Finding Mercy (18 page)

“The missus says okay with her,” Andrew said and stood up, then helped Ella rise. “Is Trixie staying here?”

“Yeah. A headache. See you later,” he said to Ella.

They both owed a lot to Janus and Trixie, Andrew thought as he pecked a kiss on her mouth—well, it wasn’t a peck. Even in front of Janus, it lingered. The McCorkles had kept their spirits up, taken them here and there, been real good neighbors. Andrew handed her his empty glass and followed Janus—that is, Corky the Clown—out of the backyard.

Once again, their favorite clown made him chuckle as he almost went off balance and bounced a shoulder off the fence. Both he and Ella laughed at the way Janus stumbled over his own big feet, when he was usually so smooth handling those bulbous orange shoes.

* * *

Ella went inside and washed their glasses. To her surprise,
Grossmamm
was up, sitting in the living room, slumped in a chair and crying.

“What is it?” Ella cried, rushing to her. “Are you ill?”

Grossmamm
spoke in their
Deutsche
dialect, although they’d been using English among the three of them here. “Sick at heart. Got a phone call from your
daad
. Never did get good news by a phone. It hasn’t rung once since we been here, now this.”

“Now what? Something happened at home?”

“Your aunt Martha. She’s going to have surgery, going to lose a breast. This time, she says to tell me please come.”

“See, she wants you there. She just didn’t want you to make a trip for nothing earlier—not until she knew what was going on. You’ll be a big help to her, get her through this, help take care of her children.”

“Your
daad
also says she wonders what am I doing in Florida in the hot months and you during lavender time. He told her I just had to come back where your grandfather and I had happy days.”

“First thing in the morning, we can ask Janus or Trixie to take you to the Greyhound station, get you on a bus to Pennsylvania.”

“But I can’t leave you and Andrew alone together. Where is he?”

“He walked uptown with Corky the Clown. I think he’s going to ask Janus for a job to tide him over here.
Grossmamm,
I can’t leave him.”

“But if you ever have a chance to make him Amish, playing his wife here is not the way.”

“A chance to make him Amish? You meant that tonight? You think a modern man, one who’s had money and cars and a big, worldly job, would ever turn Amish?”

“With God, all things are possible. Could Trixie drive you uptown to look for Andrew, so we can decide what to do?”

“I don’t think they’ll be out late. Besides, Trixie has a headache.”

“Then I got just the thing for her,” she said, popping up from her chair. “Wish I knew something to fight breast cancer, but lemon juice squeezed into hot water will help a headache, a good home remedy,
ya,
it is
.
Here, I got a lemon,” she said, and bustled to the refrigerator. “But back to Andrew,” she said, suddenly switching to English, “I tell you, my girl, even though he cares for you and desires you, he will say you should go with me too. Just a minute now. I’ll mix this in a glass and you run it over to Trixie. I hope she does not have one of those very bad migrant headaches.”

Ella didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe she’d get a migraine—or migrant headache too—over all this migrating from place to place. Just when she was certain things could not get worse, they did. Too many people dear to her were in danger. And she just felt she could
not
leave Andrew, even if he turned back into Alex!

She took the glass of hot lemon water from
Grossmamm
and headed over to give it to Trixie and to tell her
Grossmamm
might have to leave. She sure hoped the McCorkles could take her to the bus station tomorrow. As she went into their backyard, she noted that for once the extra clown suit was not drying on the clothesline.

Some people still didn’t lock their doors around here, especially during the day, but, of course, they always locked
Grossmamm’
s bungalow. Trixie’s back door was shut because their air conditioner was running—this close, it was so loud—so she knocked.

No answer, no movement, no sound. Had Trixie felt better and gone uptown too? If so, the door would probably be locked. She tried it—open.

She stuck her head in and called, “Trixie? It’s Ella. I hear you have a headache, but Grandma’s sent something over for you that may help.”

No response. Ella felt bad. Trixie must be sleeping, and she had no right to wake her. She’d just leave the lemon juice here with a note, if she could find some paper. She clicked on the kitchenette light, stepped inside and put the glass down on the counter. It was really cold in here, so maybe they turned their air conditioner way up to sleep. Ella saw a notepad, so she scribbled:

Heat and drink this to help headache. If you don’t have lemons or lemonade, we have more. Need to talk to you early a.m. —Ella.

As she started to tiptoe toward the door, her feet stuck to the tile in something tacky. Had she spilled some lemonade? No, the splatters on tan tile were dark like cranberry juice or—blood? Could Trixie have cut herself?

“Trixie? It’s Ella. Are you here? Are you okay?”

She peeked into the living area and clicked on a lamp. She gasped. A trail of blood, mostly drops but an occasional streak, led toward their bedroom.

“Trixie?”

Maybe she was in the bathroom with the water running, or was that just the whir of the air conditioner in the window of this room? Or was that someone’s voice, distant, muffled?

Should she call the police? But that would mean giving her name, and Andrew said not to trust the authorities, even here. She could run uptown to find Janus and Andrew. It wasn’t far, and if they stopped now and then so Janus could clown a bit…

Ella tiptoed to the closed door of their bedroom—the other smaller one was a workroom—and knocked. “Trixie?”

She heard a muffled sound within. What if Trixie had fallen, hit her head? Even had a stroke?

Ella turned the knob and pushed the door slowly inward. Though she didn’t snap on the bedroom light, the reflected glow from the living room lamp jumped across a messy bed. On it lay Trixie, struggling, gagged and trussed up with her wrists bound to the bedpost. The whites of her eyes gleamed as she turned her head toward Ella and tried to shout through her gag.

Even more horrifying was the fact that Janus’s second clown costume lay across the foot of the ravaged bed and, with a bloodied head, looking like a corpse, Janus himself lay unmoving and tied on the floor.

18

ELLA RUSHED TO ungag and untie Trixie. That man with Andrew was not Janus! And he’d been watching them and McCorkles. He’d used the clown disguise. He was clever, demonic. Had he invited Andrew/Alex to his death, and he’d gone willingly, a sheep to the slaughter? Trust no one…trust no one. She had to run uptown, see if she could stop them, find them before it was too late. Or was Andrew taken or dead already?

She untied a knot to get the gag out of Trixie’s mouth, then darted for a knife in the kitchen to cut her loose.

“A man—a thief!” Trixie yelled. “Hit Janus over the head and jumped me. Went into our bathroom. Dressed up, even face paint, like Corky the Clown, but he messed up the face!”

Why didn’t they notice that? Ella thought as she cut her friend loose. She had to go, but Janus needed help. She thrust the knife in Trixie’s hand. “Janus isn’t dead—I saw him move! I think that man’s out to hurt Andrew too. I have to go!”

“You know that man?” Trixie screamed as she slid off the bed and knelt over her husband.

Ella didn’t answer but ran for the door. No, she didn’t know that man, only what he wanted. She took a second knife from the drawer where she’d found the first one and tore out into the dark, humid night.

* * *

They’d walked almost to the park, passing a couple of people Alex thought would be good to practice what Janus called his shtick on. But he’d noted two things, even in the darkness. Not only had Janus put his bulbous nose on sideways but he’d done his face paint a bit different. Didn’t clowns have a signature design, kind of like company branding or a corporate icon? Also, Janus was always talkative when the two of them were together, but he had said little after that initial spiel. Maybe he was worried about leaving Trixie behind with a headache. Alex knew lately how it felt to really care for someone and worry about them as well as himself.

“So are you looking for a particular group or place?” Alex asked, slowing his steps.

“Near the park.”

Why the brusqueness, the tenseness that reeked from this man? The hair on the back of Alex’s neck prickled. Was he crazy to think this might not be Janus? He was his friend’s height and build, as best as he could tell, under that floppy costume. He knew about them and had come out of Janus’s house. Alex had heard their back door bang like it always did when someone came out.

His muscles tensed. When they got just a little closer to the few people in the park, he was going to run. No way someone who meant harm wanted witnesses, despite a disguise.

“Let’s set up over there near the field,” the clown said, and reached into the depths of his pockets. From that loose-fitting costume, Alex had seen Janus produce fake dollar bills, balls to juggle and a single flower that popped into a big bouquet.

Only this time, the clown produced a handgun and pointed it right at his chest.

* * *

Horrid scenes flashed before Ella’s eyes as she picked up her skirts and ran toward town. It had never seemed this far on the trike. She was out of breath already, scanning each side street for a car or a dark van. What if the man who had attacked Janus and Trixie and had taken the other clown suit just disappeared—with Andrew? He had been right to be afraid, even here. Somehow his enemies—hers now too—had him again.

A few people were strolling, enjoying the night air, but Ella was slick with sweat. They had been watched! Instead of the clown, she saw the horrid scarecrow nailed to a lavender cross on her door at home. What if they tortured Andrew to make him tell all he knew before they got rid of him? And who had told that man where they were? Trixie and Janus had suffered because of them, yet they had to keep secrets, they had to protect Andrew! But now it might be too late.

She stopped at the fringe of Pinecraft Park, blinking in the lights there. A single elderly couple played shuffleboard on the farthest court. An old man rolled boccie balls by himself. Farther across the way, four teenage boys shot a ball through a basketball hoop.

But no clown. No Andrew.

She gripped her hands so tightly together her fingers cramped. Tears streamed down her cheeks. This could not be happening. Bad dreams were one thing, but this nightmare…

She gasped. She saw them, two tiny figures climbing the metal ladder to the water tower across the park in a dark field. Was that man going to make Andrew jump or push him off? Surely he knew the clown was not Janus by now!

Having no idea what she should do, praying for strength and help, shaking so hard her teeth chattered, Ella ran around the edge of the park and took a shuffleboard stick from the box of them, then sprinted across the dark field toward the tower.

* * *

A voice sounded in Alex’s head:
Think! Keep calm! Survive!

This guy with the gun had not shot him point-blank, a small reprieve. He felt not only panicked but so damn dumb. This man had managed to sucker him into falling for this clown disguise. But somehow he was going to outsmart him, turn the tables, then get some answers.

Although Alex climbed the water tower ladder ahead of his captor, he felt as if the muzzle of the gun were still pressed against his chest. What to do? When to make a move? He couldn’t kick at the guy, because he stayed several rungs below. He said he’d just as soon shoot him on the ladder if he didn’t do as he said. Alex didn’t believe for one second that the clown intended to tie him to the walkway of the tower, as he’d said. He’d even shown him the ropes he’d produced from one of the deep pockets in the clown costume. But Alex had also glimpsed a noose, so he’d figured out the real scenario.

Obviously, what Ella had theorized earlier was in play here: an accident—or in this case, an apparent suicide—would make his death look better than a murder. In the morning, someone would see a man, an Amish man at that, who had hanged himself from the town’s water tower. Either that or this guy was going to shove him off as if he’d jumped. A clever way to get rid of the feds’ star witness without having it appear to be a hit. Ella’s beautiful face kept intruding in his terror, but he tried to thrust the thought of her away so he could make a plan.

He figured it would be important to fight back. Better to make the guy shoot him, so everyone would know it was a murder. Up here, high above the middle of the dark field, despite the glare of distant park lights below, he could see
SeaStar
satellite in the night sky overhead and the recon spy called
Lacrosse 4,
so beautiful. It was like a last-minute gift from God, one that should help to calm him. Would that stunning view be one of the last things he’d ever see, that and Ella’s angel face?

An idea hit him. Talk. Keep this man distracted. Alex called down to him, “The American stealth satellite that keeps an eye on Cuba is that orange-red one there at ten o’clock in the sky.” It was a lie, but what did that matter now? “Amazing what close-ups our government can see and record, even in the dark. You have seen videos of how the U.S. drones hit targets in the Middle East using GPS, haven’t you? Did they tell you that’s ultimately what this is all about, spy satellites and corporate espionage by the Chinese Communists who want to hurt our country?”

“Don’t know or care about any of that. Shut up and keep climbing.”

No attempt to disguise his voice anymore, Alex thought. The guy actually sounded as if he had a Jersey or Bronx accent, so was that the New York City connection again, which pointed straight to his former boss? Oh hell, the Chinese had visited there as much as he’d been to Hong Kong.

“Of course,” Alex went on, “they didn’t tell you how many billions of dollars are involved in the international espionage scheme either. Your employer’s probably going to pay you a piddly one-hit amount, when you could keep me a prisoner like you did the Amish girl and hold out for much more.”

“I said, shut up! I hear you’re a smart guy, but nothing you say is gonna work.”

“They always give prisoners a last meal. I’m just having a last chat. Unfortunately, it’s with a lackey, a gofer with a gun, one they’ll want to eliminate to cover their tracks. You’re expendable too. They’ll find you. Ultimately, the big boys take no prisoners and cover their tracks. They like to tie up loose ends.”

“This isn’t some damn TV show like
Criminal Minds!
You’ve slowed down. Speed it up!”

“So maybe with smart lines like that, you could be a real clown.”

No answer. Alex still climbed as slowly as he could. Too late, he realized he should have just let go of the ladder near the ground, dropped into the guy and taken him to the ground with him—broken bone, bullets or not. But they were too high now, almost to the walkway that girdled the water tower.

Alex tried again to thrust everything away but an escape plan. No thinking about his past, his enemies. Sadly, no time to think about Ella and all she’d come to mean to him in such a short time. Thank God, she had not seen her captor back in Ohio, so he wouldn’t try to get rid of her too.

But then, looking down, then quickly away, he both blessed and cursed her. Damn, if Ella wasn’t running across the field where, if this guy looked down and toward the park, he’d see her too.

* * *

Ella’s first thought was to scream up at Andrew and his captor to stop climbing, that she’d called the police, which she hadn’t. But what if that panicked the man and he shot Andrew right then? The fake clown must have a gun on him or Andrew would not be climbing that high ladder. Was he going to push Andrew off, make it look like an accident—even suicide? With the strain Andrew had been under, some would believe that. Besides, if she drew attention to herself, the man might shoot her. The few people in the park were near the lights, whereas she’d been beyond when she spotted the men. Would outsiders even see them or come to help? So many moderns refused to get involved with others’ problems.

Though she didn’t want to panic an armed man, she was panicked now. An attack setting in, making her shaky, letting the drowning darkness in… But she had to go on, go up…

What to do with the shuffleboard stick she had grabbed? She still had Trixie’s kitchen knife too, and thrust that into the top of her stocking, where it hurt her thigh with each step. Nothing would do any good against a gun, unless she could get close—surprise the clown. He must have hit Janus over the head with something; maybe she could hit
him
with this long stick. Trixie had said the intruder had jumped her. He had no right to harm innocent people, their friends! He had no right to try to kill a man he did not even know for money—and what if the clown was the same man who had held her captive? Somehow, she was going to stop him.

Do no violence…turn the other cheek…
The thoughts
danced through her panic. Her people were peaceful, but she was so angry she could brain that clown.

She fought to push back her terror as she thrust the long handle of the shuffleboard stick between her apron and her dress and started to climb. It was awkward with the stick, and the knife cut into her flesh. She shook so hard it seemed the tower was shaking and would topple. Her hands were wet with sweat. But up she went.

* * *

As they reached the walkway that circled the tower—the old metal bouncing under their weight—Alex knew he’d need to move fast, definitely before his man knocked him out or shoved him over. If it came to a struggle, would he have a chance? He dared not peer down to see if Ella was still below, because he didn’t want to tip the guy off so he’d take a shot at her. But again, he was the one who had the pistol pointed straight at his chest. This time, though, the man kept out of his reach.

He tried to steady himself. The single guardrail was not quite waist-high. He put a hand on it. It seemed as shaky as he felt.

“All right,” the clown said, gesturing with the gun from about six feet away. “We’re going around the other side of this baby, away from the town.”

Hoping someone might have left so much as a screwdriver up here, anything he could use for a surprise weapon, slowly, Alex obeyed, shuffling around the curve of the tower. Again the walkway shuddered under their feet.

“Believe me,” his captor said as they walked into complete shadow but for satellite and starlight, “it’s gonna be easier on you to cooperate. Here—put this around your neck and keep your distance, or I’ll shoot.”

Alex easily caught the noose the man tossed him, one connected to a rope he still held, but he did not put it around his neck. “Are your orders not to shoot me unless necessary?” he demanded. “You know, you’re pretty good at disguises. I would have sworn there was a redneck in that truck in the Atlanta motel lot when it was an East Coast hit man. Then you adapted to Amish country and now here.”

The guy snickered. “Atlanta, yes, Amish, no.”

Alex gasped. Why should he believe this bastard? But he did. Why would he deny being the one after him in Amish country when he admitted the Atlanta attack? Someone else must have been responsible in the Home Valley.

“Since I’m going to die, who sent you?” Alex demanded. “Who’s behind getting rid of the star witness?”

“I’ve got others above me. You think they’re gonna send it down the line, who’s the top guy? But you’re right, I’m gonna kill you, and it’s gonna be easier on you to have a drop and a broken neck in a noose than take a bunch of bullets. Get that noose on! Do it, and I’ll leave the Amish girl alone. Otherwise, I’ll get her too, and the old lady. I hear the little blonde came in real useful once before, so here’s your chance. Save her and her mother by putting that noose on—now!”

Alex nearly complied. But he was as furious as he was scared. He’d gotten himself involved but Ella was innocent. And the fact this guy thought
Grossmamm
Ruth was Ella’s mother and seemed not to know Ella’s name—it must be true that someone in Ohio had passed information on to this guy, but he had not been in the Amish area. Someone else had taken Ella and meant to kill him back there.

And could he believe this man when he said that he’d leave Ella and
Grossmamm
alone? Not if he stumbled on Ella when he climbed down. Alex had heard no police sirens, no shouts from below.