Cookie wasn’t at the cash register when I stepped into the greenhouse, but that was to be expected. Cookie and Scotch were always wandering around. Usually Becky was the easiest to find, but I didn’t see her either.
I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Becky?”
No response. That girl really needed a cell phone for times like this. I kicked myself for buying her jeans first. I stepped through the store and hothouse, the thick air greeting me. Still no Becky. I checked outside at the fenced-in part of the property. Becky should be here. She had told me the night before that Scotch was going to teach her how to prune the fir trees. How she planned to manage that with one arm, I couldn’t understand. But I hadn’t wanted to dampen her mood. She’d been upbeat ever since our walk on the trail with Timothy and Aaron.
I hurried down the long row of maples until reaching the fir trees. It felt like I’d stepped into a potted version of a Christmas tree farm. “Becky?”
Still no answer. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, prickling my skin. I turned around to head toward the exit.
Just then, Brock and Curt stepped out from opposite sides. They trapped me in the middle of a stand of pine trees. Curt’s lip curled. “Red’s back, Brock.”
“Hello, friend.” Brock clapped his hands, the sound of it like thunder. “We missed you.”
“I can’t say the same,” I snapped. “Get out of my way.”
Curt shook his head. “No need to get testy.” He took a step toward me.
My breath caught, and I retreated, the sharp, spiny branches of a fir tree poking me in the back. “Don’t come near me or I will scream. The people working here will hear me.”
Curt snorted. “You mean Cookie or Scotch? They are old friends of ours. They won’t say anything about your screams.”
“Old friends? What are you talking about?”
“My goodness, Brock, she doesn’t have it all figured out. I would have thought Little Miss Super Sleuth would know everything by now. You’ve been all over the county, poking your nose where it don’t belong.”
I clenched my fists. “Where are Cookie and Scotch?”
“They’re here. Keeping quiet just like we told them to. They’re good at following orders.”
“Not all the time,” Brock corrected.
“They are after we roughed up Scotch a little, you know, as incentive.” Curt smirked.
My heart pounded in my chest, the sound exploding in my ears. “Where’s Becky?”
“Don’t worry. She’s here. She’s been spending some time with us. We’ve decided to put the past in the past. Now we’re all chums.” He nodded at Brock. “Aren’t we, brother?”
“Totally,” Brock agreed.
“You better not have hurt her.” I removed my phone from my pocket, then swallowed a groan. No service.
Brock grabbed the phone from my hand. “There will be none of that. No calling for help, especially from that Amish boyfriend of yours.”
Curt paced in front of me. “Why would you bother with some buggy-rider when you could have a real man like one of us?”
“Or both of us,” Brock said, his grin sickeningly wide.
Curt narrowed his eyes. “That’s an idea.”
I leaned against the fir tree, its branches like knives in my back, and the pot it was planted in wobbled slightly. I threw all my weight against it, and the pot fell over. Tree limbs and needles covered the ground, and I lay in the middle of it. I scrambled to my feet, and ran down the next row of trees.
Brock stepped into my path, and I pulled up short.
Curt ran up behind me and yanked my right arm behind my back. “Now you’ve made me mad.”
Tears sprang to my eyes. “Get away from me. Where’s Becky?” I glared at Brock. Dear Lord, help me through this. Please protect Becky.
Curt sighed as if my reaction was a disappointment. He tightened his grip. “We’ll take you to her.”
Brock grabbed my arm, knocking Curt out of the way. “She’s in the roses.”
I attempted to yank myself from his grasp. “I know where that is. I can walk there myself.”
“True, but then you would try to run away again,” Curt said. “Brock could use the exercise by chasing you, but he’s not in the mood for it tonight. Are you, big guy?”
“Naw, I’m not much for running.”
Brock dragged me toward the rose garden where I found Becky seated on the floor, her unbroken arm tied to her ankles.
Cookie and Scotch were on the cement next to her. Their hands were tied as well. Scotch had a gash over his left eyebrow.
I knelt in front of him. “Are you okay?”
“We’re sorry,” Cookie said.
Tears rolled down Scotch’s face and onto his overalls. “We tried to protect Becky. That’s why we drove her back and forth from the greenhouse. We had to know she was safe all the time, so they wouldn’t try to hurt her.”
Brock grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled me away from them. “You can see how well that worked out.”
Curt pulled something out of his pocket. A handgun. “Don’t try anything stupid, Red, or I’ll shoot all of them, starting with the girl.”
Becky’s body shook uncontrollably.
“What time is your uncle going to be here?” Brock asked.
Curt kept his watch on us. “Any minute.”
Brock hopped from foot to foot. “He’s going to be impressed with this.” He towered over me. “You’re not going to mess it up for us this time.”
“This time?”
“You snatched the girl from us on Route 13. Then we couldn’t grab her. You or that buggy-rider was always with her.”
I scrunched my forehead. “Why did you want to kidnap Becky?”
“Someone needed to show the Amish who is in control of this county. They’d sell their land to his uncle if we held the girl.” A smile spread across Brock’s face. “And I wanted to have a little fun with her.”
Curt grinned, giving me a full view of his tobacco-dip stained teeth. “He will no longer see me as a screw-up. I got it right this time.”
“You have to let us go,” Cookie said.
“Shut up,” Curt barked. “My uncle owns this place. You should be grateful for everything he’s done for you.”
My stomach dropped. “Grayson Mathews is your uncle?”
Curt glared at me. “Shut your mouth! Sit down next to the girl.” He pointed the gun at me. “You do anything stupid, I shoot the Amish girl.”
I sat on the cold cement next to Becky. “Becky, did they hurt you?” I whispered.
“No.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
Relief washed over me. “God will protect us.”
Curt’s head snapped around. “I said shut your mouth.”
A voice called from deep in the greenhouse “Curt!”
Curt gestured with the gun. “That’s my uncle. Go get him.”
Brock disappeared into the maze of plants. He returned with Grayson Mathews following behind him. “Curt, this better be worth me delaying my trip back to Columbus. I can’t stand all this country life. Those idiots at Harshberger bought my—” He saw Becky, Scotch, Cookie, and me sitting on the ground. His jaw twitched, and he swore. “What is this?”
Curt melted under his uncle’s glare.
“Curt, what did you do?” His voice was thunderous.
“I’m helping you. She was going to connect you to the accident that killed that Amish guy.”
“Connect me to the accident? I had nothing to do with it. That was another one of your mistakes. I gave the police an alibi for you, and you pull this stunt?”
Curt removed something from his pocket. I flinched, afraid it might be another gun. Instead, he removed a dirty business card. “She had your card in her car. She knew you asked us to mess with the Amish.”
I do now.
Mathews closed his eyes.
I squared my gaze on him. “You killed the bishop.”
Brock squeezed my arm and hissed, “The bishop was a lucky casualty.”
My eyes ran across the three of them. “One of you cut the brake line.”
“Yeah,” Brock said. “We meant to get you out of the way so we could get the girl”
Hot bile rose in my throat. I swallowed hard to force it down,
“If we had the girl, the Amish would sell the land to Curt’s uncle.”
I glared at Mathews. “You asked them to do that?”
“I’m not that stupid,” Mathews snapped.
Brock pulled his chin into his chest, his expression confused. “But you asked us to convince the Amish to sell, whatever it took.”
Mathews ran a hand through his JFK Jr. hair. “Next time, I’ll make a list of do’s and don’ts.”
“It’s because of the natural gas, isn’t it?” I said.
“We’re going to be rich,” Brock said.
“Would you two stop talking to her?” He glared at Brock. “We wouldn’t even be in this situation if you hadn’t been so stupid. I never told you to cut anything.” He balled up the business card Curt gave him and threw it on the floor. “The deal will never go through now, you idiot.”
“But Uncle Grayson . . .” Curt winced. “I was trying to help.”
“You’ve been a screw-up since the day you were born. You couldn’t even join the army.”
Curt clutched the dog tags hanging from his neck. “That wasn’t my fault. I wanted to serve my country. I’m not a coward like those buggy-riders.”
“I know all about your heart murmur, nephew. Your mother reminds me about it on a daily basis. You must be brain damaged too if you think kidnapping four people was a good idea.”
Curt licked his lips.
Brock stepped back from his friend.
“I was helping those filthy buggy-riders who don’t deserve that land and gas. What have they ever done for anyone? They don’t even fight for our country. They’d happily let someone else do that for them.” Curt trained the gun on Becky. I slid on my seat in front of her. “Don’t think I won’t shoot you, because I will.”
“Grayson, you have to let us go. This is going to ruin everything you worked for,” Scotch said.
“I don’t need your advice,” Mathews snapped and turned to his nephew. “Give me the gun.”
“They don’t deserve it. You do, uncle, and men like my father, who fought and died for this land. Amish scum.” He spat.
“Curt. Give. Me. The. Gun.”
Curt stared at his uncle with tears in his eyes. Slowly, he handed the gun to Mathews. “They don’t deserve it,” Curt whispered.
“I know,” Mathews said.
A man stepped out from behind a huge hibiscus bush and aimed the jet stream of a water hose into Mathews’s eyes.
I blinked. “Joel?”
Mathews covered his face and dropped the gun. The force of the water pressure forced the weapon to slide under a potted rose of Sharon.
Before he could dash after it, I donkey-kicked Brock in the knee, the same one he fell on the day I met Becky on the side of Route 13, the day I moved to Appleseed Creek. He cried out in pain and let go of my arm.
Then I ran to Becky.
“I think she broke my kneecap!” Brock rolled onto his side.
Curt stared at his friend.
Joel still had the water trained on Mathews, who struggled to his feet.
“Curt, you idiot, find my gun!”
Curt started to search the ground.
I grabbed a flathead screwdriver beside a stack of ceramic pots and tore through the duct tape around Becky’s ankles. She didn’t move. “Get up!”
She jumped up as if I’d electrocuted her.
Brock held his knee. Tears rolled down his baby face. He didn’t appear nearly as frightening as he did before.
“Find the gun!” Mathews bellowed.
“I’m trying.” Curt looked at his friend. “Should we take Brock to the hospital or something? He’s hurt.”
“I don’t care about Brock. I want those girls and the guy with the water hose.”
I pulled Becky along behind me. She gasped through her tears.
“Becky, you have to calm down. We need to think straight.”
She hiccupped.
Heavy steps crept up behind me. I spun around, brandishing the screwdriver.
It was Joel.
I kept the screwdriver in the air. “What are you doing here?”
“Following you.”
I pulled back. “Why?”
“I wanted to talk to you about firing me.”
I heard more footsteps and whipped a glance in their direction. “Can we talk about this later?” I shoved them both into the building. “How do you close this door?” It was an automatic door.
Becky just shivered.
“Becky, where is the button?”
She stared at me and reached behind a shelf of fertilizer. Slowly the door closed as Curt ran at it full tilt. It settled on the cement ground. Thud!
Joel quirked a look in my direction. “Did he just bounce off the door?”
I shuddered. “Would someone call the police?”
The greenhouse’s front door slammed open. “We don’t have to,” Becky said. “They’re already here.”