A Marriage for Meghan (37 page)

Justin had lined up three interviews, one with a company that had called him back for a second evaluation. He also had a daughter. In itself, being a parent didn’t prevent people from committing crime. If that were the case, prisons across the nation would be fairly empty. But something Mrs. King said had rung true. Thomas considered himself a good judge of people, and he’d believed the woman’s assertion that Justin was a devoted single parent.

Then there was the location of the discovered ball cap. The position, high up in the shrubbery, had initially struck him as staged. In his zeal to find a suspect, had he been too quick to set aside gut instincts? Nothing made an agent’s day like DNA evidence tying back to a suspect, but why would King take an empty paint can home and then toss it under his trailer? Considering that their chief suspect was sitting in the Wooster jail during the recent barn fire, Thomas began to rethink the people living at the campground. Detectives had checked the whereabouts of King’s friends and family on the night of the fire. All had solid alibis. Besides, how many
Englischers—
especially out-of-towners—knew about the quilt shop? Without a sign at the road, a person had to know the location, such as a tour group driver…or somebody Amish.

Thomas spent the morning talking first to Sheriff Strickland and then trying to reach the Wayne County prosecutor. Bob Strickland was in complete agreement. He also wanted more collaborating evidence before taking the case to trial. The prosecutor didn’t return his phone call until after lunch, and then it took Thomas ten minutes to convince him to drop the charges against Justin King.

“But you still think we’ve got the right man for the assault charges?” asked the prosecutor.

“I do, but my believing it and you proving it are two different things. The Yost brothers only
think
the suspect sounds like one of the men who beat them up. It would take a defense attorney little effort to get them to admit they’re not sure. And I would have just wasted yours and the county’s time.”

“All right, Agent Mast. If you and the sheriff’s department want me to drop the charges and order his release, I will. But you’d better have some foolproof, irrefutable evidence if you ever want me to reopen this case—such as a carload of nuns for eyewitnesses, besides the suspect caught red-handed in the act on security cameras.”

“I understand, sir. And I’m sorry to have wasted your office’s time.”

“All in a day’s work. Good luck catching the real bad guys. Oh, and turn on your radio. We have a doozey of a storm headed this way from Canada.”

Thomas hung up the phone just as he pulled into the Justice Center parking lot. Because the sheriff’s department, the county prosecutor’s office, and the jail were housed in the same building, it took less than an hour for an order of prisoner release to be processed. Thomas followed the deputy to the cell pod, but he remained outside when the deputy was buzzed into the day room. He watched from a small, reinforced window in the door. A dozen men were clustered around the television where a blockbuster epic fantasy held their rapt attention.

“Justin King,” the deputy hollered, “I’m afraid you’ll have to find out how the movie ends another time. You’re being released.”

Through the window Thomas watched a series of emotions pass over King’s face. First shock, then pleasure, and finally ambivalence until he left the group of men seated in front of the television. But when Justin saw Thomas on the other side of the door, his incredulity returned.

“What are you doing here? Finally get it through your head you have the wrong man? Or you just want to pay my bail because you’re such a stand-up guy?” In drab green prison garb and without his cadre of friends, King looked painfully young.

“I guess we’ll pick reason number one because you don’t need anyone to post your bail. All charges against you have been dropped, upon my request.”

“Now why would you go and do that?”

“There was another crime against an Amish farmer while you were locked up, and we happen to know where all your cousins were that night. Come on. Get your personal effects and then I’ll drive you back to Misty Meadows.” They followed the deputy down several corridors.

Justin released a dismissive snort. “No, thanks. Get out of my face. I’ll call my dad or somebody.” He strode past Thomas, brushing shoulders along the way. “Why in the world would I get in a car and chitchat with you?”

“Because I’ve got a lead on a serious job opening for an auto mechanic.”

That stopped King in his tracks. He glanced back over his shoulder. “Why do you wanna play nicey-nice all of a sudden? Last week you wanted me to do twenty years in a federal pen.” The deputy had led them to a processing window. Justin took his place in line with Thomas right on his heels.

“Let’s get your stuff. You can change into your own clothes, and then we can talk on the way—no strings attached. But I don’t want my reputation of being a nice guy to get around Wooster.”

Thirty minutes later, Justin and Agent Mast stepped outside the Justice Center into lightly falling snow. King issued an epithet regarding the weather. “What is this? Last time I checked a calendar, it was April and supposed to be fifty degrees.” He climbed into the passenger side of Mast’s sedan. In his own clothes with an OSU Bucks cap turned backward, much of his tough-guy swagger returned. “So unless you drive like an old lady, you have about twenty minutes to explain your big change in attitude toward me.” He slouched down in the seat.

Thomas pulled out of the parking lot, and at the first traffic light he chose his words carefully. “I no longer think you and your friends are responsible for the string of crimes against the Amish. But if additional evidence turns up, I’ll throw you back in a cell as quickly as I got you out.” He turned south onto a route that quickly left Wooster’s quaint architecture and small-town charm behind.

“Even if we had a little fun with some Amish boys—and I’m saying
if
—that don’t mean I want to burn stuff down or wreck any schools.” Justin focused out the window as they passed a huge cemetery and then an agricultural college campus. Rolling farm fields could be seen in the distance with a row of ranch houses near the street.

King’s pseudo-confession had caught Thomas by surprise in light of James’ and John’s willingness to press charges. Though he could always retract his what-if supposition, Justin seemed to
want
him to know the limits of his waywardness. “Do you mind telling me why you don’t like Amish people? You probably never even saw any until you moved to Wayne County.”

“That’s true, but my dad said they refuse to serve in the military. I’d just found out my cousin was being shipped to Afghanistan. It riled me up that they enjoy freedoms they don’t ever have to pay for.”

Thomas reflected on this before replying. “That can be said about most Americans. A minority of brave men and women take on the responsibility for all of us.”

A few moments of silence spun out before Thomas added, “The Amish object on religious principles. They feel the Bible takes precedence over national duty. They separate themselves from most things in our society, not just this one thing.”

“I suppose, but you’d better get to the point about this so-called employment opportunity. We’re almost halfway back to paradise.” Justin’s sarcasm held a note of hope.

“If I was wrong about you, King, I slowed down your job-hunting process. I want to fix that if I can. A good friend of mine is the service manager at the Ford dealership in Medina. He might be willing to hire you as one of his auto mechanics—on a trial basis, of course. You might be rotten at what you do for all I know.”

“I’m not,” King said, straightening up in the seat. “I’m pretty good, actually. And you’d be willing to do this for me—a guy you don’t even know?”

Thomas laughed. “Hey, I’m the FBI, remember? I ran a background check on you. I even found out the last time you had your teeth cleaned. Other than one barroom brawl, you don’t seem to be a bad person. You received good grades in high school and finished one year of community college.”

Justin shook his head. “Man, you’ve been studying me like a bug under a microscope.”

“Not quite, but I am going out on a limb. The manager might hire you over other qualified candidates because of my recommendation. He’ll get a little annoyed if I send him a car thief or a safecracker.”

King swiveled to face him. “Part-time?”

“No, this is a full-time job with benefits after ninety days, including medical for both you and your daughter. Not a bad starting salary either, plus the dealership will pay for classes if you don’t have the right certification for this state. The manager smiled when I told him you drove an F-250.”

“It’s a great truck,” said Justin absently, as his mind seemed to weigh the details of the job.

As they reached the campground, snow was quickly blanketing everything in white. Thomas drove slowly past the registration cabin, noticing a few more spots had been taken since his last visit. “So what do you say, King?”

Justin paused only a moment. “All right. I’d like the recommendation.” He glanced at Mast but didn’t meet his gaze. “I gotta admit I could use a break. This sounds like the best offer I’ve had since moving north.” He tugged his jacket closed and zipped the lightweight fleece to his throat. “Check out the freaky weather. This stuff is really piling up just when we thought winter was over.” He leaned toward the dashboard and peered up at the sky.

“Just when we thought it safe to put away the snow shovel,” said Thomas absently. He pulled out two business cards as they stopped in front of the three silver trailers. “The top card is Mack Blake’s from the Ford dealership on Route 18. Give me a couple days to set this up and then call him for an interview. Take your résumé but leave your attitude at home. The final decision is his. He might owe me a favor, but he doesn’t owe me his life, if you catch my meaning. The second card is mine with my cell number. If you have any questions or want to talk, call me…or not. I’m not a social worker, but I
am
a stand-up guy.”

Justin took the cards, gave them a cursory glance, and tucked them in his wallet. He opened the passenger door and then turned to look at Thomas. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “I appreciate it.” He stepped out of the car and headed for the cinder block steps.

Justin didn’t glance back, but for Thomas that word of thanks had been enough. He was already focusing his attention on the ominous sky. One conundrum was solved, while another brewed in the low, dark clouds dumping snow on Wayne County with ferocity. Driving through the silent world of Misty Meadows, he switched on the local radio station for a weather update. The news reporter excitedly described a major snowstorm moving into Ohio, fueled by an arctic blast of cold air from Canada. They were calling it a hundred-year-storm that could drop thirty-six inches of snow on a seven-county area within the next forty-eight hours.

“Good grief,” he muttered. “It’s April!” But by the time he reached the county road back to the Yost farm, the page on the calendar was making no difference. Both lanes and the shoulders were covered by several inches. Visibility had dropped to barely ten feet in front of the car. Thomas called the sheriff’s department to report the whereabouts of their former suspect and say he was headed home. Thank goodness the FBI never had patrol duty with road conditions like these.

Keeping his speed under thirty, he planned how he’d spend the rest of his day. He would catch up with paperwork on his laptop, call the Cleveland bureau to update his commander, and then curl up with the mystery novel he bought at the Wooster bookstore. He would probably heat some leftover pizza or a can of clam chowder for supper, and then build up the fire in the woodstove. Maybe he’d make a pot of coffee or brew some tea.

Either way, the rest of the day off with no place to go was sounding better and better.

Meghan looked up from her work at the sound of someone stomping feet in the outer hallway. Either it was one very large person or a herd of oxen, but it definitely wasn’t a child.

Agent Mast opened the classroom door and stuck in his head. A dusting of snow coated him from head to toe.

“Thomas,” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

He walked up the center aisle, tugging off his gloves finger by finger. “I came to check on you and your sister on my way home, to make sure everyone got home safely. What are
you
still doing here?”

“I had papers to grade. We sent the children home at one o’clock when it first started to snow. Their parents might need help covering new bedding plants. Some folks have already put in their gardens. My
mamm
always waits until Mother’s Day.” She smiled up at him.