As we headed west on Route 20, I was stunned by how common big black cars are. Although I couldn’t identify the make of most that rushed past us, many reminded me of the vehicle we’d seen from the air.
Back at the Barnyard Inn we parked at the end of the building, in a spot not visible from the office. I asked MacArthur how he liked his motel room.
”I didn’t register,” he replied. “I’m working undercover.”
I wanted to know where one sleeps if one travels by Harley and doesn’t rent a room, but he wasn’t talking. Had MacArthur shared Kori’s room, the one right next to mine? He opened the lobby door with exaggerated gallantry.
The scene was exactly as it had been twenty-four hours earlier. Since then, however, two guests had died, one had been shot at twice, and a couple dogs were missing.
The lobby smelled of curry, dog urine, and disinfectant. Although no one was at the desk, a television blared through the slightly open fake-wood door behind it. This time the foreign-language program sounded like a soap opera.
I expected MacArthur to demand service. Instead, he reached over the counter, adjusted the computer keyboard and screen, and started typing.
“You can’t do that,” I hissed.
But of course he could. And did. My amazement was incomplete, however, 'til he activated the noisy printer, which ground out four full pages, testing the limits of my frayed nerves. I was absolutely sure that the clatter would draw somebody to the desk. As the fourth page ever so slowly made its way through the machine, the phone on the desk jangled. I jumped. The TV volume dropped, and footsteps rapidly approached the door.
“MacArthur!” I cried, but he kept his eyes on the printout.
Suddenly a baby wailed, and the footsteps receded.
MacArthur ripped the last page from the printer, readjusted the monitor and keyboard, and pushed me gently toward the door. We were out of there by the end of the second ring.
“Just as I thought,” he said, scanning the printout. “Nobody registered a Ford pickup.”
“What does that mean?”
“Either somebody lied when they checked in, or somebody arrived here expressly to steal that dog. Or to kill Slater and Koniger.”
“That’s a lot of or’s,” I said.
“They’re all connected. We just need to find the link.”
“You can look for the link! And Abra, too. I need to collect my neighbor and go home. I should probably look for Jeb, but I don’t think I’ll like what I find.”
My cell phone rang. Apparently it was my turn to hear from Magnet Springs’ finest.
“Yo, Whiskey,” Jenx said. “Still no luck finding the dogs?”
“We really only want one back,” I said.
“You should talk to your ex. He’s a little worried and a lot P-O’ed. Why ya giving the guy a hard time? He’s only trying to help.”
“He’s only trying to help Susan,” I said.
“Save your insecurities for the bedroom! We got bigger things going on. The dog show murders are on Yahoo! News already. And there’s a youtube video of Silverado and Kori, posted forty minutes ago by somebody with the handle luvssdogss. You should see all the text comments. Everybody’s worried about Silverado. This could be as big as Vivi the whippet!”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “Vivi disappeared after winning the Westminster! Silverado’s lost in Amish Country.”
“Where tourists flock to eat smorgasbords and ogle buggies,” Jenx said. “I tell you, Amish Country is what makes this story hot!”
When she asked to speak to MacArthur, I passed him the phone. He listened for a minute, grunted once, and closed the call.
“What now?” I said.
“Jenx isn’t happy that you left Chester with the Amish.”
“He wanted to stay! He’s probably milking a cow right now and tipping the Amish for the privilege.”
“No matter. Jenx wants us to fetch him.”
“How are we supposed to do that? In the first place, I haven’t got a clue how to get there by road! And in the second place, Brad the pilot said he’d pick up Chester! Just as soon as he returns Nathaniel from the Cadillac dealership.”
“We won’t be waiting for Brad and Nathaniel. Jenx says Brad was busted in Elkhart for buying Nathaniel a beer.”
Either Brad was less virtuous than he had seemed, or Nathaniel was a real conniver. I voted for Nathaniel. An Amish teen who aspired to sell used cars was made of something stronger than cheese.
I’d meant what I said about having no idea how to find Chester. In the highly unlikely event that I could remember the general vicinity of our turn-off from Route 20, I had no idea which road Rachel and Jacob’s house was on. Or what it looked like… other than that it was white with a big white barn and a long white fence. Like fifty other farms.
“I don’t even know their last name!” I told MacArthur.
“That wouldn’t help us much, anyway,” he said. “Almost everybody here is a Yoder or a Miller.”
Our unproductive discussion was interrupted by the arrival of Susan Davies in her Audi. After spraying me with gravel, she powered down her window and spoke directly to MacArthur.
“I’m driving Jeb to Chicago on business. Thanks for keeping me alive. No thanks for losing my winning dog. And my best handler.”
What a bitch. I couldn’t believe her nerve in nabbing my ex-husband, who had come to help me. The comment about MacArthur losing her dog and her handler wasn’t very nice, either.
Jeb leaned across Susan to speak to me.
“Wish I could help, Whiskey, but you’ve got MacArthur, so you’ll be fine. Susan lined up a last-minute gig for me at her country club. I’m playing the brunch tomorrow. It’s an Afghan hound rescue fundraiser.”
I could have shouted any one of a dozen retorts that satisfied my bruised ego now but made me cringe later. In a rare moment of maturity I simply said, “Good luck.”
And I almost let it go at that. Then I considered what Jenx had said and decided I had nothing to lose but loss. I strode to the car window and leaned in above Susan’s firm breasts. My face and Jeb’s were inches apart.
“Did you come here to help me or to love me?” I asked him.
“I came to do both,” he replied. “But you didn’t want either.”
“I want both! I want you.”
Susan’s perfume was everywhere-light and floral with a hint of ginger. Too expensive and girly for me. I was the blunt one, the clumsy one, the one who stank of goat shit. Also the one who loved Jeb.
I couldn’t recall another time when I’d been so public in my display of affection. Or desperation. In the backseat Susan’s two blonde show dogs panted eagerly.
“We’ll talk about this later,” Jeb said, his voice soft.
“Get your head out of my car, please!”
Susan revved her engine. Let me tell you, German engineering can sound ominous. I withdrew just in time; Susan peeled out of the lot, spraying me with gravel. Again.
MacArthur laid a steadying hand on my shoulder and said one word only: “Chester.”
“You’re right,” I sighed, wrestling control of my emotions. “Screw dogs and lovers. We have a child to save.”
Considering that Chester was with the Amish, I doubted he needed saving. Then I thought about Nathaniel. There were no guarantees.