“You’re hurting me.”

  He raised his brow. “Am I? Then maybe you’ll tell me what you know about Mr. Tuttle.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  He twisted Becca’s arm behind her back. His free hand closed around her throat. “Let’s go over this again. You were going to tell me where Mr. Tuttle kept his papers. Or maybe he mentioned computer files or an external hard drive.”

  “The Amish do not have computers, so I do not know what you are talking about.”

  He leaned close to her ear. “What do you know about? He had to have told you something.”

  She remained silent.

  “Come on, lady. Talk.”

  But she couldn’t talk because his hand was tight on her neck. She tried to scream. The effort took more air than she could muster. Her head spun, and her lungs burned. Her knees went weak.

  Debby Giusti is an award-winning Christian author who met and married her military husband at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Together they traveled the world, raised three wonderful children and have now settled in Atlanta, Georgia, where Debby spins tales of mystery and suspense that touch the heart and soul. Visit Debby online at debbygiusti.com, blog with her at seekerville.blogspot.com and craftieladiesofromance.blogspot.com, and email her at Debby@DebbyGiusti.com.

  Books by Debby Giusti

  Love Inspired Suspense

  Her Forgotten Amish Past

  Dangerous Amish Inheritance

  Amish Christmas Search

  Hidden Amish Secrets

  Smugglers in Amish Country

  In a Sniper’s Crosshairs

  Amish Blast Investigation

  Amish Witness Protection

  Amish Safe House

  Amish Protectors

  Amish Refuge

  Undercover Amish

  Amish Rescue

  Amish Christmas Secrets

  Visit the Author Profile page at LoveInspired.com for more titles.

  Amish Blast Investigation

  Debby Giusti

  For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

  —Luke 12:34

  This book is dedicated to

  Carol Rose

  A beautiful woman with a huge heart who not only cares for the aged and infirm but also provides support and encouragement for their families.

  God bless you, Carol, for your compassionate ministry to those in need.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dear Reader

  Excerpt from Fugitive in Hiding by Jenna Night

  ONE

  Rebecca Klein tucked a wayward lock of hair under her kapp and peered out the door of Zook’s Amish Bakery, where she worked. She had removed the last batch of morning pastries from the oven more than fifteen minutes earlier and had expected to see Mr. Tuttle waiting outside in his pickup truck when she placed the Open sign in the window.

  Ever since he had moved to Mountainside, Georgia, thirteen months ago, the kindly man had always been her first customer on Tuesday mornings, when she made raspberry jelly–filled doughnuts, which he claimed were his favorites. Normally she wouldn’t have been overly concerned by his late arrival, except last Tuesday he had seemed unsettled and preoccupied.

  Trying to ignore the ominous feeling that something was wrong, she grabbed a damp cloth and wiped the counter, then sighed with relief when the crunch of tires over gravel alerted her to his arrival.

  He pulled his red pickup into the lot and braked to a stop. With his gray beard, bushy brows and long hair pulled together at the nape of his neck, Arnie—as he had told her to call him—looked scruffy and dirt-poor. A fact her brother, Daniel, frequently mentioned.

  “He’s a recluse, for sure,” she had to admit. Mr. Tuttle rarely ventured into town and seemed content to hole up in his cabin farther up the mountain, yet no matter what her brother thought about Mr. Tuttle, she saw beneath the scruff to the twinkling eyes and warm smile.

  Arnie stepped to the driveway, his adorable beagle, Sadie, at his heels. “Stay here, girl,” he told his pup, who dutifully settled on to a swath of grass at the side of the bakery and watched as he entered the shop.

  “Morning, Becky.”

  She smiled at his insistence on using the unaccustomed nickname, which he said fit her.

  “You and Sadie are running a bit behind schedule today, yah?” She reached for a mug and filled it with the fresh brew.

  He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that made her smile even more. “Sadie and I got a late start leaving the cabin.”

  She placed two jelly-filled doughnuts and the large mug of coffee on the counter and arranged the cream pitcher and sugar bowl next to his napkin.

  “Breakfast smells mighty fine.” He inhaled deeply and settled on to the bar stool. “As I’ve mentioned before, your doughnuts are the best I’ve ever eaten.”

  Her face flushed with the praise. “You’ll have me filled with pride, which is not the Amish way.”

  “Nothing wrong with hearing the truth when you do a good job.” As was his custom, Arnie scooped two spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee, stirred the hot brew and added cream. He raised the mug, took a sip and smacked his lips. “Best coffee ever.”

  “It is fortunate the Amish farmers do not come for coffee before midmorning. They would say this job and especially your kind words are causing my head to swell.”

  “I don’t understand the Amish way of ignoring those who do well.” He rubbed his beard. “Another thing I don’t understand is why young Amish men aren’t lined up outside begging to court you.”

  Her cheeks warmed even more. “I have not yet accepted baptism, which is a problem for some.”

  Arnie arched a brow. “You’re not sure about remaining Amish?”

  She shrugged. “I am questioning the direction of my life.”

  “An excellent baker and a woman who knows her mind.” Arnie chuckled as he bit into the doughnut. “Where did you get that determination, Becky? From your mother?”

  “Perhaps. My father said she could be headstrong as well.” Becca filled a small ceramic bowl with water. “I have a treat for Sadie, along with a drink.”

  “Wait—” Arnie held up his hand. “I want to give you something.”

  He dug in his coat pocket and pulled out a small leather-bound book in a zippered case. “Take this.”

  She glanced at the embossed cross on the well-worn cover. “Is this your Bible?”

  He nodded. “It has everything you need to know within its pages.” He pursed his lips and glanced down as if embarrassed by the confusion he, no doubt, read in her gaze. “I’m going out of town and wanted to ensure you had the Bible before I left.”

  She raised her brow. “You’re leaving Mountainside?”

  “Only for a few days.”

  Glancing at the sweet puppy outside, she asked, “What about Sadie?”

  “She’ll go with me.”

  “And your cabin?”

  He pulled in a breath. “If something happens—”

  A thread of concern tangled along Becca’s spine. “What are you saying?”

  Arnie held up his hand. “I’m not expecting any problems, but—”

  He pushed the Bible into her hands. “There’s a person I want you to call if I don’t come back by the end of the week. His name and phone number are written on the inside cover. You’ll find a spare key to the cabin taped to the back of the Bible.”

  She clutched the small book to her heart. “I will pray you return quickly so I do not need to call your friend.”

  “He’s more than a friend. He’s my son, although I haven’t seen Luke-boy since he was a little tyke.”

  Becca read the pain in the older man’s eyes and the slump of his shoulders as, once again, he stirred his coffee, no doubt thinking of the lost years. “I am worried about your safety.”

  He offered her a weak smile. “I’ll be fine, but remember to contact my son, and don’t tell anyone about this conversation. Keep the Bible and Luke-boy’s information between us.”

  “But—”

  “One more thing, Becky. It’ll come out soon enough. My real name is Andrew Thomas. Folks call me Andy, but again, that’s something I’d like you to keep to yourself.”

  Perplexed by the information he had provided and unsure as to why he had used an alias, she was even more concerned about his well-being.

  Arnie—or Andy—glanced out the door, where his dog whined. “Sadie looks like she’s ready for that treat. You spoil her, Becky.”

  “I’ll put the Bible in the basket on my bike for safekeeping, and I will do as you ask if you do not return
within the week. I will also pray for your safety.”

  For some unknown reason, a lump formed in her throat and she blinked back tears. She blamed it on her still-raw grief over her father’s death five months ago and her own confusion about her future. Yes, she longed to know more about the Englisch world, but she also wanted the peace and stability of the Amish life. To say she was conflicted was an understatement.

  Steeling her resolve and hoping Andy didn’t notice her emotional struggle, she hurried outside and placed the bowl of water on the patch of grass near Sadie. The pup licked at the cool liquid, then wagged her tail and waited patiently as Becca held out the dog biscuit.

  “You’re a bravver hund, a gut dog.” She handed the dog the treat.

  Her bicycle was propped against a nearby tree. She tucked the Bible into the zippered pouch attached to the seat and patted Sadie. The sweet beagle was enjoying her biscuit and continued to wag her tail in gratitude for the treat.

  Becca walked back to the bakery and climbed the porch steps, still heavyhearted about the information Mr. Tuttle—aka Thomas—had just provided.

  A whoosh sounded, and a deafening roar rocked the bakery. Flames burst through the door, along with a blast of hot air that blew her down the stairs and sent her sprawling onto the gravel lot. For the briefest moment, she smelled the caustic scent of gasoline.

  Her heart pounded, and her mouth went dry. She struggled to stand, then, seeing the growing inferno, she stumbled up the stairs. “Arnie! No!”

  The wooden structure was engulfed in flames. She reached for the doorknob that was already hot to the touch and yanked it open. Heat enveloped her and sucked the oxygen from around her. She pushed through the entrance, only to be thrown back by another explosion. Windows shattered and shards of glass sprayed through the air.

  The owner of the produce store across the street ran toward her. “Becca, are you hurt?”

  She grabbed Elizabeth’s hand. “Help me save Mr. Tuttle.”

  “Ack, no! He was inside?”

  Becca started for the bakery again.

  Elizabeth caught her by the shoulders and held her back. “The fire is spreading. There is no way—”

  Becca’s ears rang from the explosion, drowning out the rest of Elizabeth’s statement. The reality of the situation engulfed Becca just as the flames engulfed the one-story wooden bakery. She collapsed into her friend’s arms and sobbed. Elizabeth tried to console her, but Becca was overcome with grief and shock as the inferno blazed.

  Sirens screamed in the smoke-filled air and drew closer.

  Firetrucks from the nearby station, followed by the sheriff’s car, pulled into the lot. All around them firefighters unrolled hoses and pumped water on to the blaze.

  “Get back,” a sheriff’s deputy warned.

  Elizabeth wrapped her arm tightly around Becca and ushered her toward the produce market. “We will wait in my store.”

  Still dazed, Becca wiped her eyes, called to Sadie, and both of them followed her friend inside, then huddled near the window. Becca watched in dismay as the firefighters battled the blaze. When the fire was controlled, the door to the store opened.

  “Ma’am?” The sheriff touched her arm. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  She explained about going outside to give Sadie a biscuit. “An explosion, then fire.” The memory swept over her. “I... I tried to save him.”

  Tears once again burned her eyes.

  “Did anything seem abnormal this morning?”

  “Abnormal?”

  “Did you hear anything unusual or smell anything that might be suspect?”

  “I only smelled the pastries I pulled from the oven and the doughnuts that fried on top of the stove.”

  “A propane stove, correct?”

  She nodded. “The appliances run on propane. The tank sits behind the kitchen.”

  “Has anyone tampered with the tank recently?”

  “Tampered?” She shook her head. “Not that I know of. What are you saying?”

  “I’m just gathering information. The fire marshal will make the final determination.” He jotted a note on a small pad of paper.

  “Wait. There is something.” She rubbed her forehead. “A whiff of gasoline. Just after the explosion.”

  He made another notation.

  “Did...did you find—” A lump had remained lodged in her throat since the explosion, and her eyes burned from the hot tears that mixed with the acrid smoke in the air.

  He nodded as if understanding the question she struggled to ask. “The medical examiner is here. An autopsy will be done.” The sheriff rubbed his chin. “Anything you can tell me about the victim?”

  “His name is—” She hesitated for a moment. “His name is Arnold Tuttle. He came to the bakery on Tuesday mornings, early. I bake jelly-filled doughnuts.” Swiping a hand over her cheek, she added, “Those were his favorite.”

  “Do you know of any next of kin?”

  “He never mentioned a name.” She thought of the Bible and what was written on the inside cover that she had promised never to reveal.

  The sheriff turned away to answer a query from one of his deputies who had followed him inside. Turning back to her, he asked, “You live with your brother?”

  “Yah, Daniel Klein. On Lower Mountain Road.”

  “One of my deputies will take you home.”

  Becca shook her head. “I have my bike.”

  “What about your hand, ma’am? It looks like you were burned.”

  Glancing down, she saw the raised red welt on her palm but felt no pain.

  Numb. She was totally numb.

  The sheriff continued to talk. His lips moved, but she wondered if she’d remember anything about their conversation when she got home today. All she could think of was Mr. Tuttle.

  “The EMTs should look at your hand,” the sheriff repeated.

  Again, she shook her head. “I must get home. That is, if you have no more questions.”

  The sheriff pointed her to the door. “I know where to find you if I need additional information.”

  With Sadie at her heels, Becca hurried outside, eager to escape the stench of burning embers. Her bike had fallen to the ground, most likely during the explosion. She gingerly grabbed the handlebars, righted the bicycle and settled on to the seat.

  The ride home had never seemed so long. Her brother was in the distant pasture when she turned into the drive. Sadie trotted behind her. The sweet pup seemed as downcast as Becca felt.

  She parked her bike near the barn and unzipped the pouch. Arnie’s words played through her mind. Contact my son.

  Perhaps she should have told the sheriff, although Arnie had asked her to keep the information to herself. Now that he was gone, she wondered if secrecy was still important.

  Removing the Bible from her pouch, she let out a soulful sigh and opened the front cover, seeing a name and a number just as he had told her. Two keys were taped to the back inside cover: one the size of a standard door key, and a second one that was much smaller.

  Her brother kept a cell phone in the barn for business purposes. She retrieved the cell from his workbench and punched in the number.

  “Luke Snyder,” a deep voice answered. “How may I help you?”

  She pulled in a fragile breath. “My...my name is Becca Klein. A man gave me your name and number this morning. He said I should contact you if something happened to him.”

  “Is this a prank phone call?” He sounded angry.

  “I wish it were so, but Arnie Tuttle told me to call you if—”

  “Look, lady, I don’t know anyone by that name. Next time, think what you’re doing before you play your manipulative games.”

  “But...it is not a game.” Realizing she needed to use Arnie’s real name, she rephrased the question. “Do you recognize the name Andy Thomas? He said...he said Luke-boy was his son.”

  “What?”

  Perhaps Andy had imagined his connection to the confused man on the other end of the line.

  Becca was confused as well.

  “Did you say ‘Luke-boy?’”

  “Yah, this is what he told me. His son, Luke-boy.”

  “Why didn’t Mr. Thomas call me himself?”

  “Sir, I hate to tell you—” The words lodged in her throat. Her eyes burned. She had cried so much.