Plain Killing (13 page)

“This is a good animal,” Mary Aaron said in Deitsch, holding the doughnut in the flat of her hand and letting the mule eat it. “Strong and smart.
Dat
would like him.” The mule finished the last morsels of the treat, and she rubbed his soft nose and stroked the broad face before turning back. “Do you still think Hannah is here in this city?” she asked.

They’d spoken very little about Hannah all day, but Rachel guessed that the missing girl had been on her cousin’s mind as much as she’d been on hers. “I think she might be,” Rachel answered. “
Ya,
I believe she is. Somewhere.”

Mary Aaron patted the mule’s neck. The animal was gray, with long ears, a cropped mane, and massive hindquarters. “Most people don’t realize the worth of mules,” she said.

“They can be stubborn, but if you treat them well, they’ll work willingly all day.”

“If Hannah’s here, she must be in real trouble,” Rachel said, knowing Mary Aaron all too well, knowing that she was using the mule to find her balance in the midst of all this strange English world. “Or she wouldn’t have called me for help.”

“The same trouble that Beth found? Is it possible?”

“It might be.”

Mary Aaron walked to the curb and scrambled up to the board seat. “They didn’t leave the valley together, but both went and no one heard from either of them until we found Beth’s body in the quarry.” She reached for Rachel’s hand. “Lucy ran away, but people knew where she was.
Somebody
always knows, like with Enosh. It’s a secret, but not really.”

“And nothing from Lorraine. Not a word, unless whoever knows isn’t talking.”

Mary Aaron squeezed Rachel’s fingers. “The English world is a bigger place than I thought. Maybe Hannah found that out, too.”

“Are you sorry you came?” Rachel asked her.

“
Ne,
I’m glad. If you’d told me about New Orleans, I’d never have seen it as it is: the smells, the feel of the old streets, the strange way people dress and talk.”

“You were right this morning,” Rachel said. “Jackson Square is a long way from Stone Mill.”

“But if you think back to the first Amish who came to this country, the ones who fled persecution in Switzerland and Deutschland, it makes me proud to think how brave they were. The bishops tell us that pride is a sin, but how can you not admire their courage? If they hadn’t crossed the ocean to a new land, our faith would have burned to ashes in the fires of those who hunted us. I think maybe you have some of that courage, Rachel, to leave your mother’s house and go out among the English. Maybe Beth and Hannah, Lucy and Lorraine, carry that same bravery in their hearts.”

“Coming to New Orleans isn’t quite the same as coming to the American wilderness.”

“I think maybe it is,” Mary Aaron insisted. “I can see that this could be a good home for some people. New ways and old . . . they fit together like the pieces of cloth that go into my quilts.” Mary Aaron smiled wistfully. “It’s not a Plain city, but it’s not English either. It’s different, but not as evil as my father believes. I think I’ll remember it always.”

“But you couldn’t live here.”

“
Ne,
I couldn’t. And I don’t think Hannah could either. We have to find her, Rae-Rae.”

“We will, if she’s here.”

“Promise me? We won’t leave her?”

The murmur of voices drew their attention. Rachel glanced toward the gate and saw their driver coming out of the cemetery. The two couples hurried close behind him. They were talking excitedly, and one of the women was laughing. The driver opened a cooler in the front of the carriage and passed frosty bottles of water all around. Rachel unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. She was glad that she’d passed on the graveyard tour and stayed with Mary Aaron. She’d been doubting her decision to come here, but Mary Aaron’s determination gave her more confidence.

The driver flicked the lines over the mule’s back, and the animal began the trek back to Jackson Square. Neither Rachel nor Mary Aaron spoke on the ride to where the tour had originated. There, they thanked their driver, tipped him, and got out of the carriage. There seemed to be more visitors than before, now that it was dark, in the street and park area. Rachel supposed that they should be heading back to the hotel before it got too late, but by mutual agreement, they found themselves sitting on a wall and watching the tide of locals and tourists thronging the sidewalks and park area. There were so many people all around, all enjoying themselves immensely and all in good humor, that Rachel wondered how Evan could have supposed that she and Mary Aaron would be in any danger.

A crowd gathered around a makeshift stage across from the line of carriages, where an older African-American gentleman began to play a banjo. Mary Aaron seemed captivated by his performance. Old Order Amish forbade their members to play or listen to any type of musical instrument. Even the hymns at worship service and at youth singings were always sung without accompaniment. Yet everywhere they had walked throughout the French Quarter today, they’d encountered musicians, and Mary Aaron hadn’t found fault with them. Instead, she’d seemed to take great pleasure from the novel experience. Strictly speaking, since she hadn’t been baptized, she was permitted a certain amount of leeway in her behavior, but Rachel knew that her aunt and uncle would disapprove of the worldly music. And she couldn’t help feeling somewhat guilty that she was the one who’d exposed Mary Aaron to the outside influences. Certainly, Uncle Aaron hadn’t been thinking of street jazz when he’d insisted that his daughter accompany her on this rescue mission.

They sat on a bench near Café Du Monde for more than an hour before Rachel found herself yawning. She checked her phone to make certain that she hadn’t missed any calls before suggesting that it was time to call it a night. Her thoughts drifted back to Hannah. If she was here in New Orleans, how had she gotten here and what was she doing? Had the music and ambiance of the Big Easy drawn her? And why did she believe her life was in danger? She didn’t want to imagine the calamities that a young innocent woman without an education or knowledge of the twenty-first century might fall prey to.
Hannah, where are you? Are you safe, or are we already too late?

Rachel and Mary Aaron finally got to their feet. They followed St. Peter to Royal, and then took that in the direction of Canal Street and their hotel, but when they came to Toulouse, the haunting strains of a violin drew them toward it. Halfway down the shadowy street, a ragged figure stood, head bent over his instrument. Mary Aaron stopped in her tracks, eyes wide and mouth open in wonder.

“I don’t know if we should . . .” Rachel began but then turned and followed her cousin, who had begun to walk toward the musician. He seemed alone on the street, his only audience a large yellow mongrel lying at his feet.

It was impossible to tell the man’s age or race; dreadlocks fell from under a stained ball cap; his dirty feet, bare, showed twisted, horny toenails. The ragged garment that covered his gray body was a pair of faded jeans held up by a length of rope passed over one bony shoulder. As Rachel neared the man, she caught a sour whiff of unwashed body that nearly made her gag. She reached out and grabbed Mary Aaron’s hand to pull her back, but her cousin seemed not to notice the smell or the wild look on the violinist’s face. “Mary Aaron . . . it may not be safe.”

“Shhh,” Mary Aaron whispered. “Listen.” The music poured forth from the violin, each note blending perfectly into the next.

Rachel knew the piece from a music appreciation class she’d taken in college. Stravinsky. This homeless vagrant was playing a melody from Stravinsky’s
Firebird
with a passion and clarity that Rachel had never heard, and in his hands he cradled a satin-finished violin that must have cost more than her Jeep, new. She suspected that the man might be mentally ill, might suddenly behave irrationally, yet she found herself caught up in the same trance as Mary Aaron. The sad-sweet melody flowed over her like warm honey, sending chills down her spine and bringing tears to her eyes. Together, they stood mesmerized as he played, unable to stir until the final note died in the warm, moist night air.

“Danke,”
Mary Aaron whispered. And before Rachel could speak, Mary Aaron pulled two ten-dollar bills out of her bag and dropped them into the plastic dog bowl on the ground in front of the musician.

“Bless you,” the musician said as he gave her a courtly bow. “Igor?” The dog barked once, which seemed to please the man for he gathered up the bowl and violin case and made his exit down a narrow, unlit alley. The dog trotted after him.

“What was that?” Mary Aaron asked.

“Stravinsky.”

She nodded as if confirming the composer. “He was nice.” She stared into the darkness. “I think that this is the music the angels must play in heaven . . . God’s music.”

For the first time, Rachel became aware of the lights and noise coming from the cross street ahead of them. It ran the same way as Royal. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that it might be Bourbon. “Mary Aaron, I’m not sure that we want to go this way.”

“We can’t stay here. Come on. I’m sure I know the way to the hotel. If we go left, it should take us to Canal, where our hotel is.”

And so, reluctantly, again she followed her Amish cousin through the night into the madness of nighttime NOLA. She’d never been on Bourbon Street, but as crazy as it might be, she wasn’t certain if the tourists would be prepared for Mary Aaron Hostetler in her traditional Plain dress and prayer
kapp
.

Rachel had heard about Bourbon Street, and she’d read about it, even seen glimpses of the crowds at Mardi Gras on the evening news, but nothing had prepared her for the sheer excess. The thoroughfare had been blocked off to vehicles, and groups of laughing, singing people walked, staggered, danced, and wheeled themselves down the street, a few on bicycles, two in wheelchairs, another on a skateboard, followed by a pair of bike-powered rickshaws carrying inebriated college students. Most of the scantily dressed revelers brandished oversized drink containers and were taking photos of themselves and each other with cell phones. To post on social media websites, no doubt.

The noise level was deafening. Groups of street musicians vied with individuals, all playing different styles, ranging from blues to hard rock, competing in turn with the music from bars, clubs, restaurants, and shops selling tacky souvenirs.

Mary Aaron clamped an arm over her handbag, straightened to her full height, and moved to the center of the street, eyes gazing straight ahead, features set. She avoided a woman in a Hawaiian hula skirt and sequined bikini top leading a white duck on a leash, stepped aside to avoid a gentleman in a speeding wheelchair, and dodged a puddle of something nasty on the street. Rachel hurried to catch up with her, trying not to gawk at the pole dancer in a yellow nightie gyrating to a rock beat in a storefront window or at the red-nosed clown in a striped topcoat and top hat who seemed to be sleeping in the midst of the chaos.

No one seemed to notice her or Mary Aaron. Apparently, her cousin’s Plain attire was far too mundane to merit photographing, especially when there was a redhead in a T-shirt leaning over a wrought-iron, second-floor balcony railing, promising strings of plastic beads to everyone willing to expose themselves. Mary Aaron’s snowy-white prayer
kapp
may have seemed tame compared to the performer in a flesh-colored body suit and gold crown weaving through the tourists while playing a harmonica strapped to his mouth and walking on his hands.

To her credit, Mary Aaron maintained her composure and kept walking. She seemed not to see the drunks, the panhandlers, the gaping tourists in their silly hats, or the two girls dressed as professional wrestlers, attempting to lure customers into a dark doorway wreathed in artificial smoke and flashing the word
Hades
.

“It’s not far to Canal,” Rachel said, raising her voice to be heard above the shrieks of laughter from a group of young women. “We’ll just—” Her cell rang. When she pulled it out and saw Evan’s picture, she seized Mary Aaron’s hand and tugged her toward the corner of Conti and Bourbon. The cell kept ringing, but Rachel didn’t pick up until they’d turned onto Conti and left the frenzy of Bourbon behind them. The phone had gone to voicemail, but she returned the call.

“Were you asleep?” Evan asked when he answered.

“No,” she replied. “Not in bed yet.” She couldn’t make out Mary Aaron’s face in the semidarkness, but she imagined that she saw her smirk with amusement.

“Where are you? What’s that noise? Are you in your hotel?”

“Not yet.”

“Exactly where are you, Rachel?”

“Conti Street. It’s quiet, well lit, mostly small hotels. Quite respectable.” She motioned to Mary Aaron and moved under the lighted marquee of a small hotel. This street was much quieter, with only a few people.

“It’s after dark.”

“We’re fine. We just walked down to Jackson Square.” Not a lie. They had just walked down nine or ten hours earlier. “You’re worried for nothing. There are people everywhere. It’s perfectly safe.”

“So you’re out sightseeing? At this time of night?”

“It’s New Orleans, Evan. It would be foolish to come here and not see anything. Have you found out where Hannah’s call came from?”

“Not yet. My guy said he could do it, but it would take time. I was just checking in with you.”

“That’s sweet of you,” she said. “You really don’t have to worry about us. I’m not going anywhere I feel uncomfortable or unsafe.”
And I’m not going back to Bourbon Street,
she promised herself. She wouldn’t have believed the party atmosphere if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, but as shocked as she’d been, she really hadn’t felt that they were in danger. It wasn’t her type of fun, but the crowds had seemed good-natured. “It’s really a beautiful city, so much history.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Okay, well . . . call us as soon as you hear from your friend, no matter what time it is.”

“And then what? You’re going to start wandering around New Orleans in the middle of the night?”

“Let’s not argue, Evan.”

“Are we arguing?”

“No, we’re not. You’re a peach to help me out.” She paused. “I know you didn’t want me to come, but I had to. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t and something bad happened to Hannah.”

“I couldn’t live with myself if something bad happened to you or to Mary Aaron.”

“It won’t. I promise you.”

“And if I’m right? If New Orleans is a strikeout?”

“Then we’ll get back on a plane and come home, none the worse for wear.”

“Okay. Just remember how you got into this. Something bad happened to Beth Glick.”

“How could I forget?”

Evan’s voice grew husky. “I’ll call as soon as I know anything. Take care.”

“You, too.”

Evan hung up, and she glanced at Mary Aaron. “I wasn’t dishonest, was I? About where we were?” She felt guilty, but not guilty enough to tell Evan that they’d been in the midst of Bourbon Street. He’d never let her live it down, and if Mary Aaron’s folks found out . . . She swallowed. If her father had any idea that she had been in such an area, it wouldn’t be pretty. But they had, and they’d come out with no harm done . . . yet.

“Who am I to judge you?” Mary Aaron shrugged. “We don’t always tell everything. Not even
Mam
tells
Dat
everything. Men would like to control us all the time, but we can’t allow that. Maybe we shouldn’t have gone onto Bourbon Street, but once we did, what good would it have done to tell Evan and frighten him?”

Rachel chuckled as she felt a rush of affection for her cousin. Every time she thought she knew everything about Mary Aaron, the young woman surprised her. “Are you sorry we did?”

“Ne.”
Mary Aaron sighed. “More foolish than evil, I think. We should pray for them, but Bourbon Street is not a good place for either of us.”

“You’re right. It isn’t.” They followed Conti to the next corner and then turned onto Canal. It had been a long day, and Rachel would be glad to climb into bed and get some sleep. They stopped in a small shop for frozen yogurt, ate it there, and then walked on to their hotel. The room was quiet, the beds made, and everything in order.

“Dibs on the shower,” Mary Aaron said. Rachel pulled a face. Mary Aaron threw a pillow at her, and they both laughed.

“I’m so glad you came with me,” Rachel admitted. “You’re good for me. You keep me grounded.”

Mary Aaron paused and glanced back. “And you showed me what it was like to fly.”

Their mood was suddenly serious. “I don’t want to lead you astray,” Rachel said. “The path I’ve chosen . . . it’s hard. Most of the time, I don’t know where I belong.”

Her cousin smiled. “Don’t worry about me, Rae-Rae. I know what I want.”

“I wish I did.”

They had slept maybe an hour when Rachel’s cell vibrated. She reached for it, knocked it off the nightstand, and groggily fumbled for it on the floor.

“Rachel?”

Her heart skipped a beat. It was the same voice. “Hannah?” She sat straight up in the bed. “Hannah, is that you?”

Mary Aaron sat up in the other double bed and turned on the light. “It’s Hannah?”

“I talked to the woman who answered your phone. Hulda.” The young woman slipped into Deitsch. “She said you were here and gave me your cell phone number. I can’t believe you came for me.”

“Where are you?” Rachel demanded.

“Can you come? Now?”

Rachel blinked, trying to clear the cobwebs of sleep from her head. She thought she could hear music, a clatter that might have been the sound of breaking billiards, and mingled voices in the background. Was this real or a dream? “Tell me where to come for you.”

“Where are you?” the girl asked.

Rachel named the hotel.

“On Canal?” Hannah asked. “I know where that is. I’m only eight, maybe ten blocks from you.”

“Can you tell me where you are?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m walking out now. Come and get me. You have to come now.”

Mary Aaron was up, throwing off her nightgown and pulling on her clothes. “It’s her? Tell her I’m with you.”

Rachel got out of bed. “Mary Aaron is here.” She started gathering her clothes. “Hannah?” She didn’t answer, but Rachel could still hear the background noise: a saxophone, a clink of glasses. “Are you there? Don’t hang up! Tell me where to meet you. We’re coming!”

Hannah’s voice was breathy. “Do you have a car? Tell me you have a car.”

“Yes, a rental.”

“Good. I’m so scared. If they find out that I’m . . .”

“Hannah?” There was only silence. Rachel dropped down onto the bed to pull on her shorts. “Don’t be gone,” she murmured.

Now there were street sounds, and the cell reception wasn’t as good. “I’m outside, now,” Hannah said. “Get your car.”

A horn blared. Someone shouted, “Watch where you’re walking!”

“Hannah?” Rachel said.

“I’m all right. I was crossing the street and . . . It doesn’t matter. Call me at this number if you don’t see me when you get there.”

“Where are you?” Rachel asked, frantically searching for her shoes under the bed.

“I think I can make it to Conti and Bourbon. Hurry!”

The connection broke.

“She wants us to come and get her now.” Rachel stared down at her cell. “She said to bring the car.”

Mary Aaron tied a blue scarf over her head and put her Bible back into her bag. Rachel hadn’t known she’d brought the scarf with her.

“Are we coming back to the hotel?” Mary Aaron asked.

“I don’t know. Take your things in case we aren’t.” Rachel finished dressing. She threw her pajamas into her suitcase. “She sounded desperate, said she was walking out now.”

“Walking out of where?”

Rachel shook her head. “I don’t know. I only know we have to get to her before she vanishes again.”

The elevator was empty; the single clerk at the front desk glanced curiously at them as they hurried by but didn’t question why they were headed out of the hotel at this hour with their suitcases. Rachel didn’t stop to give an excuse. They had her credit card number, and she’d already called ahead for valet service to bring her car.

“I don’t know if we can take the car on Bourbon,” Rachel told Mary Aaron. “Some of the streets were blocked off. I noticed when we were walking. I’ll get as close as I can, and then we can—”

“You stay with the rental. I’ll find her and bring her back.”

“You’d go alone?”

Mary Aaron laughed nervously. “Unless you want
me
to drive the getaway car.” She offered a rueful look. “Just because I have a driver’s license doesn’t mean I can actually drive.”

Finding their way the few blocks to where Hannah had promised to meet them seemed to take forever. A mist had rolled in, cloaking the streets, alleys, and buildings with a thick, hazy fog. There were still people on the streets, but all the figures were swathed in shadows so that one couldn’t tell if they were male or female, young or old. The air was thick and moist, still warm enough to bring beads of sweat to one’s forehead.

This was exactly what Evan had warned her against— doing something crazy. She was going out in the middle of the night to a seedy area to meet who-knew-who. What if this was some kind of setup and Hannah had someone else with her? What if it was Beth’s killer? And it wasn’t just her own safety; she might be putting Mary Aaron in danger. Rachel’s heart was in her throat, her pulse racing.

A bulky silhouette loomed out of the darkness and thumped the right fender of her car, making her catch her breath and Mary Aaron squeak in surprise. Laughing, the intoxicated man stumbled away. Rachel edged the vehicle ahead slowly. She couldn’t see more than a car-length ahead. “I’m not going to be able to get onto Bourbon. I’m not sure which way to go now.”

“Pull over,” Mary Aaron ordered. “Conti and Bourbon, it’s only a block that way.” She pointed. “I’ll go find Hannah and bring her to the car. You just have to wait for us.”

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

“
Ne,
but I’m doing it just the same. Hannah is my friend. If it was me, she wouldn’t let me down.”

Rachel signaled and pulled into an empty parking space along the street. “All right. But be careful.” She murmured a prayer under her breath as Mary Aaron dug in her bag and came up with her hairbrush. “What are you doing with that?”

“If a bad person comes after me, I’ll whack them over the head.”

“You’re going to fight off a mugger with a hairbrush?”

“
Ya.
It’s a heavy brush. I’m Amish, not stupid. Would I stand still and let a pig bite me? I would whack him with a shovel. I have no shovel, so the brush will have to do. You stay here, Rae-Rae. Lock the door. I’ll be back with Hannah in the flick of a lamb’s tail.”

“God willing,” Rachel murmured.

Mary Aaron got out of the car and in a few steps was gone. A minute passed and then another. Why had she let her cousin go alone? If anything happened to her, she would never forgive herself. She shivered as she watched the digital clock on the dash; she’d left the engine running. “I’m being silly. She’ll be back any—”

A shapeless form emerged from the gray haze, then divided into two. A few steps behind, another shape emerged. Then the shapes were running toward her. Rachel gasped, momentarily frozen. Then she flipped on the headlights.