Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3 Page 15

  “Wow.” Sarcasm dripped from Clark’s voice. “I feel like the last part should be on a billboard or something.”

  “Don’t even say that,” Miller said. “Klink would be all over it.”

  “Yeah, because a billboard is money well spent.” Clark took a step back from the table and stretched. He was so tall his fingers brushed the dropped ceiling when he reached overhead. “There are going to be layoffs.” Clark’s voice turned sad.

  Miller pulled at his blond spiky hair. “Don’t say that!”

  “Come on, man. Everyone knows that people are the most expensive piece of an organization.”

  I bit my lip. “I’m sure the college wouldn’t be doing this unless they had no other choice.”

  Clark fell into a seat on the other side of the conference table. “That doesn’t make it stink any less.”

  No it didn’t.

  “What if it’s one of us?” Miller asked. “I don’t know how to do anything else.”

  Clark cocked his head. “I don’t know, man, I think you would fit right in with a bonnet and white apron selling cheese downtown.”

  Miller groaned. “Like that’s my only option.”

  Clark shrugged. “Most of the Amish are better off than the rest of us in the county.”

  Time to change the subject. “Where’s Joel?”

  Miller closed the laptop. “He said he needed to check on something in the server room.”

  Clark rolled his eyes. “Code for coffee run.”

  My brow wrinkled. What did Joel do for the college other than manage the servers, which were too old and in poor condition? If the servers were his sole responsibility, then why didn’t he give them more attention? I gave the men a reassuring smile. “I’ll be in my office.”

  Clark nodded. “Sure thing.”

  By twelve o’clock my eyes were crossed. I’d gone over my budget three times searching for every possible way to cut twenty percent without laying off a member of my staff. Each time, the money saved wasn’t enough—and that didn’t include the proposal the dean had ignored in which I requested an additional seven thousand dollars.

  Concerned my calculator might soon start to smoke, I decided to get out of the office and eat lunch by Archer Pond. I still couldn’t bring myself to call it a lake.

  As I walked the flagstone path to the pond, the mallards and Canadian geese waddled up Archer’s muddy banks. A rotund goose led the pack. He had a white band stamped with the number 789 wrapped round his neck. Some wildlife organization must be tracking him.

  “Don’t worry,” I told them. “Knowing Becky, there will be plenty for all of us.”

  I opened my lunchbox and found two sandwiches, crackers, fresh-baked cookies, an apple, and a carton of milk. My stomach turned. Any appetite I would normally have had was destroyed by the dean’s announcement. I sighed. I should be happy he told me about it before sending the e-mail to the entire college.

  I tore the top slice of sandwich bread into tiny bits and threw it to the birds piece by piece. A blue jay hopped onto a branch on the golden locust tree above me. I forced myself to take a bite from the rest of the sandwich. How will I get my department on track? I was all out of ideas.

  A twig snapped behind me. I recoiled as a large hand clamped onto my shoulder. “Well, hello there, Red. Did you miss us?”

  I turned around to find myself peering up at Brock’s baby face, and the one bite of Becky’s ham sandwich caught in my throat.

  Curt sauntered out from behind his larger friend and sat on the bench next to me. He smelled like a cigarette that had been dipped into a gallon of cheap aftershave. “Is this the sweetest picture? Pretty little city girl feeding the ducks. It almost makes me want to paint a picture. I’m not much of an artist though. All I can do is stick figures.”

  “Come on, Curt, your stick figures are some of the best I’ve seen.” Brock dug his meaty fingers into my shoulder. I flinched and tried to wriggle out of his grasp. His fingertips dug in that much harder. There would be a bruise, I just knew it.

  “Thank you, brother, but I’m no artist. Not like the Amish girl.”

  How would he know about Becky’s art?

  “Too bad she won’t be painting much since she broke her arm and all.”

  I tried to stand up, but Brock pushed down on both of my shoulders. “Don’t you want to stay and talk?” He sneered. “We’re having a nice visit with friends.”

  The ducks and geese seemed to sense feeding time was over and waddled back into the pond.

  I threw everything back into my lunchbox and snapped it shut. “We’re not friends, and I need to get back to work.”

  Curt stood and picked up a flat stone off the ground. He held the stone between his thumb and index finger as if he were aiming to throw it at my forehead. Every muscle in my body tensed.

  “I know we’re not friends. A friend wouldn’t send the police after a pal.” He pasted a mock hurt expression on his face and grabbed my lunchbox. “What’s the rush anyway? Isn’t this your lunchtime?” He handed Brock my lunchbox. “Here you go, buddy. I know you’re hungry.”

  “Always.” Brock let go of my shoulders. I leaped up, but Brock reached out and shoved me back down. “Not so fast.”

  My spine rattled as I landed back on the hard, wooden bench. “What are you doing here?”

  “We were in the neighborhood and saw you sitting here,” Curt said.

  Brock twisted to face me. “Yeah, can’t we stop and say hello?”

  Stay alert, Chloe, stay alert.

  The rock whizzed by my ear as Curt threw it into the pond. It landed in the middle of the water with a plunk, and the birds flew away.

  “Here’s the thing,” Curt began. “Brock and I got picked up by Chief Rose on Saturday morning.”

  “The chief sure is pretty.” Brock leered at me. “Maybe not as pretty as your Amish friend though.”

  My stomach curdled.

  Brock continued, turning to Curt. “She is kind on the eyes. Looks a lot like Cassie now that I think about it. It must be the blonde hair.”

  Curt glared at him. “Shut up about her.”

  “Who’s Cassie?” Maybe if the two start fighting, I can get away.

  “Curt’s ex,” Brock said. “She left him for a Menno.”

  The scrawny one’s eyes narrowed. “I said shut up.”

  Brock circled me. His beefy hand found my shoulder again. “Okay, man. Jeez, you are way sensitive.”

  Curt took a step closer to me. “We aren’t here to talk about my ex-girlfriend or even the Amish girl. We’re here because someone told the police lady we had something to do with the high priest, or buggyman, or whatever he’s called, meeting his maker.”

  I didn’t say anything. My eyes searched the ground for something I could use to defend myself: a stick, a rock, anything. There was nothing. Just pebbles not much bigger than nickels. Harshberger’s groundskeepers were too good at their job.

  The stench of Curt’s breath burned my nostrils. “It wasn’t cool of this person to do that.”

  “Not cool,” Brock agreed. He had downed the rest of the first sandwich and was moving on to the second.

  Curt squatted on his haunches and stared into my face. “We think it might have been you.”

  I forced myself to look him in the eye. “So what if it was?”

  He laughed at me. “Oh, you are saucy. It must be the hair. It makes you spicy. I don’t think your little Amish friend would talk that way. What was her name again?”

  “Becky.” Brock spoke with a mouth full of food.

  Curt whistled through his front teeth. “That’s right. Becky. Pretty girl that Becky. And yeah, she does look a lot like Cassie.”

  Brock reached into the cooler for the bag of cookies and let go of my s
houlder. I jumped off the bench before he could stop me. “Leave Becky alone.”

  Laugh lines creased the skin around Curt’s eyes. “Or what?”

  “I’ll have a restraining order placed on both of you.”

  Brock puckered his mouth and looked at Curt. “Dude, your uncle wouldn’t like that.”

  Curt glowered, and Brock popped a cookie into his mouth. “This cookie is amazing,” He mumbled, spitting cookie crumbs into the air. “Curt, you want one?”

  Curt shook his head and shifted closer to me. I could not only smell the tobacco juice on his breath, but I could see it on his teeth. “How about this, Red? You stop talking to the cops about us, and we leave the Amish girl alone.” He shrugged, his pointy shoulders resembling triangles in his cut-off black T-shirt. “You talk to the cops, and we have a problem.”

  I tried to keep the quiver out of my voice. “Just leave her alone.”

  A grin spread across Curt’s face. Must have heard my voice shake. He stepped so close that if I took another step back, I would have fallen into the pond. He pinched my cheek. “That’s good, Red.”

  Then they turned and walked away.

  I shivered, my cheek aching. I watched the two men stalk in the direction of the woods on the south side of campus and disappear behind the tree line, my lunchbox tucked under Brock’s arm.

  Gently, I wiped the back of my hand across my cheek, longing to wash Curt’s filth off my face pronto. Instead, I reached into my skirt pocket and pulled out my cell phone, scrolling through my contacts until I found Chief Rose’s number. I hesitated, my fingers hovering over the keypad, then stuck the phone back into my pocket.

  I jogged up the small hill to Dennis. Outside, Joel sat in the sunshine sipping from a can of Diet Coke, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He had an unobstructed view of Archer Pond. The thought of Joel watching my confrontation with Brock and Curt made me sick to my stomach.

  I speared him with a look. “What are you doing out here?”

  He slurped from the pop can. “I’m on my lunch hour. Is that a crime?”

  I inhaled and let it go. “No.” I started toward the building’s entrance, but glanced back to see him grinning.

  “Interesting crowd you pal around with, director.”

  I spun on my heels and faced him again. “They are not my crowd.”

  He shrugged. “If you say so. Who knows what company you keep aside from that Amish girl who plowed into her boyfriend’s father?”

  I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Joel, if you talk to me like that again, I will report you.”

  He crushed the Diet Coke can with one hand. “Knock yourself out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  When Timothy showed up at my office at four o’clock, I leapt from my office chair, never so glad to end a work day in my life.

  He grinned at my reaction. “Ready to go?”

  I nodded and started to gather my things.

  Miller and Clark sat at the conference table again, in the middle of inventorying the college’s media equipment. Miller told me earlier in the afternoon that one of the digital camcorders was bad, and I asked him to try to fix it. The camcorder lay in pieces on the table. I frowned at the mess. If Miller was unsuccessful, the camcorder was yet another item I would have to find the money for in my withering budget.

  Clark shook a kink out of a USB cord. “Hey, man,” he said to Timothy. “How’s the college’s barn coming?”

  “We should be done by the end of the day tomorrow.”

  Joel poked his scowling face out of his cubicle. “You would probably have finished earlier had you not been distracted.”

  Timothy frowned and tilted his head at Joel, but didn’t retaliate.

  Clark shot a look up at the ceiling. “Don’t mind Joel. He got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

  “Every morning,” Miller muttered into the camcorder parts in front of him.

  I grabbed Timothy’s arm and pulled him toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  When we were in the hallway, Timothy paused. “What was that all about?”

  “Bad day. I can’t talk about it here, though.”

  Mabel jumped up from the cement walkway in front of Dennis when she saw us coming. Timothy slapped his thigh. “Come, Mabel.”

  She trotted over, her black plume of a tail wagging happily. She woofed at me, and I scratched her on the top of her head.

  When we were in Timothy’s truck, he turned to me. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  I groaned. “Budget cuts.” As he pulled out onto the street, I relayed the conversation I had with Dean Klink “And . . .”

  “And what?” Timothy asked.

  Mabel flopped her furry head over the bench seat, her mournful eyes staring up at me. She’d much rather have ridden shotgun.

  I sighed and told him about Curt and Brock’s lunchtime visit.

  Timothy jerked to a stop. “What?” He gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Why didn’t you tell me about that right away?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.” I didn’t add that Joel had witnessed the whole thing and had done nothing. I don’t know why I protected him. He didn’t deserve it.

  Timothy gunned the engine. “We have to go to the police station and report this.”

  “No.” I crossed my arms, hugging myself. “They said they’d leave Becky alone if I didn’t go to the police.”

  Timothy shook his head. “Guys like Brock and Curt don’t keep their promises, Chloe. Becky’s my sister. This is the best thing for her.” He paused. “And for you. The police need to have this incident on file in case something happens.”

  “Something like what?”

  “I don’t want to think about it.” His voice sounded gruff.

  “Okay.” I slowed my breathing and gazed out the window. “I hope Chief Rose keeps it quiet though.”

  Timothy gave a rueful laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  He shook his head, and again, I wondered how he knew Appleseed Creek’s police chief.

  Timothy drove around the square, quiet on this Monday afternoon except for a few tourists strolling around, visiting the Amish shops. He turned into the parking lot behind town hall. Unlike Saturday when I had visited there with Chief Rose, the parking lot was almost full. Village officials were on the job. Timothy backed his truck into a space between a low-hanging buckeye tree and an SUV.

  Mabel nudged my shoulder with her head, and I felt a twinge of pain. I pressed a hand to my left shoulder and rubbed the beginnings of a bruise.

  Timothy scrutinized my face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Brock pinched my shoulder. I’m sure it’s just a bruise.”

  He gasped. “Let me see that.”

  Gently, Timothy tugged my shirt collar away from my neck. My breath caught as he touched me just above my clavicle bone. Unlike Curt’s, the sensation of Timothy’s breath on my neck soothed me. What time did this happen?” he asked.

  “Noon.” My voice came out like a squeak. I shivered.

  He pulled away and smoothed my collar back down.

  I began to breathe again.

  Timothy’s forehead creased. “It’s already turning purple. You will have to show that to Chief Rose.” He opened the cabin door. “They should have some ice inside too.”

  Timothy and Mabel hopped out of the truck, and I followed. Inside the police station, a woman with snow white hair and a cameo pin that held together the collar of her blouse greeted us. “Timothy, I haven’t seen you around here in a while. That’s a good thing.”

  Mabel trotted over to the woman. She opened a desk drawer and pulled out a dog biscuit. “There you go, sweets.”

  Mabel ate the biscuit in one gulp and sta
red at the woman. “That’s all you get.” With a whine, Mabel lay down on the floor and put her head on her paws.

  Why were Chief Rose’s receptionist and Mabel old friends? I glanced at Timothy, but he kept his gaze ahead.

  “Hi, Fern. We’d like to talk to Chief Rose, please,” Timothy said.

  “She’s out in the field.” She smiled at him. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Yes.” Timothy stepped up to her desk. “We’d like to file a complaint in conjunction with the Glick case.”

  Fern sat up straighter. “Officer Nottingham is here and can talk to you. Have a seat.” She picked up her circa 1980 black phone and punched in a number.

  Timothy and I sat on plastic chairs, and after about three minutes, I wished for a seat cushion. At least the uncomfortable seat kept my mind off my shoulder, which kept my mind off Timothy examining my shoulder. I’m sure he does the same thing for his siblings when they get hurt. That’s what big brothers do.

  Minutes later, a boy about a year older than Becky stepped into the waiting room. “Mr. Troyer. Miss Humphrey. Can you follow me?”

  He opened the door to the room where I’d examined the mug shots on Saturday. Had that really only been two days ago?

  “I’m Officer Nottingham,” the boy, or rather, the police officer said when we were seated. “Fern said this had something to do with the Glick case.”

  I nodded. “It’s related.”

  Timothy squeezed my elbow. “Tell him what you told me.”

  I took a deep breath and told him everything.

  Officer Nottingham took furious notes. “I’ll tell Chief Rose all of this. She will most likely want to talk to you.”

  I bet she will.

  The boy-officer’s mouth was a grim line. “Can I see the bruise?”

  I pulled the collar of my crewneck shirt away from my throat to reveal the bruise forming on top of my shoulder. Officer Nottingham examined it from across the table. “There are definite finger marks there.” He made another note. “I’m going to need to take a photograph of it. Be right back.” He stood and slipped through the inner office door.”