“We’re trying to seek a simpler life,” said Sam.

“How about the beards?” asked Ray.

“In the truck,” said Tucker. “We don’t put those on….”

“Till when?” asked Ray. He pulled the DVD from his jacket. “Seems you fellows are starting to make it in the movies. I’ve got some great video of you two from a security camera. You appear to be helping yourself to a few hundred pounds of potatoes. Only I noticed you were wearing your usual clothes. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Why aren’t you looking for the killers instead of bothering with us?” Tucker asked again.

“We’ve heard that two elderly Amish men were seen in the bookstore looking at Vincent Fox’s book,” said Ray. “We were also told that several copies of the book were stolen from that bookstore and the library.”

“We didn’t steal no books. We were just looking at the part that interested us,” said Tucker.”

“And what part was that?” asked Ray.

“Vincent said there was some treasure down in Missionary Cove. That’s just down the road, you know,” he said, pointing with a finger over his back. “Said we should buy the book and get some of that gangster gold.”

“So you knew Fox?”

“We knew him a little. Used to run into him at the casino on Senior’s Day.”

“Ever see him anywhere else?” asked Ray.

“No, never,” said Sam.

“How about the Last Chance?” asked Tucker, looking at his brother.

“Oh, yeah, the Last Chance. Had a beer with him there a few times. We asked him for a copy of his book, borrowed like. But he wouldn’t give us one. He was so tight, he squeaked when he walked.”

“Yes,” agreed Tucker, “he squeaked when he walked.”

“Did you ever go to his house?” Ray asked.

“Never,” said Sam.

Ray looked at Tucker, “Never.”

“And what about this?” asked Ray, holding up the DVD again. “Looks like the stolen goods might be in the back of your truck.”

“You can’t do that. You gotta have a search warrant. We know our rights.”

“The door was open; we just looked. And we’ve requested a search warrant.”

A long silence followed. “Tucker’s got a girlfriend downstate in Royal Oak. Hooked up with her again at their 60th high school reunion. She’s just crazy about the Amish. So when we go to visit, we sorta dress up. Makes her happy.”

“The potatoes, Sam?”

“I’m getting to it, Ray. The farm hasn’t been doing too good; the land’s played out. And the price of gasoline for that old truck, maybe 12, 14 miles a gallon. So we were selling potatoes at the farmers market down there, you know gourmet, organic. City people have no sense of money. Five dollars a pound. Couldn’t bring enough. They’d be gone in an hour or two. Even chefs from fancy restaurants buying ’em. So after a few months we ran through all of the ones we’d stored up, so we’ve been borrowing a few. I mean, I’m surprised anyone missed them. And we plan to return them next growing season.”

“Why didn’t you just buy them?”

“Well, like I said, things are tough. The casino and gasoline….”

“So you’re stealing from your friends, and you’re also cheating your customers.”

“That’s not true. We just borrowed them. As for those people in the city, a potato is a potato. No one was cheated.”

“Should I get a search warrant for your house and look for the book?”

Tucker laughed, “I’d like to see you find it. It’s been missing for weeks.”

“What happens now?” asked Sam.

“We give you a ride to town in our fancy police car. Sergeant Lawrence here will tape a statement from each of you, separately. We will compare the two interviews to see if either one of you can tell the truth about anything. Then we’ll turn the case over to the prosecutor’s office and let them sort it out.”

“Are we going to jail?” asked Tucker. “We were planning to vote for you. Guess we can’t do it if we’re behind bars.”

“There’s no justice in this country anymore,” said Sam. “If you’re not part of the one percent, you just get screwed.”

37

It was almost dark when Mackenzie lay down behind a berm at the edge of a wooded area overlooking Jim Moarse’s house. In the fading light, she glassed the area, adjusting the focus on her small, powerful binoculars. There were no signs of a dog or any other animals on the property. The door on the garage, a separate building at the side of the lot some distance from the back door, was closed.

After a few minutes, she moved along the ridgeline, looking for an angle that would allow her to see into the interior of the house. A long set of windows ran along the south-facing wall of the structure. She found a spot near a clump of cedars, halfway down the hill, and slid between the branches. Moarse appeared to be working at the stove, then he moved to a table, carrying a plate. He pushed stacks of newspaper aside before sitting down, his back to the window.

Mackenzie checked her watch. It was after 10 o’clock. When she next looked at the luminous dial again, only five minutes had passed. She was wondering if she could make an hour.

Moarse went back to the sink, plate in hand. He opened the refrigerator, took something out, then walked toward another part of the room. A large flat screen filled a wall with motion and color.

Mackenzie rotated her body, searching for branches that she could lean into. She was becoming stiff and uncomfortable in the cool night air. Her elbows resting on a branch, she kept her focus on the windows. Other than the flicker from the TV, nothing seemed to be happening.

Three vehicles passed during the first hour. First, a pick-up with one taillight going north. Then the same truck in the other direction 18 minutes later. Next, a small, dark sedan with a noisy muffler wheezed up the hill and off into the dark countryside. Then nothing. Mackenzie was lost in thought, going over the same things she had been struggling with for days. She was bored and frustrated and ready to throw in the towel.

A few minutes after 11, a large SUV came up the road, slowed, and turned into Moarse’s drive. Her quick scan of the license number before the lights were switched off confirmed her suspicions. As the door opened and the dome light came on, she got a quick look at Richard Sabotny. He reached back into the Land Rover and pulled out a large brown paper bag. He walked up to the front door and entered, not pausing to knock.

Mackenzie could see the men moving around the room, but her vantage point felt suddenly limited. Slipping out of the cedars, she crouched, and then scrambled down the hill into the ditch. She waited, listening and looking, before darting across the road into the brush. Slowly she crept forward until she had a clear view of the interior.

Sabotny and Moarse, both holding glasses, were engaged in an intense conversation. She saw Sabotny reach out and take Moarse’s glass, move toward the sink, and hand it back a few minutes later as he continued talking. When the two disappeared from view, Mackenzie assumed that they had settled in front of the TV. She was startled a few minutes later when an exterior light switched on and Sabotny came out into the yard, followed by Moarse. They headed toward a small block building at the rear of the property. As she watched, the two men stacked kindling in the external firebox, squirted on some kind of liquid, and put a match to the pile. Then, they stood around talking, each with a drink in hand, adding wood until the fire began to roar. They shut the door on the firebox and returned to the house, turning off the yard light.

The initial activity had given Mackenzie a burst of adrenalin, yet now she was struggling again with the tedium and discomfort of waiting. It turned out to be a long wait. For the next hour, Sabotny would periodically return to what she’d decided was a sauna to add more wood to the fire. She also observed him inside, making drinks and carrying them out of her view.