Plain Danger (Military Investigations) Page 16

  “Can Bailey stay too?”

  “If your parents agree.”

  “I’ll ask Mamm.” The boy scurried out the door.

  Bailey looked up at her with his big brown eyes as if needing her consent. She laughed and hugged him. “Go with Joseph. I’ll be fine.”

  The dog hurried from the room.

  Carrie slipped into the clothes she had worn yesterday and folded the nightgown Ruth had provided. After making the bed and smoothing the quilt covering, she moved to the window and pulled back the curtain. In the distance, she saw Tyler heading into the thick woods behind her father’s house. No doubt, he was in search of the cabin the Amish boys had mentioned, knowing she wouldn’t feel up to hiking across her father’s property this morning.

  Keep him safe, Lord. Let him find the cabin and information about my father’s death so the case could be solved and the investigation ended.

  A sadness swept over her as she thought of what that would mean. Tyler would move on to the next case, and she would return to Washington and the life she knew. She’d sell the house and forget about Freemont and the Amish community and the family legacy she had found in South Georgia.

  Would she... Could she forget about Tyler?

  * * *

  Grateful for the old plat Phillips had found in Carrie’s father’s office, Tyler followed the markings on the brittle yellow paper. He discovered a path, probably where deer ran, and followed it to the steep rise from which Carrie’s father had fallen. Glancing over the drop-off, he was all too aware that a fall could have broken the sergeant major’s neck. A soldier, trained in hand-to-hand combat, would have known how to inflict the same injury, as well.

  He glanced again at the plat and noted the end of the sergeant major’s property, but continued walking for half a mile farther. Peering through the woods, he saw a structure in the distance and had a surge of exuberance, knowing he might have found the cabin the Amish boys had talked about and the soldiers had mentioned.

  A path, wide enough for a single vehicle, led toward the main road. He and the Freemont police had searched, but the woods were vast and dense and the trail had eluded them.

  Nearing the cabin, he glanced through the windows. A number of cots filled the main room, along with a large-screen television and pool table. Chances were the refrigerator was stocked with beer.

  Spying something else, he pulled out his cell and called Phillips. “I’ve found a cabin that needs to be checked. Through the window, I can see a rifle. Looks like a Winchester 1894, the model the sergeant major carried when he was in the woods. Ammo was found in his pocket, which means Harris was probably carrying the rifle. The person who took the Winchester could have been the man who fought the sergeant major. If we find the owner of the cabin, he might lead us to the killer.”

  By noon, Phillips and his men had gotten a search warrant and had scoured the cabin for evidence. The rifle appeared to have belonged to the sergeant major, although ballistics testing would confirm ownership. The gun, like the rest of the cabin, had been wiped clean of prints. When the police wrapped up their investigation, Phillips gave Tyler a drive back to his house.

  “Thanks for your help,” he said as Tyler stepped from the car.

  “Carrie will be glad we found the cabin and the gun. I’ll tell her now.”

  He hurried to her house and tapped on the door. She answered looking tired. Bruises darkened her cheek and forehead.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, stepping inside.

  “Better than last night.”

  “Were you able to get a good night’s sleep?”

  She nodded. “Which was what I needed. Ruth insisted I stay for breakfast, and I ate more than I have in years. Her ham and eggs and fresh-baked biscuits and gravy were wonderful. If I lived with them long, I’d weigh a ton.”

  She tried to laugh but grimaced. Raising her hand, she brushed her fingers along her jaw. A dark mark outlined one of the strikes against her face and brought Tyler back to the subject at hand.

  “I found the cabin,” he said. “The police retrieved what we think is your father’s missing rifle.”

  “Who owns the cabin?”

  “We don’t know yet. Phillips is trying to find the records for the property. He’s concerned that the deed for the land may go back further than the recorded county documents. They may need to access some of the old records in the county courthouse.”

  “So we don’t know who the attacker is yet?”

  “Soon, Carrie. It will all be over soon.”

  “Do you want some coffee?” she asked.

  “Sounds good. Evidently your power’s back on.”

  “For which I’m thankful.”

  On the way to the kitchen, he saw her laptop on the dining room table and a few papers scattered close by. “You’ve been working?”

  She nodded. “On the speech for Senator Kingsley.”

  He let out an exasperated breath.

  “I know you don’t like him,” she said.

  “He’s not a good man, Carrie.”

  After grabbing two mugs from the cabinet, she poured coffee and handed a mug to Tyler. “The senator is not against the military.”

  “I’m not referring to his present political stand. I’m referring to something that happened years ago.”

  She looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “I told you about the car crash that killed my father.”

  Carrie nodded.

  “I never told you who was driving the other car.”

  Her gaze narrowed. Her voice weak when she spoke. “Drake Kingsley?”

  Tyler nodded. “He was drunk, Carrie, and staggered from his car. My father was dying, I was cut and bleeding and Kingsley called someone who picked him up. The next I knew he was exonerated from any wrongdoing. He killed my father and walked away without being prosecuted.”

  “That’s why you went into law enforcement,” she said.

  He nodded. “And why I don’t want you involved with the senator.”

  “But that was years ago, Tyler. He’s a changed man.”

  “Is he?”

  “I’ve never seen him drunk.”

  “Maybe he’s reformed. I hope so, but I still question his judgment and integrity. Tell me you’ll quit your job.”

  She took a step back, seemingly perplexed by his comment. “I...I can’t do that.”

  “If you stay here, you could find another job. Maybe on post.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “You mean it’s not Washington. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re not interested in small-town Georgia.”

  “You said it yourself, Tyler. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I can’t throw it all away.”

  He smiled ruefully. “I wouldn’t want you to throw your career away, Carrie. I just want you to think of what you’ve found in Freemont that you won’t have in Washington.”

  She looked around the house. “I’ve found an antebellum home that I don’t want to live in alone, Tyler. Yes, I know more about my past, but that’s not enough moving forward. I need something else in my life.”

  “You need Washington.”

  His cell rang. It was Phillips. “We’ve got a name,” the cop said. “Karl Ulmer. His wife, Yvonne, comes from an old Freemont family. The cabin belongs to them. We’re going to haul them both in for questioning.”

  Tyler disconnected. “They found the connection.” He told Carrie the names and that the woman was old Freemont.

  “Yvonne is the docent at the museum,” Carrie said.

  Tyler nodded. “I knew I recognized the name. Her husband did some refurbishing for your father after he acquired the property when his elderly aunt died. Ulmer must have seen the potential then. When your father retired, folks thought he’d leave Freemont. Ulmer wanted to buy the house and land. He’s probably the person who Flo mentioned that wanted to turn this area into a recreational site.”

  “Which the Amish would never want.”
<
br />   “Are you still planning to sell?” Tyler asked.

  “Not to them, but I’ll find a buyer, someone who will care for the house.”

  “Really, Carrie? Who’s to say the next buyer won’t sell to someone else for the right price? Your legacy will be gone, cut up into a housing development or even shops and restaurants like these people planned to do. Think about Isaac and Ruth Lapp. That’s not what they want for this area.”

  “I can’t take care of everyone, Tyler. I have to take care of myself.”

  Tyler bristled at the sharpness of her tone. “That isn’t what I wanted to hear.”

  He turned his back on her and strode to the door. “I need to go back to post and inform the CID what’s happening. The Ulmers had a motive and appear to be involved in your father’s death. You should be safe, since the couple is in custody. Still, keep your doors locked.” He glanced around. “Where’s Bailey?”

  “He stayed with Joseph. I plan to give the dog to him when I leave.”

  Tyler’s gut tightened hearing her say the words that cut into his heart. This had all been of so little value to her, when it had meant so much to him.

  He glanced at the table by the door and saw the envelope for Sergeant Oliver. “You found photos of your dad?”

  She nodded. “Last night.”

  “I’ll stop by the unit and get these pictures to Oliver.”

  Opening the door, he turned to stare back at her. “Looks like everything’s over, Carrie. You can make arrangements to leave. I’ll watch over your property until it sells.”

  He stepped outside and heard the door slam behind him. Hurrying across the yard to his car, he struggled with a mix of regret and heartache, which he hadn’t expected. Carrie had finally made up her mind. She was leaving Freemont and leaving him.

  Slipping behind the wheel, he pulled onto Amish Road and never looked back at the Harris home or the woman who would leave him and return to DC, taking his heart with her.

  SEVENTEEN

  Tyler found First Sergeant Baker at the unit and handed him the photos. “These go to Sergeant Oliver. They’re pictures of Sergeant Major Harris.”

  The first sergeant scratched his head. “That’s strange.”

  “Why?” Tyler asked.

  “Oliver and the sergeant major were at odds,” the first sergeant explained.

  “Since when?”

  “Since the sergeant major discovered Oliver arranging payday loans with some of the guys in the battalion.”

  “Where’d Oliver get the money?”

  The first sergeant stepped closer. “From what I heard, his brother-in-law was the source of the loan money. Oliver was the middleman. Of course the interest rate was sky-high.”

  “Using soldiers who worked under him for his own personal gain is against regulations,” Tyler said, stating the obvious.

  “Yes, sir. That’s why the sergeant major brought the situation to the commander, who gave Oliver an Article 15, which meant he didn’t pass his promotion board. Without a promotion, Oliver couldn’t reenlist. He’s leaving the military at the end of the month.”

  “But he’s working on the ceremony honoring Harris at the end of the month?”

  The first sergeant shook his head. “That’s something I haven’t heard. Oliver is an ornery guy who can pick a fight at the drop of a hat. I can’t see him working on a project that would honor the sergeant major.”

  A sick feeling settled in Tyler’s midsection. “Where’s Oliver?”

  “He signed out on a three-day pass. He mentioned visiting a friend in Florida.”

  “Do you know his brother-in-law’s name?”

  The sergeant thought for a moment. “I should. Seems he earned his money in real estate.”

  “Quinn?” Tyler offered. “He’s got a real estate business in Freemont.”

  “Maybe.” The first sergeant pursed his lips. “But I can’t be sure. I’ll think of it in a minute. Are you going to be around?”

  “I’m heading to CID headquarters.” Tyler gave the first sergeant his cell number. “Call me if you remember the name.”

  * * *

  Carrie’s heart had broken when Tyler walked out the door. The story about his father’s death troubled her deeply. Could it be true?

  She stared at her computer monitor for long enough to know that she couldn’t move forward until she talked to Senator Kingsley. Finally she reached for her cell and called Washington, hoping to learn the truth.

  The senator’s senior adviser answered.

  “I want to talk to Senator Kingsley,” Carrie demanded.

  “No can do, Carrie. What’s the problem?”

  “Why isn’t he returning my phone calls?”

  “The senator’s tied up.”

  “Something’s going on, Art, and I don’t like it.”

  “What about the speech?” he asked.

  She glanced at her laptop and the blank screen on her monitor. “I’ll have it done in time.”

  “I want it ahead of time, Carrie.”

  “I’ve never missed a deadline,” she said, feeling frustrated and somewhat helpless. “I need to talk to the senator. Now.”

  “I told you—”

  “Look, Art, there’s something important from his past that I need to discuss with him.”

  “What’s it involve?”

  “A two-car accident some years ago.”

  The adviser sighed. “Who told you?”

  She didn’t understand his change of direction. “Who told me what?”

  “You’re talking about the accident that killed a single dad who had a ten-year-old son, right?”

  “Is it common knowledge?” Carrie asked.

  “It may be soon enough. Some news reporter called the senator for a statement. He plans to feature the story in The Washington Post this weekend. That’s why the senator finally decided to take matters into his own hands.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Do I have to spell it out for you, Carrie?”

  “I guess you do.”

  “Rehab.” Art’s tone was sharp. “The senator checked into a treatment center for alcohol addiction.”

  His words felt like a stab to her heart. “I...I never thought he had a problem.”

  “You never socialized with him, Carrie. He was on his best behavior at political functions. Socially and away from the office was a different story.”

  “What about the speech I’m supposed to write?” She glanced again at her laptop.

  “He’ll be out of rehab by then. So write it, Carrie, and send it to me as soon as it’s finished so I can be sure it reflects the senator’s wishes.”

  “All this time, Art, have you been the one pushing the antimilitary sentiments?”

  “I’ve counseled the senator.”

  Anger welled up within her. “You’ve controlled him.”

  “The senator needed someone.”

  “He didn’t need your hateful feelings about the military. Why can’t the senator voice his own mind?”

  “Because he’s weak, Carrie. I’m the power behind Drake Kingsley.”

  “Shame on you.”

  “You may not realize, Ms. York, that the world is filled with lots of people who can write speeches. Jobs are hard to come by in this downward economy. I wouldn’t be quite so quick to express an opinion contrary to your boss.”

  She steeled her spine. “My boss is Senator Kingsley.”

  “I’ll tell him how you feel.”

  “Fine, but I’ll write the speech and email it prior to the deadline. Tell him I’m praying for his return to good health.”

  She hung up tasting the bitter bile that rose in her throat. Art was hateful. She’d had blinders on her eyes all this time, like some of the horses that pulled the Amish buggies. How could she have been fooled by the senator? Thinking back, she realized Art was right. She had never socialized with the senator or any of his staff. The few functions she attended had been job related when, evidently, he
was on his best behavior.

  Thankfully the senator was getting the help he needed.

  Oh, Lord, help him. She sighed.

  The doorbell rang.

  Expecting to see Joseph and Bailey, she hurried to open the door.

  “Sergeant Oliver.” She took a step back, surprised. “I didn’t expect you this early.”

  “I told you I’d stop by for the pictures.”

  “Tyler Zimmerman took them to the unit. I’m sorry you had to make a trip for nothing.”

  He stepped inside, although she hadn’t invited him in. A sense of déjà vu filled her.

  “It’s not a problem,” he said. “Besides, I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

  “Oh?”

  “The treasure.”

  She tried to smile through stiff lips. “Which probably doesn’t exist.”

  “You know where it’s located,” the sergeant insisted.

  “Rumors in town have gotten out of hand,” she assured him. “That was long ago, and I doubt there would be anything of value to find, even if there had been treasure.”

  “Corporal Fellows told me he had found a coin.”

  A tingle curved along her spine. “You mean the soldier who was killed?”

  Oliver nodded and stepped closer. “He’d found the stash, but he wouldn’t tell me where it was located.”

  She took a step back and glanced at the table where her cell phone lay. The memory of the attack last night swept over her.

  “Tyler might know about the treasure.” She reached for the phone. “I’ll call him.”

  Oliver slapped the cell out of her hand. “Don’t try that again.”

  Her eyes widened. “You were here last night.”

  “Looking for the maps that I couldn’t find. The letter at the museum in town said Jefferson Harris would leave a map for his son, only there weren’t any in the desk. Where are they?”

  She turned and fled into the kitchen, hoping to reach the side door. Surely someone would hear her if she got outside.

  He grabbed her hair.

  She screamed and fought back.

  His hand rose, just as last night, and she tensed, anticipating the blow that rocked her world.

  The pain made her gasp for air. She doubled over. He kicked her in the stomach. Air whooshed from her lungs.