I was too worried to do anything but my infamous ostrich routine. As the helicopter drew near, I shut my eyes and let somebody else make things happen. You’d be surprised how often that turns out to be the right choice.
While I wasn’t looking, Brad the pilot found the paddock and neatly landed the chopper. Long-haired goats dodged every which way but at me. Nathaniel the Amish bad boy shouted that it was time to board. I didn’t look back till we were airborne. From that vantage point I could see an Amish family jogging toward the paddock, with Rachel, Jacob, and Chester bringing up the rear.
Brad signaled for me to give our new guest a headset. Nathaniel held it in both hands for a long moment before slipping it on. At first, I thought he didn’t know what to do with it; then I realized he was savoring the moment.
“Nathaniel’s going to show us where Abra and Silverado got together,” I told Brad. “Out on Route 20.”
Even as I said it, I knew it sounded ridiculous. Nobody in the world cared as much as I did about tracking trouble-making dogs. Maybe it was time I stopped caring. Maybe I’d already made enough of an effort to find them. I was half-blind and covered with goat shit. I had a business to run, after all, and a screwed-up personal life to sort out.
Nathaniel seemed utterly unfazed by his aerial experience. Pointing helpfully, he showed Brad the exact spot on Route 20. Along the way, he identified every farm and road.
“I was about to turn there, on County Road 60,” he said, “when the dogs jumped!”
“If only you’d seen which way they went after that,” I sighed.
“I did!” Nathaniel said. “They headed back west on 20.”
“Like they were returning to the dog show?” Brad asked.
“Well, they didn’t do that,” I said.
We flew in silence for a few moments looping pointlessly around the designated intersection. I noticed with irritation that Nathaniel’s focus seemed to be elsewhere.
“That’s weird,” he remarked finally, gazing to his right.
“What?”
“Over there. It looks like a dog. No. Make that two dogs. Are those the same two dogs…?”
Brad automatically swiveled the craft in the direction our Amish passenger was pointing. I leaned forward in concentration. And then I saw what Nathaniel saw. Loping west along Route 20 were two examples of the most graceful breed of dog ever placed on this planet. From the air, one looked blonde, the other steel-gray. Guess who was leading?
“She’s at it again!” I said. “Luring another new boyfriend astray.”
“Or leading him back to the dog show,” Brad said. “Maybe she’s some kind of hero.”
“Please. You’ve never met my bitch.”
Then Brad explained something I already knew, that he couldn’t set the helicopter down on Route 20.
“Here’s an option,” he continued. “I can go ahead of the dogs and find a side road to land on. Then you can run after them…”
“What’s the next option?”
“We can follow them, and you can direct someone on the ground to intercept them.”
“Call in the cavalry, you mean?”
“Those are your options.”
How I wished that Chester was here to help. The kid had a knack for canine problem-solving. I opened my cell phone, prepared to speed-dial Jeb. Then I remembered that he had arrived by chopper and did not have a car at his disposal. Sure, he could have used mine, except that I had the keys. So I phoned MacArthur.
“You’ve reached my voicemail. Have at it.”
Indeed I did, forcibly omitting all expletives on account of our Amish guest. I tersely summed up the situation, concluding with “We’re in the air following the dogs. Call me back! Fast!”
“Look at that!” Nathaniel said as I ended the call.
Below us, a big black car was making a U-turn on Route 20. As we stared, the vehicle passed our fast-moving gray and yellow targets, then pulled over onto the berm ahead of them. The rear door on the driver’s side opened, and in jumped both dogs. The door closed, and nothing else happened.
Brad slowed the craft until we were literally hovering above the vehicle.
“Do you recognize the car?” he said.
“No!” I said.
“Well, whoever’s driving knows they got an audience. Let’s see what they do next.”
“The damn dogs got into a limo,” I said numbly.
“That’s not a limo. That’s a Cadillac,” Nathaniel declared. “Probably a 2009 DTS.” When Brad and I stared at him, he said, “I know cars.”
“You’re Amish,” I said.
“I’m seventeen. I haven’t decided whether I want to be Amish or not. When I get the chance, I hang around car dealerships in Elkhart. I think I might like to sell used cars someday.”
“Amish teens-I’ve heard about that,” Brad said, sounding suddenly energized. “You get to explore your choices, right?”
“Right. Our families give us a lot of freedom.”
“Speaking of freedom, the dogs are driving away!” I shouted. “Follow that Cadillac!”
Calmly Brad said, “Now would be a good time to enlist your friends on the ground.”
“If they’d answer their phones!” I fumed.
When I called MacArthur again, I got his voicemail again. This time I left a few choice words in my message. For emphasis. And to scare the men in the chopper. Then I tried Jeb, on the off chance that he might be with MacArthur. I got his voicemail, too. I don’t remember exactly what I told him, but it wasn’t pretty.
To Nathaniel, who was eavesdropping, I said, “How do you know what your limits are? Or don’t you have any?”
“We’re not supposed to shame our families.”
“Good plan,” I said. “What about your adventure with the wagon?”
“That shamed them,” he admitted. “To sober me up, my uncle made me swim in the creek with my clothes on. Then he made me rake out the goat paddock.”
Brad laughed into his headset. “Reminds me of myself at your age! Without the goats.”
I was in the midst of male bonding.
“I’m lucky,” Nathaniel told Brad. “She’s going to buy me a six-pack.“
“Who?”
The teen pointed at me. “She said if I helped find her dog, she’d get me something good. Maybe even something with her name on it.”
“I never said I’d buy you whiskey!” I protested.
“Hold on,” Brad said, glaring at me. “You promised to buy an under-age Amish kid booze?”
I felt like the Anti-Christ. Maybe according to the rules of Amish Country, I was.
“Beer only, I swear! His little cousin got confused about whiskey because it’s my name!”
Brad shook his head in disgust. To Nathaniel, he said, “Here’s a better offer. As soon as we finish this job, I’ll show you how a chopper works. That’s way more fun than a six-pack!”
“How about this,” Nathaniel counter-offered. “You drop me off at the Cadillac dealership in Elkhart, and I’ll forget about the beer. And whiskey.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant the beverage or me. Then my cell phone rang; Jeb was calling.
“Where’s MacArthur?” I shouted. When I couldn’t hear Jeb’s answer, I repeated the question. Louder. Three more times. I never did hear his answer. By then Jeb had given up.
“This isn’t working,” I told Brad.
“We’ll track the car as far as the Barnyard Inn,” he said. “Then you can jump in your own car and take it from there.”
“We have to retrieve Chester!” I reminded him.
“I’ll pick him up on the way back from Elkhart. I have instructions from Mr. Davies to return Chester and Jeb to Magnet Springs.”
“Tonight?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Brad said. “Unless they insist on going back tonight.”
“Nobody’s going back tonight,” I growled. “Not when I have to waste all this time looking for dogs!”
I thought about Jeb, his overnight bag, and our passion, the last of which we’d probably squandered. This time I couldn’t blame Abra for everything that had gone wrong. I’d been a bitch, too.
The black Cadillac was directly under us, passing every car in its lane. As Brad observed, they had to know they had aerial company. I asked if he could swoop down and get the license plate number, but he said that wasn’t possible.
“I saw somebody do it in a movie,” I whined.
“Sure you did,” Brad replied. “In a movie.”