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Authors: Janis Harrison

BOOK: Reap a Wicked Harvest
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I went to Jacob and tried to take his arm, but his hostility toward me was red hot. In a gentle tone, I bribed him. “I'll tell you Dixie's story if you'll come with me.” He hesitated for a moment, then stalked ahead of me out the loading dock doorway and down the steps. He waited for me on the drive.
I wanted privacy, so I led the way to the gardens. I told Deputy Swanson, who was on duty at the entrance, that Jacob and I needed to talk. He agreed to let us in if we stayed away from the crime scene. He also said he would have to follow us at a discreet distance. I told him that was understood.
The three of us entered the garden with Deputy Swanson about twenty feet behind us. It was late afternoon, and the sun was scorching. There wasn't a breeze to evaporate the droplets of perspiration that gathered on our skin. I kept waiting for Jacob to speak, but he was silent. I hoped he was corralling his scattered thoughts, so that he could speak coherently when we finally had a dialogue going.
We took the path away from the stone cornucopia, passing the Garden of Contemplation. It would have been a nice place to stop, but the sun bearing down on the gravel sent out endless waves of heat. Turning back to Deputy Swanson, I called, “Let's head for the Moon Bridge and the waterfalls. It should be cooler there.”
He wiped his brow and nodded.
We plodded on in silence. I sneaked a peek at Jacob. His eyes were on the path. His mouth set in grim lines.
I touched his arm, but he drew away. “I'm sorry, Jacob,” I said. “I would never have been so blunt about Dixie's condition if I'd known you were close by. I was trying to raise some moral consciousness among those people, not to hurt you.”
“You said she tried to kill herself? Why?”
“From what I understand, while Dixie was gone, her father was gored by a bull and died. When Dixie came home she found her mother about to remarry. Dixie was depressed, and she tried to take her own life.” Again I wondered if this was the sequence of events or if Dixie had come home depressed. This was bugging me, but I didn't know where to find the answer.
Jacob said, “You must have the Dixie I know confused with someone else. My Dixie would never do harm to herself.”
“It has to be the same woman, Jacob. The father of the Dixie I met was a veterinarian. She often went with him on his medical calls.” From the paleness of Jacob's face, I knew I'd finally convinced him we were speaking of the same young woman.
At the foot of the Moon Bridge, I said, “Let's cross over and sit on that stone bench by the waterfall.” Without a word, he did as I directed.
Deputy Swanson was as good as his word and stayed behind us. His presence made me feel secure, while the distance allowed Jacob the freedom to vent his emotions, which seemed to have been bottled up inside of him for a long, long time.
Once we were seated Jacob started to talk, rapidly, his tone filled with passion. “I was sixteen when I met Dixie. Her father came out to our house to treat one of our milk cows. I'd never seen anyone like Dixie, so lovely, so gentle. That old cow was a mean critter, but Dixie stood next to her and sang. I didn't
understand all the words, but Dixie's voice was as smooth as cream.
Jacob pulled the photograph from his pocket. Up close, I immediately recognized Dixie dressed in Amish clothing. Softly, Jacob said, “That first moment when I set eyes on her, I knew I was in love. She was three years older than me. She was English. She was book smart and talented, but I loved her.”
He touched the picture with a fingertip. His voice trembled as he said, “And the amazing part was that she loved me, too. The next day she drove out to the house. She told my father she was checking on the cow, but I knew she'd come to see me. Before she left we agreed to meet that evening on the gravel road that backs our farm.”
“Down by the creek?” I said, knowing the place all too well.
Jacob nodded. “We met under that old oak tree, fitting our bodies between the exposed roots, snuggling in the moonlight. For two weeks she drove out from town every night so we could be together. Then she stopped coming to see me. I went to the creek each evening, but she never came again.”
He glanced at me. “The pain in my heart was almost more than I could bear. I didn't know what to do. When I was in Woodgrove, I used a pay phone and tried to call her home, but she wasn't there. My family doesn't shop in River City, so I couldn't go to the address of her father. I buried my pain and tried to forget her, but I would think of her often. The days slipped into months before I got a letter.”
“Did you notice where it was mailed from?”
“Of course. I memorized everything about that piece of paper. She wasn't in Missouri, but in Frankfurt, Minnesota. When I was at the library I looked it up on the map. So many miles away, but when I held that letter in my hands, I felt as if she was at my side.”
“What was she doing in Minnesota?”
Eagerly, Jacob turned to me. “I can recite the contents of her letter if you are interested.”
My heart ached for this young man. Such love and devotion and it was going nowhere. But I could tell he wanted to say the words that were imprinted on his soul. “Yes,” I said. “I'd like to hear her letter.”
Jacob licked his lips and closed his eyes. “My darling, Jacob. I miss you more than I can possibly say. You are my friend and lover rolled into one fine man. It is hard to find the words to write what I want to tell you. If you were here, I'd sing of my love. But if you were beside me, there would be no need for words or songs.”
Jacob's voice broke, but he kept quoting. “I went to work at Parker Greenhouse, but they transferred me up north. The river is close to my cabin. A spring keeps me in comforts that I need, but you do without.”
I frowned. Jacob must not have memorized that sentence correctly. It didn't make sense, but I didn't interrupt.
Jacob continued, “Before I left Missouri, I had this picture taken. I wanted you to see that I
could
be an Amish wife you would be proud of, even though you've said we can never marry. I wish I had your sensible, insightful character, but I feel only with my heart, which is broken. Perhaps that explains why I'm giving away the last link I have to you. If I were whole, I might do things differently. I pledge you my eternal love, Dixie.”
In my mind I pictured the woman I'd met at Coventry Acres. I tried to compare that person to the author of the letter Jacob had recited to me. The two images seemed incompatible. Yet the Dixie I'd physically faced was a mere shell of a woman;
there wasn't enough substance to draw an understanding of the Dixie Ragsford Jacob had loved.
I would have liked to ask questions about what an Amish man and a wannabe country music singer had in common. It sounded as if they'd discussed the future. How had they understood each other's hopes and dreams when they were worlds apart? Surely they knew their relationship wasn't going anywhere?
While those lines of inquiry might have satisfied my curiosity, they had nothing to do with Marnie's murder. Keeping Sid's remark about the “here and now” uppermost in mind, I asked, “Why did you take a job at Parker Greenhouse?”
“I am moving to Illinois to work in a cabinet shop and to find a wife. Before I left Missouri, I had to see this place. It was the last location I knew Dixie had been except for the cabin she mentioned. I do not know where that is. The envelope only said Frankfurt, Minnesota, and a post office box number.”
Jacob glanced at me. “What I told you about
Rumschpringes
was true. I have left home to decide if I want to take my Amish vows. But in my heart if I'd found Dixie at Parker Greenhouse, I'd have gone anywhere with her.”
“Did you have reason to think she would be here?”
“No, but I hoped.”
“Have you told anyone here about Dixie?”
“No. No one.”
“What about Marnie?”
“I didn't talk about Dixie by name. Marnie asked if I'd been in love. I told her I used to know a woman who'd worked here a couple years ago. She'd gone out of my life but not out of my heart. Marnie understood. She said Eugene wanted her to be his special girl, but she wasn't interested. She said she'd never been in love, but Eugene wasn't her idea of the perfect man.”
“Did Marnie question you about Dixie?”
“She asked if I'd seen or talked with her since she'd left here. I said I'd gotten a letter from her when she was transferred up north.”
My heart skipped a beat. This had to be the clue that had made Marnie ask to see the personnel files. “What did Marnie say when you mentioned that?”
“I don't think she said anything. We dropped the subject.”
“Did you know Marnie came to work here because she was looking for another woman who'd been transferred up north?”
“No. Not till I heard you say so at the greenhouses a while ago.”
Switching back to the contents of the letter, I asked, “What did Dixie mean when she said she was ‘giving away the last link I have to you'?”
His brow wrinkled. “I've thought about that many times, but I don't know what she was talking about.”
“Did you give her a necklace, a trinket, some gift?”
“Nothing.”
Deputy Swanson's radio squawked. I glanced over and saw he'd sidled closer. He had a pen in hand and his notebook open. It was obvious he'd been listening and taking notes. At first I was irritated, but then I relaxed. At least I wouldn't have to update Sid on this new information.
The deputy gave me a sly grin, then turned to speak into his walkie-talkie. His body stiffened. He listened intently. All I could hear was Swanson's crisp reply. “Yes, sir. Yes, sir. She's right here. Got it.” He crossed to us and said, “Let's go.”
“What's wrong?” I asked as we were herded over the Moon Bridge and down the path to the lodge driveway.
The deputy's voice was disapproving. “I was told by the sheriff that if you asked I was to tell what we know so far.”
“Well?” I said. “I'm asking.”
Swanson heaved a sigh. “A woman was attacked in Lakeview Estates with a pipe wrench. She sustained massive head injuries. Her husband found her body in the foyer of their home. She died on the way to the hospital without regaining consciousness.”
I stopped on the path and whispered, “Shannon Plummer Taylor?”
Swanson's eyes widened. “Yes, ma'am. Looks like the sheriff was right.”
Shannon dead? I pictured her as I'd last seen her, eyes filled with fear, her beautiful face distorted with anger. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Absently, I asked, “What do you mean, it looks like the sheriff was right?”
“He said I wouldn't have to supply the name of the victim. You'd know.”
Yeah, I knew plenty. I knew that just a short time ago I'd stood among the suspects and said that Shannon was edgy when I'd mentioned Parker Greenhouse. I might as well have said, “Killer, go get her before she spills everything she knows.”
My frustration and anger grew as we strode along the path. By the time we got to the entrance into the gardens I was seething. “We have to make sure everyone is on the premises,” I said sharply. “If someone is missing they'd better have a damned fine alibi.”
The deputy's lips twitched. “Yes, ma'am! Except that's already being handled. Here comes Deputy Carter with that information.”
The man was young and cocky, sauntering along like he had all day. He motioned to his fellow officer to step away from us so they could have a private chat. I wasn't having any of that. I was overstepping boundaries right and left, but the fact that Shannon had been murdered drove protocol out of my head.
“Are they all here?” I demanded.
Carter looked at me as if I'd sprouted horns and a forked tail, which wasn't far from wrong. I was feeling as mean as the devil. When Carter didn't answer, I turned an evil glare on him. “Did you
personally
see Eugene, Jess, Irma, Donovan, Harley and—uh—Natalie here on these grounds or at the greenhouse?”

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