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To Brad’s relief, his success with Jemima’s story, and his improved status inspired Delores to spring for slightly more upscale accommodations than Uncle Bob’s Amish Motel.
So at 9 a.m. the next morning, Brad was able to pull the company truck into the parking lot of the Lazy Daze Hotel and Dairy Bar just outside Serenity. It looked like a refurbished chain hotel, because unlike Uncle Bob’s, it boasted a pool with a diving board, a sit down restaurant that served three meals a day, and a small store that sold a wide variety of “wholesome, organic Amish-made dairy products.”
The teenage boy at the desk gave him a room on the second floor, overlooking the pool, and Brad made the weary trudge up a flight of flimsy metal steps. But when he opened the door to his room, he was rewarded with a blast of arctic air, and that indefinable clean hotel aroma that was equal parts guest soap, very faded cigarette smoke and refrigeration.
Brad dumped his gear on the big bed and collapsed face down across it. He lay there for a long while, recovering from his far too early morning.
As he lay there, he began to game out several possible scenarios by which to approach the Duchess. None of them were especially promising, but Delores had given him no choice. He told himself that forethought now, might preserve his teeth later. So—
Scenario Number One: He would drive up to the King’s front door in the company truck in broad daylight, walk up the steps like a civilized man, knock on the front door, and pray that he got the woman of the house. If so, he’d fall on his knees and beg her with tears in his eyes, to let him talk to Jemima.
If he got the red giant—he’d jump into the truck and gun it for parts unknown.
Scenario Number Two. He would park on the edge of the adjoining property, like before, hike across an acre of brambles, jump the fence, and hide in the bushes at the edge of the garden until Jemima came outside.
If she came outside.
Scenario Number Three. He would approach some sympathetic intermediary and beg or bribe them to contact Jemima and make his case for him. This seemed like the best option available, except that he didn’t know anybody in Serenity who also knew Jemima, except for that sadistic geezer at the store who’d sent him on a snipe hunt.
Scenario Number Four. He would mail Jemima a letter, and beg her to meet him. And hope that she: got the letter; got it in time; didn’t ignore it; didn’t show it to anyone else; or send someone else, like her father, to the proposed meeting.
Scenario Number Five. He would call the number she gave him once and hope that somebody happened to be inside while the phone was ringing and that they cared enough to answer the call.
He beat his head against the pillow.
After a while, having failed to think of anything cleverer, he got up and stored his things, turned on the TV, and raided the mini bar. He pulled out a soda, cracked it open, and took a long pull.
The TV was playing the local news. All-too-familiar stuff – he’d covered it all – a county fair, a proposed stoplight to prevent collisions with buggies, a new business opening.
His cell phone buzzed, and when he looked down, it was Sheila. His mouth twisted into a sly grin. She had found out that he’d lied about his hotel, and that he’d turned off the geolocator, so now she was calling to figure out where he really was. And, it wasn’t going to work, but it would be fun to play with her.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Brad. I was just calling to see that you got there okay.”
“That was thoughtful. I’m sitting here with a tall cold one, watching TV.”
“Where are you?”
He bit his lip. “Oh, I had to find another hotel besides Uncle Bob’s. Some mix up with the credit card. I’m going to give Delores grief when I get back.”
“Oh, how irritating. So where did you have to go?”
I’m at the Happy Acres Hotel in Marietta.”
“Do you miss me?”
He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. The faint tapping sound in the background was Sheila, doing a quick Internet search, but she would soon discover that the Happy Acres Hotel, true to its Amish neighborhood, did not have a website.
“Sure do.”
And...cue the cursing, in three...two...one....
A faint grumbling was just audible on the other end of the line, and Brad grinned.
“Look cupcake, I have to go. Delores is calling me.”
“But –”
“I’ll be thinking of you.”
And click.
He laughed to himself and pulled at the soda again. Sheila would check his story with Delores tomorrow, but he had already bought Delores’ silence. Which meant that he was golden—at least for the next few weeks.
He stretched out. It felt oddly luxurious to be alone for a few days, or at least without Sheila. Fond as he was of her, he had to admit that it was a relief to take a vacation from the games they played.
He let his eyes drift back to the TV. The news was still on. It was a story about quilting. He laughed and pulled the restaurant menu off the bedside table.
But when he looked back up again, the picture had changed. There was a distinguished older man talking to a reporter. He looked directly into the camera, smiled, and gestured elegantly with one hand.
The caption beneath him read, Barfield Hutchinson, lawyer for Jemima King.
Brad grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.
“...of course, being Amish, my client was reluctant to enter into a dispute such as this, but she sees it as an opportunity to vindicate herself from the accusations brought against her.”
“Is it true that Miss King has given away more than $500,000?”
The lawyer smiled and shrugged gracefully. “It is true that my client has donated more than half of her windfall, already, to friends in need. True to her faith, she has spent her money helping others. She is an inspiration.”
Brad felt his mouth dropping open. Five hundred thousand dollars?
He shook his head. If it’d been anyone else, he wouldn’t have believed it. But having met the Duchess, he could buy it. She was crazy that way. Even from the beginning, she’d shown no interest in the money. It would be just like her to give it all away.
An unseen reporter stuck a mic in the lawyer’s face, and the big, bright Channel 1 logo was clearly visible. Brad shook his head, cursing. Channel 1—that meant that Wellman had arrived—and that he’d hit the ground running.
Brad was hoping he’d be able to get out ahead of the sharks, but apparently, no such luck. Now his job was exponentially harder. And, with pros like Wellman on the story, it meant that it was open season on Jemima King – again.
He set his jaw. There was something about the Duchess that made him want to protect her from guys like Wellman. It was none of his business really, and if he tried, he’d probably get his chops busted for his pains.
But even so.
He took another sip of his drink and rolled his eyes up at the screen. Barfield Hutchinson was looking directly into the camera.
“Mr. Morton claims that my client promised to sell the letter to him, and then reneged on her promise. I’m hoping that if anyone witnessed their conversation, that he or she will come forward.”
Then he smiled again, with all his teeth.
