“You had to pick up that new pottery consignment to list on the website, and I wanted to get this interview over with. I really need to do what I told Alma I would do . . . and Evan,” she added. “Which is look into this mess and then be done with it. I’m getting married in a little more than two weeks, Mary Aaron.”
“I know you are. And it’s good of you to do this for Alma. For the whole community.”
Rachel sighed, hoping she hadn’t been too short with her cousin. “I also wanted to speak with the Studers and Rosh Hertzler, but no one was at either farm, so I thought while I was in this neck of the woods, I’d take care of talking to Baker. I spoke with Evan about him. I’ll be fine.”
“You told Evan you were going to Baker’s place to talk to him?”
“Of course not,” Rachel answered, her brow furrowing. “He’d tell me not to go and then I’d either have to go against the wishes of the man I’m about to marry or I couldn’t go. Then I’d be breaking my promise to Alma. Anyway, Evan said that despite the complaints of his neighbors, Baker hasn’t hurt anyone. He doesn’t even have a criminal record.”
Evan had also told her that Charles Baker had been a soldier who’d served in Afghanistan, possessed an arsenal of weapons, and should be approached with caution. But none of those facts were likely to put her cousin at ease, so Rachel didn’t tell her.
“Maybe he hasn’t hurt anyone yet,” Mary Aaron replied. “But I don’t trust him. It isn’t natural, living all alone and boarded up like that. Don’t take any chances.”
“I won’t. When have you ever known me not to—”
“Be safe? All the time,” Mary Aaron interrupted. “Remember New Orleans?”
Rachel grimaced. “If I remember correctly, it wasn’t just me. You were there. Who jumped out of the car and took off down Bourbon Street in the middle of the night? You could have been seriously hurt.”
“Or you could have. That’s why I’m telling you to be careful. Better yet, wait there until I can drive out and go with you. I’m sure I can borrow Hulda’s car.”
“I’m already here. I’ll be fine. Take care of the gift shop and the guests,” Rachel replied. “I should be back within the hour.”
“If you’re not, I’m coming after you. And I might be bringing the police with me,” Mary Aaron said. “Or at least two of your brothers. And leave your phone on. At least then we’ll be able to use it to find your body.”
Rachel chuckled, amused as much by Mary Aaron’s tech savvy as she was by the joke. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be fine. And I’ll make certain that Charles Baker knows that if he makes me uneasy in any way, my cop fiancé will be there in a matter of minutes.”
“But Evan doesn’t know you’re there.”
Rachel pursed her lips. “Mary Aaron, you aren’t my mother. Stop worrying. I’ve got to go. I’m at the gate. I’ll call you when I’m headed home.” She hung up and put her Jeep in drive again.
At the fence, the three strands of barbed wire, and Keep Out signs, she stopped again. The actual fence wasn’t much, an old pasture split-rail-and-stock-wire mix that was mostly rotten and rusted away. She could have easily taken down the barbed wire and driven through, but off to the right, she could see a gap in the fence line. Fortunately, Jeeps were made for off-road jaunts. It only took her a minute to make the decision.
She drove through the pasture, through the opening in the fence, and then back onto the dirt lane. It was overgrown, and although she could see where a vehicle had driven down it recently, it certainly wasn’t used much. A hundred yards later, the rutted path ended in a substantial metal gate, reinforced with thick iron bars and flanked by a twelve-foot-high wire fence and several surveillance cameras. This fence was huge and stretched in two directions with no breaks in it to be seen. More signs were posted to deter visitors: No Trespassing! Private Property, and No Visitors! Her favorite was Intruders Will Be Shot !
Not wanting to be identified as an intruder, but determined to speak to the man behind the fence, Rachel blew her horn.
When there was no response, she got out and walked to the gate. Noticing a small square control panel that looked like an intercom, she pushed the button. “Hello!” she called into what had to be the speaker. “I’m here to see Mr. Charles Baker on an urgent matter.”
A red light flashed on the gate, immediately followed by a siren. “No admittance!” a computer recording blared. “This is a poisonous reptile facility. You may be in imminent danger. For your own safety, turn around and drive away from the property at once.” Dogs barking viciously, also part of the recording, completed the welcoming message.
Rachel pushed the button a second time. “This is Rachel Mast, from town,” she said into the intercom. “Mr. Baker. I need to speak to you. Please.”
The recording started again and the robotic voice continued until it reached the word poisonous, at which time it went silent. A deep male voice came out of the speaker. “Rachel? Which Rachel? Is this the young woman who sells hand-dipped candles at the farmers’ market?”
“No, that’s Rachel Yoder. I’m the Rachel Mast who runs the B&B.”
“Rupert Rust’s friend Rachel?”
“Yes,” she answered, somewhat surprised that Baker would know Rupert. Rupert was an ex-marine who’d suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder and had recently left the English world to return to the peace of his Amish roots. “Yes,” she repeated. “Rupert’s a friend of mine.”
There was
