“Not necessarily. Reporters do that kind of thing all the time. It’s just part of getting the story.”
“Not anymore. Not with the corporations in charge. This is the New Media. Welcome to the age of accountability to the shareholders.”
“Well, then is there anything else? Something that doesn’t involve me dropping a nuke on my career?”
“Sure. Here’s something else to consider—these facilities have fences, and people can talk through fences.”
“What do you mean?”
“Senft has to have fresh air, right? He has to have exercise. Are you still sitting in the parking lot?”
“Yeah.”
“See the double security fence going around the place? You could try sneaking up to that and talking to him through the mesh.”
“But that’s even riskier than the other method.”
“Correct. So why not just let this go? Move on?”
“Because that receptionist pissed me off. And because I’m stubborn.”
“Yes, you are, Maria. You’re like a goddamned pit bull when it comes to a story. That’s why you’re my favorite freelancer. And that’s why I wish you’d just walk away from this.”
“I can’t. But thanks, Miles. I really do appreciate your help.”
“Don’t mention it. And listen…I’ll ask around. See if I can’t find you someone more sympathetic. But it’s got to be totally on the down low, okay?”
“No worries. I promise.”
“I’ll call you if I hear anything. And again, good job on the Ghost Walk story. It’ll run in this afternoon’s edition. Hawkins got some great photos to go with it.”
“Awesome. Talk to you later, Miles.”
“Stay out of trouble.”
“There won’t be any trouble, as long as I can talk to Adam Senft.”
“Maria!”
“I’m kidding. Bye.”
Grinning, Maria disconnected the call and bent over, putting the cell phone back into its charger, which was plugged in to the car’s cigarette lighter. She yawned again, rubbing her tired eyes. She decided to go home and get some sleep. When she sat back up, a shadow fell over her. A dark-haired, bearded man stood next to the open window. Startled, Maria gasped. She reached for her purse, intent on grabbing her can of pepper spray.
“I’m sorry,” the man apologized, taking a step backward and holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you okay?”
Maria’s hand slipped inside her purse. She closed her fingers around the can of pepper spray and paused, studying him. To her surprise, the stranger was either Mennonite or Amish. She couldn’t be sure which. His clothing and hat were a dead giveaway, though, as was his long, bushy beard. When Maria was younger, her mother had liked a rock group called ZZ Top. The band members all had flowing beards. This guy reminded her of them. His age was hard to determine. She guessed that he might be in his early thirties. She remembered the Amish buggy she’d noticed earlier while talking to Miles. If it belonged to him—and she assumed it did—that made him Amish. People from the Mennonite faith drove cars and trucks. Only the Amish still insisted on horse-drawn buggies.
“I’m really sorry,” the man said again.
Her shock dissipated. Whoever he was, she doubted very much that he was a rapist or carjacker. His expression was apologetic, his tone concerned.
“It’s okay,” Maria said, taking a deep breath. “You just surprised me, is all. Can I help you?”
The man lowered his hands and smiled. “Possibly, Miss…?”
“Maria Nasr. And you are?”
“You can call me Levi Stoltzfus.”
Maria thought that was odd. Not my name is but you can call me. She chalked it up to an archaic speech mannerism. She’d heard the Amish sometimes favored those.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Stoltzfus?”
“Well, I’m sorry about this, but as I was passing by, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. You seemed very…irate.”
“My boss,” she explained. “It’s a long story.”
“Would that story have anything to do with Adam Senft?”
Maria paused, keeping her poker face. She studied him closely, trying to figure out his intentions. Had he recognized her name? Remembered her byline from a previous story? Amish people read the newspapers, just like everyone else. Indeed, since they couldn’t watch television, listen to the radio, or go online, newspapers were their only source for news. Or maybe, like millions of other Americans, maybe he was just fascinated with morbid stories and had recognized Senft’s name.
“How would you know that, Mr. Stoltzfus?”
“I heard you mention him, I’m afraid.” He glanced at the hospital. “Adam Senft is a patient here, isn’t he?”
“And may I ask what your interest in this is?”
“If you tell me what your own interest in him is, then I might be able to help you.”
Maria laughed. “I really doubt that, Mr. Stoltzfus, but I appreciate your—”
“You want to speak to him, right?”
She nodded.
“So do I. And if you tell me what your involvement is with him, I can make it happen for you. May I sit in your car while we talk?”
Ken stifled a yawn and cracked his aching back.
“Long night?” Terry asked, grinning.
“Yeah.” Ken rotated his arms and stretched his shoulders. “Didn’t get to bed until well after midnight, and couldn’t fall asleep until past two.”
Terry’s grin widened. “Had a little company, did you?”
“Fuck you. You talking about Maria?”
“Hey—first-name basis now, huh? Come on, Ken. You banged her, didn’t you? Tell the truth.”
“No,” Ken protested. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we had dinner. That’s all. It was a business meeting, Terry. She interviewed me. We ate. And then I came home.”
Ken felt defensive. It seemed disrespectful to Deena’s memory to be having this conversation. But before he could explain that to his best friend, Terry continued.
“You should have banged her, man. That’s some ass on her. I bet you went home and thought about it.”
“Dipshit.”
“What? She’s cute.”
“She is. And she’s also too young. Look, I just couldn’t sleep. That’s all. Had stuff on my mind. In case you forgot, we open tomorrow night.”
“I know,” Terry said. “That’s why I got a good night’s sleep.”
“Wish I could say the same. I ended up doing a few shots of Woodford Reserve just so I’d nod off.”
They walked the trail, checking off things that were completed and making a last-minute list of what still needed to be done. Terry had taken some vacation time so that he could give Ken a hand. Both men felt overwhelmed. Most of the volunteers wouldn’t arrive until the evening. There were only a few on hand, and two who hadn’t shown up at all.
“Have you seen…” Ken snapped his fingers, trying to remember their names. “Rhonda and Sam? The kids from the school?”
Terry shook his head. “Not this morning. Maybe they had something going on at the school?”
“Maybe. I know that I shouldn’t bitch about it. I mean, they’re volunteers. It’s not like they’re getting paid. But we’ve got a lot to do yet. We could really use some extra hands.”
“We’ll get ’er done,” Terry said, doing his best impression of stand-up comedian Larry the Cable Guy. “Don’t worry, man. You’ve just got the jitters. Just like back in high school, right before a game.”
“Maybe,” Ken agreed. “I just want everything to go smooth, you know? I want this to really be a good thing.”
“It will be.”
They finished their tour and walked back to the beginning of the trail.
“Listen,” Ken said, fishing his car keys out of his pocket. “I’ve got to run to the costume store and pick up our masks. Think you can handle things while I’m gone?”