossing the beanbag higher and harder, we still managed to keep it from hitting the floor—until I knocked over a lamp with my elbow. Scrambling to keep the lamp from falling, I tripped on the cord, lost my balance, and began to fall. The next thing I knew, Heath was diving toward me, trying to help but only making things worse. He and I ended up hitting the ground in a tangled pile of limbs, the lamp teetering over after us and landing on my head. Fortunately, at least, the lamp didn’t break. Neither did my head, thanks to the fact that the thing had fallen lampshade first and had barely hurt me at all.

Catching our breath, we remained there together on the floor for a
moment, our laughter fading to soft chuckles. Disentangling myself and rolling onto my side, I propped a head on my arm and looked at Heath, who was still sprawled facedown on the floor next to me.

“How’s it going, Grace?” I quipped. “Did you have a nice fall?”

Turning his face toward me, smiling, Heath allowed his eyes to linger on mine. Then, reaching up with one hand, he slid his fingers under my hair and lightly smoothed it back from my face. Lingering there, he traced the line of my chin with one fingertip, ending at my lips.

Time seemed to stop. The world went away. Despite all the heartache of this day, in the moment all we had was this place and each other. Leaning forward, I touched my mouth to his.

The next thing I knew, we were locked in a fervent embrace, kissing passionately, holding on to each other tightly, as if to keep from falling from a cliff. At such an odd angle, pinned between him and the back of the couch, I would have expected to feel frightened and claustrophobic, panicked by a rush of memories. Instead, I wanted him to hold me even more closely, to lose himself in the moment and maybe even forget that we had boundaries and that we lived out what we believed.

But he didn’t forget. Heath never forgot. He pulled away, sat up completely, and ran a hand through his hair as he let out a groan of frustration.

“You know,” he told me in a low, gravelly voice, “if we were married…”

“I know,” I whispered, wanting to continue even as I tried to catch my breath.

“With this big, beautiful place all to ourselves, we could spend hours…We could be together here, there, anywhere, anytime, Sienna, in every room of this inn if we wanted. You and me. Husband and wife. Think of the freedom in that.”

“I know,” I whispered again, wondering if this was his idea of a proposal or just some wishful thinking.

We were still sitting there, trying to get our passions under control, lost in our thoughts of what-if, when there was a knock at the back door and it swung open.

“Hello?” Mike called out, stepping inside and brushing the rain water from the vinyl case he was carrying.

He spotted the two of us on the floor before we had a chance to respond or get up. I wasn’t sure how he would react, whether embarrassed or jealous or maybe just nonchalant. Instead, it was as if a steel door slammed shut behind his eyes. Looking away, he apologized for coming in like that, saying that he should have waited until someone came to the door.

“I wouldn’t do this at a regular home,” he added, “but since this is a B and B, I guess I wasn’t thinking. It felt more like walking into a hotel.”

“Please don’t apologize,” I told him, getting to my feet. “This isn’t what it looks like. We had a little lamp mishap.”

Heath stood as well, replacing the lamp on the table before stepping toward the door and holding out his hand to Mike for a shake. Though there seemed to be less macho posturing this time, I did notice the look that passed between them, a slight tilting of chins as if in challenge.

“So what’s up?” I said, trying to make my tone light as I wondered why I kept letting myself get sidetracked by man issues when far more important things were going on.

“There are a couple of things I would like to discuss with you. Do you mind if we sit down and talk for a minute?”

I offered him coffee, which he accepted, so the three of us went into the kitchen together. While I worked behind the center island, putting a filter in the coffeemaker, scooping up ground beans, and pouring in the water, the two men seated themselves at the table. I wasn’t sure if Mike had intended to include Heath in this conversation, but I could see that Heath wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

For a moment I looked from one man to the other, thinking how handsome each one was in his own way—Mike, with his strong features and muscular arms and crackling air of intensity, and Heath, with his chiseled cheekbones and intelligent blue eyes and sweet, gentle spirit. Given that the two men were so different, how was it I found myself attracted to both?

Trying to banish such thoughts from my mind, I was glad Mike didn’t seem angry with me anymore, not like he was last night. Instead, as he began to explain why he was here, his demeanor was friendly but professional.

“First, I came by to give you an update on things. I thought you’d like
to know that Burl Newton has been released. He’ll still face charges for the cockfighting paraphernalia, but he’s been cleared in the matter of Troy and his wound. We got more test results back. Turns out the avian coccidiosis wasn’t the kind you find in chickens. The gash definitely didn’t come from any of that cockfighting equipment.”

Pulling three mugs from the cabinet, I braced myself for what I was afraid was coming next, that the evidence was pointing toward Emory’s songbirds and, consequently, Emory himself.

“Instead, it’s…hold on,” Mike said, pulling his little notebook from his pocket. Flipping through the pages, he found what he was looking for and read it to us. “Okay, this coccidiosis can only be found in ratites, specifically those who are of the order Casuariiformes. Caz-u-air-ee-forms? Am I saying that right, Doc?”

“You got me,” Heath replied.

“Well, anyway, that means the evidence in Troy’s wound points to one of only two types of birds, genus
Casuarius
or genus
Dromaius
.”

“In English, please?” I said, wishing he would get to the point.

“The first one, genus
Casuarius
, is what’s more commonly known as a ‘cassowary.’ Cassowaries are the most dangerous bird alive. In fact, a cassowary can and will attack a human, and there have even been some fatalities.”

“A bird that can kill a grown man?” Heath asked.

“I heard someone talking about this in the grove yesterday, but I thought they were exaggerating,” I said.

“Nope, apparently it’s true. A cassowary can kill a human, especially if its kick slices a major artery. But there are other ways the bird is dangerous. In the last recorded case of a fatality, a cassowary killed a teenager with a single kick to the neck.”

“Wow,” I said as Heath gave a low whistle.

“According to what the guy from the game commission told me, the birds are huge and incredibly aggressive, with probably a hundred and fifty documented attacks on humans per year. They’re more commonly known for killing dogs or cows than humans, though.”

“So Troy was attacked by a
cassowary
?” I asked, more confused than ever. “Where on earth—”

“Well, no, that’s not likely. Yes, a cassowary is by far the more violent of our two choices here and could easily have made that gash, but while cassowaries live in the wild in places like Australia, the only ones you’ll find in the U.S. are safely ensconced in zoos or on registered farms, neither of which are anywhere in our region. Which leaves the second species as the far more likely culprit.”

“The one you called genus
Drominus
?”

“
Dromaius
,” he corrected. “That’s the only other Casuariiforme, the cassowary’s closest cousin. Unlike the cassowary, birds of the genus
Dromaius
are fairly common in the U.S. and are, in fact, held in captivity in numerous places throughout Lancaster County.”

Mike looked from me to Heath and back again, milking the moment, almost enjoying the suspense.

“Genus
Dromaius
, more commonly known as emu,” he said at last. “Unless there’s a cassowary running wild out here, Troy’s leg was sliced by an emu. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, Sienna, but we had to bring Jonah down to the station. As it turns out, this isn’t the only evidence against him. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up being officially charged with Troy’s murder.”

I refused to believe that my cousin had anything to do with Troy’s murder. Jonah Coblentz was one of the kindest, gentlest souls I had ever known, not to mention a firm believer in nonresistance and turning the other cheek. I said as much to Mike now, but he countered by saying that not only was there evidence, but there was also motive. Troy and Jonah had had a very vocal falling out, one that dealt with racehorses, insider knowledge, and questionable betting practices.

“I already heard the story about that from Liesl,” I told him. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“Troy caused Jonah to lose a substantial part of his income. People have killed over less.”

“But you have to remember that Jonah’s Amish, Mike,” I said, carrying two mugs of coffee to the table and setting them in front of the men. “He sees everything that happens, both good and bad, as God’s will. He wouldn’t have spent a moment plotting some sort of revenge. Instead, he would have been working on forgiveness. That’s what the Amish do when they are wronged. Above all else, they forgive, instantly and completely—and over and over again, if necessary.”

I put out cream and sugar and spoons, and then I grabbed my own cup and sat down with them.