Down a Dark Road (Kate Burkholder #9)

“He lives over to Rootstown now. He’s more English than Amish these days. Runs one of them Amish tourist shops with his buddy.” He rattles off an address. “Big house off Tallmadge. Can’t miss it.”

I rise and start toward the door. I’m aware of Edward rising and trailing us. Upon reaching the door, I stop and turn. “Is there a way for me to contact you, Edward? Does the bishop have a phone? In case the situation with Joseph changes?”

He instantly translates the meaning of the question. In case Joseph is killed. “If it’s about my brother, I’d prefer you didn’t contact me at all.”

*

“For a religious guy, he was pretty hard on his brother,” Glock says as we slide into the Explorer.

“When you’re Amish it’s sometimes the people you love most you’re toughest on.”

“Tough love.”

“It’s brought more than one wayward soul back to the fold.”

It’s nearly noon by the time we pass the corporation-limit sign for Rootstown Township. Mona ran Jonas King through LEADS to check for outstanding warrants. Little Brother has kept his nose clean.

King’s residence is located off Tallmadge in the heart of the township. A large sign dominates the manicured front yard: AMISH COUNTRY GENERAL STORE AND ANTIQUES. The house is a massive Victorian set among towering trees. It’s the kind of neighborhood that was once residential, but is slowly transitioning to commercial, prompting some homeowners to sell out or transform their residences into businesses. That’s exactly what King has done, and in high style.

“Nice digs,” Glock comments as I park in the small rear lot. “I think LaShonda bought a baby quilt here right before Jasmine was born. Lasted through both kids and still looks brand-new.”

“Nice to pass down an heirloom like that when they grow up.” We disembark and take the sidewalk to the front door.

“Yeah, well, we’re going to be needing it again in about six months.”

I stop and swing around to face him. The grin feels silly on my face. “Seriously?”

He grins back. “Number three.”

“Congratulations.” I smack him on the shoulder. “You can look at the baby stuff while I talk to King.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

We ascend concrete steps to a large wooden deck that’s part porch, part café. Two tables with umbrellas are on my right. A large sago palm juts from an equally large terra-cotta pot engraved with an interesting design. To my left is a fountain from which water trickles merrily over artfully arranged river rock.

The place hasn’t yet opened for business, but the lights are on. I can see someone moving around inside. I cross to an antique-looking door and ring the bell. Glock stands a few feet away, checking out the pottery in the display window.

The door swings open, jingle bells chiming. “We’re just opening—”

An attractive young man in a partially buttoned plaid shirt blinks at me. He wears a beard that’s vaguely Amish, but a tad too manicured to be authentic. I don’t recognize him, and I don’t think this is Jonas King.

His eyes flick over my uniform. “Is everything all right?”

I have my ID at the ready. “I’m looking for Jonas King.”

“Has something happened?”

“It’s about his brother,” I tell him.

“Oh shit. Joe.” Looking concerned, he opens the door wider. “Jonas!” he calls out while simultaneously ushering Glock and me inside. “Come in. I’m Logan, by the way.” He shakes both our hands, speaking rapidly. “Is Joe okay?”

Beyond him, I see a second male trot down the stairs, buttoning his shirt as he goes. He’s a younger version of Joe, clean-cut, less the hard edges and desperation. A lot more hipster than Amish.

He enters the foyer with a great deal of caution. “What’s this all about?”

“It’s Joe.” The other man touches his arm.

The color drains from his face. I see him mentally brace. “Is he dead?”

“He escaped,” I tell him. “He’s taken his children hostage and he’s holed up at his sister-in-law’s house in Painters Mill.”

Jonas gasps. “Hostage?”

“Oh my God, those poor children,” Logan says. “Are they—”

“Joe won’t hurt the kids,” Jonas says without hesitation.

The words seem to calm Logan. He collects himself, and looks at me. “Jonas and I were just there, visiting with Daniel and Rebecca and the kids. On Easter Sunday. Those kids are so sweet and they’ve been through so much losing their mom the way they did.”

Jonas meets my gaze. “Anyone hurt?”

“So far, everyone’s okay,” I tell him.

“What can he possibly hope to accomplish?” Logan asks no one in particular.

Jonas is looking at me closely. Now that the shock of learning what his brother has done is over, he’s realized he knows me. “Katie? Burkholder?”

“It’s been a while.” I smile. “You’re taller.”

“I hope so.” Despite the circumstances, he smiles back. “I think I was seven years old last time I saw you.”

“I wish I were here under different circumstances.” I pause, give him a moment to digest the news about his brother.

He glances past me and looks at Glock. “Do you guys want to sit? I can make coffee.”

I shake my head. “Just a few questions and we’ll get out of your hair.”

“Sure. Whatever you need.”

“When’s the last time you saw Joe?” I ask.

“I went to the prison to see him,” he tells me. “Six weeks ago.”

“How was he?” I ask.

“The same way he’s been for the last two years. Hopeless. Depressed. Pissed off.”

“Did he give you any indication that he might do something like this?”

“No. I mean, of course he hates it there. Said it was a violent hellhole. But escaping? That’s so crazy I can’t even get my head around it.”

“He’s put himself in an extremely dangerous situation,” I tell him. “The kids, too.”

“This is so bad.” Jonas raises his hand, bites at a nail. “I don’t know what he’s thinking.”

I tell him about my conversation with Joseph, leaving out the details of how I ended up in the house with him. “Jonas, he insists he didn’t kill Naomi.”

His eyes snap to mine. “He’s been saying that since day one. No one will listen to him. No one believes him.”

“Do you?”

“With all my heart.”

“Are you close?”

“Before all of this happened we were as close as brothers could be. Especially after Datt died. I mean, he was my best friend. Even when he was a teenager and getting into trouble, I always looked up to him. He always made time for me.” He gives a wan smile. “We raised a lot of hell for a couple of Amish boys.”

“I take it you left the fold?”

“Joe was one of the few who didn’t condemn me when I told him about Logan.” He nods toward the other man, and for the first time I understand. The men are partners, a relationship that would be frowned upon by the Amish.

“Did you remain close with Joseph as an adult?” I ask.

“We stayed in touch as much as we could. It wasn’t always easy with him being Amish. I mean, he got his hands on the occasional cell phone and we talked. For the most part, I’d go see them, at the house.”