“I was always interested in law enforcement. My favorite cowboys were Texas Rangers. Most of the men in the family either have a military or police background.”
He flicked her a sideways glance. “I know you were born in Michigan. You told me your folks died in a car accident. I read that much in your file when I first started working for La Belle.”
“If you read my file, you got the cleaned-up version, what they gave to the press after I won the contest. It doesn’t mention my time in juvie.” She had told him the rest, about her cousins and how she had gotten to Seattle. She figured by now he knew everything there was to know about all of the models. It didn’t bother her that he knew—not the way it had at first. Even if he didn’t trust her, she trusted him.
“So you were chosen Miss La Belle.I’m not exactly sure what that means.”
“The company picks a girl every year and awards her a six-month modeling contract. Being a La Belle model pays big. I entered on a whim, never thought I would actually win, but I needed money for school so I figured it was worth a try. I was chosen, and they gave me the number-ten spot. Until the murders, the job seemed like a godsend.”
Ethan kept his eyes on the road, but his jaw tightened. “We’re going to catch him.”
“But you think there are two of them. Two killers.”
“Yeah. And both of them are going down hard.” He didn’t say more, just checked the map on his iPhone, slowed the car, and turned off onto a narrow paved road.
Val smiled when she saw a yellow road sign up ahead with a picture of a horse and buggy.PASS WITH CAREwas printed underneath.
“Looks like we’re just about there,” Ethan said, keeping the car at a respectful speed.
As they neared, she saw that it wasn’t much of a community, just nine or ten small farms spread out along the road. A couple of double-wides, several cabinlike structures. All the farms had barns and gardens.
Their first stop went quickly. A man opened the door, gave a headshake meaning no, and she and Ethan walked back to the car. The second stop was the same, except the door was opened by a woman.
Unused to strangers, two kids ran out into the front yard to watch as the Buick drove away. They looked like children out of an old western movie, the boy with his flat hat, coveralls, bare feet, and rolled-up pants, the girl with her long, full-skirted dress, white apron, and bonnet.
Farther down the road, a wooden house with a porch extending off the front boasted a sign that readBAKERY. Ethan slowed and eased the car off the lane, careful not to stir up dust.
As they had before, both of them climbed out into the heat, the air damp and thick, making it difficult to breathe. She had chosen comfortable clothes: loose jeans, a short-sleeved, pale blue V-necked T-shirt, and sneakers, and she was very glad she had.
They knocked on the door, which was open, and a petite, gray-haired woman in full Amish dress—long gray skirt and blouse, white apron, white bonnet with the strings hanging down—walked up to the other side of the screen. The windows in the house were also open. Clearly, there was no air-conditioning.
The tiny woman spoke through the screen door. “May I help you?”
Ethan gave her a friendly smile. “I hope so. My name is Ethan Brodie. I’m a private investigator.” He pulled out his ID badge and flipped it open. “I’m looking for a man. He might have lived here ten, maybe fifteen years ago. There’s a chance he’s involved in a murder.”
As he had done at the other houses, he was being completely up-front, laying the facts out very clearly. Val had a feeling he was taking the right approach with people who lived such a straightforward, simple existence.
“This is a friend,” he said, easing her forward. “She’s helping me with the case. Her name is Valerie Hartman.”
She hadn’t heard her real name in so long it sounded foreign. She liked the way Ethan had said it that morning. At least he knew who she actually was.
“Please come in.” The woman stepped back to invite them into the wood-frame house. “I’m Mrs. Bruckner. It’s very warm today. Would you care for a glass of lemonade?”
“That sounds wonderful,” Val said, fighting an urge to fan herself as she began to really feel the heat.
The woman smiled and headed into the kitchen off the living room, her long gathered skirt floating around her ankles. The smell of yeast and cinnamon filled the air, making Val’s mouth water.
Through the opening, she could see a simple sink in a long wooden counter, the shelves underneath covered by a pretty yellow curtain. There was a small refrigerator off to one side. She had read somewhere that most groups used electricity, but there were certain rules they had to follow.
The woman returned with the lemonade, which was cold, homemade, and refreshing. Ethan took a long swallow, the muscles in his throat moving up and down. Why that looked so sexy Val couldn’t possibly guess.
“Tastes great,” Ethan said. “Thanks.” He didn’t try to hurry the conversation. Val had a feeling he thought the lady was about to tell him something important.
“Why don’t we sit down?” Mrs. Bruckner suggested. She carried her own glass into the living room, then went back and got a tray of chocolate cookies. They sat down on a dark green overstuffed sofa and chairs situated around a newer, wood-burning cast-iron stove. A hooked rug in green and gold covered the spotlessly clean wooden floors.
Val couldn’t resist sampling one of the cookies. Ethan took one, too, and munched it down. They were buttery, chocolatey, and delicious.
“It really isn’t my place to talk to you about Byron,” the little woman said. “Normally, my husband would do that. But as I’m recently widowed, I have no other choice.”
