Authors: Vannetta Chapman
“We all feel that way sometimes, sweetie.” Margie smiled, took her order, then handed her a receipt and change. “Don’t worry. It gets easier with time.”
“I’ve told her the same, Margie.”
They chose a booth near the window, looking out over the old train station. Callie pushed her large plastic shopping bag with SHOP SHIPSHEWANA emblazoned on the front across the seat.
“What’s in the bag?” Deborah asked.
“I had purchased some things for Max, then I found Daisy had most everything. It was all in a cupboard in her apartment.”
“You’re a very good niece—caring for her dog, taking over the shop …”
“The shop is still for sale,” Callie reminded her.
“I know. I’m just saying, I think Daisy would be proud of you.”
Callie didn’t speak for a moment, focusing instead on stirring the whip cream topping into her coffee while Deborah sipped her iced tea. Then she looked up, a grin splitting her face.
“Danki”
she said.
“And your mastery of the Amish language is truly amazing.”
“Next week I’ll teach you Texan.”
“Texas has a different language?” Deborah’s eyes widened, and Callie realized she could have a lot of fun with this.
“Absolutely.” She cocked her head sideways, then pointed to the music speakers which were currently sporting a wonderfully familiar George Strait tune. “Do those words make sense to you?”
“Not at all.”
“Texan. That’s what I’m talking about. Now, back to your kids. You’ve convinced me it’s not a problem for you to get away when you want.”
“No. It’s not. But then you might stop by and find me with ten
bopplin
instead of my usual five.”
Callie held up her hands, palms out. “Stop. I don’t even want to envision it. At this point, Max is the most I can handle.” She took a deep drink of the coffee and smiled in satisfaction. The coffee shop was becoming a place of refuge for her, country music and all.
“How would you like to help me out part-time in the shop?”
Deborah placed her napkin in her lap, seemed to choose her words carefully. “I’d love to, but I wouldn’t be dependable enough. While it’s true I can get away from the house often, other times I’ll have
bopplin
cutting teeth or one with a cold. Then I need to be home for a week at a time.”
Callie dug back into her salad. “I figured you might say that, but I also have realized I’m going to need some help.”
“You should hire one of the Amish girls in town. They’re very dependable.”
“Have anyone particular in mind?”
Deborah pulled a napkin toward her and began writing down names and phone numbers. “Remember those cousins I told you about?”
“Wait. How do they have phones?”
“Many are in their
rumspringa
and have cell phones, but we’re not supposed to know about it.”
“We?”
“Adults,
aentis, onkels,
parents.” Deborah pressed on. “These are
gut
girls though. They will be good employees for you.”
Callie stuffed the list into her purse.
“So what did you want to talk to me about?” Callie asked.
“Did you hear about the break-in at the
Gazette?”
“I did. Several people mentioned it yesterday, and the owner of Yesterday’s Pansies came over and talked to me about it this morning.”
“What did you think about it?”
“I didn’t, really.”
“Just seems a bit odd.”
“Probably someone heard the building was empty. Didn’t Stakehorn used to live out back of the place? Which is a little creepy since I live over Daisy’s Quilt Shop.”
“I wouldn’t worry, honey.” Margie set their sandwiches down in front of them. “I heard it was kids.”
“Ya,
that’s what Jonas thought too.” Deborah stared down at her sandwich.
“Should stop now that the new editor is in town.”
D
EBORAH’S GAZE
locked with Callie’s.
“New editor?” they asked at the same time.
“So I heard this morning.” Margie said. “My daughter saw it on someone’s Facebook page. Of course, I don’t use those things. I only use the internet to check my email and catch the news occasionally, but apparently someone knows someone who knows the brother of this person who’s coming. He was due to arrive this morning.”
Margie looked pleased with her bullet-proof information. Deborah waited until Margie had moved away before she leaned forward. “What are you thinking?”
Callie popped a mini muffin into her mouth. “We go see the new editor. We might be able to get that retraction.”
They sat smiling at each other as the noon-day rush began to pick up in The
Kaffi
Shop.
“Oh!” Deborah said. “More good news: Bishop Elam has allowed us to leave the three quilts on eBay. I don’t know if he’ll approve additional ones though. He’s still thinking on it.”
“First auction ends today.”
Deborah relaxed for the first time in weeks. The quilt sale could continue, Callie was staying—at least for now—and the
newspaper would soon be back in business. Maybe everything would return to normal. After they finished eating their meal, Callie dug around in her purse, apparently pulling out change for a tip. She didn’t see Shane Black pull up outside the little shop and get out of his Buick, but Deborah did, and she didn’t like the look on his face.
It was an expression she’d seen before.
The door to The
Kaffi
Shop opened. Black glanced around the booths, zeroed in on theirs, and began walking toward them.
“Callie—”
Callie zipped the change holder on her wallet shut. “What is it?”
“Mrs. Yoder. Miss Harper.”
Callie’s face froze the moment she heard Black’s voice, before she even looked up. Placing her wallet carefully in her purse, she pulled the strap over her shoulder, then turned toward him. “Officer Black.”
“I’m going to need you to come with me, Miss Harper.”
“Oh, no you don’t. We’re not doing this again.”
“I’m afraid we are, sweetheart. And it would be better if you don’t make a scene.”
“I’ll make a scene all right, because I’m not going with you. How did you even find me here? Are you following us now?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I asked around and folks saw you walking down Main.”
“I’m not going with you,” Callie repeated.
Deborah watched the exchange in horror, dread rising in her like a fever. She knew firsthand that arguing with Shane Black was pointless. One could win against him slowly, with other means, like water dripping against a rock … but when he showed up like this, bent on something, there was no changing his mind.
“Maybe you should go with him, Callie. I’ll get Adalyn.”
“No. I won’t do it.” Callie shook her head and scooted to the
far side of the bench, reminding Deborah of her oldest child Martha when she was younger and didn’t want to take her bath. “You can’t make me.”
Shane didn’t look away, didn’t appear embarrassed or perturbed, but he did lean forward slightly and lower his voice. “I can make you, Miss Harper, and I will if you insist. Do you want me to handcuff you and drag you out of here?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed, her face turning a bright red.
“I’d actually enjoy it.”
He had to jump back, she came out of the booth so quickly. “Well, don’t put yourself out, Officer Black. I wouldn’t want you to have to exert yourself.” Callie paused only long enough to toss her store keys to Deborah. Instead of going quietly, she stormed out of the shop, waiting by the back door of his Buick, looking as if she might kick the tires or begin slamming her purse against the windows.
Deborah noticed that several people walking by spoke to her, but Callie appeared not to hear. While Black was unlocking the door and waiting for her to get inside, Mr. Simms, the owner of The Deli, walked outside. Deborah heard him ask if everything was all right.
Shane told him to go back into his store. Then the officer drove away, toward the station.
Deborah grabbed her own bag and headed for the door.
“Why did he do that?” Margie demanded. “What was Shane Black thinking?”
“I don’t know. I need to run to Adalyn Landt’s office. She can help Callie. She’ll want to be at the station as soon as she can.”
“All right.” The woman began stacking dishes from their table haphazardly while still watching out the window.
Deborah was pushing her way out the door, when Margie called out to her. “Oh, wait. Callie forgot her shopping bag.” She dropped the dishes back onto the table with a clatter, picked up
the large shopping bag, and rushed toward the front door of the shop.
“Can you keep it for her? One of us will return to pick it up later.”
“Yes, sure. I’ll put it behind the counter. You come back when you can. And call me if you need anything—use the station phone.”
Deborah was on the street, eyeing the crowd that was still staring at Shane’s Buick, when she realized what Margie had just said. She turned and hurried back into the shop. “On second thought, could you call Adalyn for me? Her number’s in the book.”
“Absolutely.”
“Danki.”
Deborah reached up, making sure her
kapp
was firmly in place. She had the sense that things were moving quickly now, that she might miss something if she weren’t careful. “I need to go back to The Quilt Shop and check on Max, then get my buggy. If you could call Adalyn and tell her what happened, tell her Shane took Callie to the station. She’ll know what to do.”
“Of course I will. You go on, dear.”
Deborah walked back outside and straight into Mr. Simms, the owner of the deli. She had to pause and assure him that Callie would be fine.
“Why is Officer Black bothering her? He should be looking for the man who killed Stakehorn, and whoever broke into the newspaper on Friday night.”
“They’re saying it was just children who broke in, Mr. Simms.”
Mr. Simms swept the walk a little harder than was necessary. “Children would not know how to break into a business without busting the lock, now would they?”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“You go and help Miss Callie. The police should not be harassing the shop owners of Shipshewana.”
“Yes, Mr. Simms.”
Deborah hurried down the street, thinking that it seemed Callie had made quite a few friends in the short time she’d been in town.
The gawkers dispersed as she walked through the heat, hurried up the walk, and unlocked the door to Daisy’s Quilt Shop. She felt as if eyes were on her, but surely that was her imagination. Curiosity was natural; after all, it wasn’t every day that a person was picked up by Shane Black on the streets of Shipshewana.
At least the new editor would have plenty to write about.
He stood across the street milling among the group of people watching the short brunette get into the unmarked car with the cop.
“What a shame,” one of the dames with a bonnet on her head muttered.
“You know Callie Harper had nothing to do with killing Stakehorn.” This from a man with a long beard and a black hat like he had seen in an old movie once. These people all looked liked they stepped out of a Hollywood set. Why his boss had picked Shipshewana, Indiana, for the site was beyond him, but then it wasn’t his place to question the boss or his plan.
His place was to clean up the mess, and that was exactly what he meant to do.
“I was in Daisy’s Quilt Shop last Saturday. She’s fixed the place up as cute as ever.” This from a young woman who was at least dressed halfway normal, though she wore a doily on her head.
“Well, it might be cute, but it’s
different.”
The last word was pronounced by an old biddy as if it tasted poisonous.
The thought brought a smile to his lips.
He pretended to study his map of downtown merchants as the little crowd watched the vintage Buick drive slowly down Main Street.
“Different isn’t always bad, Thelma.”
“Say what you want, but in my opinion she had no right putting those quilts on the in-ter-net.” Thelma said
in-ter-net
as if it were three different words. Though she wasn’t dressed in old-fashioned clothes, obviously she’d never used Twitter or tweeted.
The BlackBerry in his pocket vibrated, but he ignored the text. It was more important that he listened to the local gossip.
“Wasn’t a crime to sell the quilts that way,” the man in the hat piped in. “Whether you agree with it or not.”
“No, I suppose it wasn’t.” Thelma sniffed and pulled her pocketbook closer to her side, as if she suspected someone of stealing it. No one had even glanced at him, but then he was standing under the shade of the tree, studying his map, supposedly ignoring them. “Folks who have strange ways, there’s no telling what they’re capable of.”
One or two seemed to agree with her. A few shook their heads as if they were tolerating her odd ideas, but they were exactly that—odd.
He wondered what they’d say if they knew who was standing in their midst, exactly what he was capable of and the things he had done.
They wouldn’t know though.
He’d clean things up, reclaim the boss’s package, and head out of town. They’d never be one bit wiser.
If the brunette took the fall, so be it.
The crowd began to disperse, so he walked on down the sidewalk, pretending to be interested in the wares offered in the various windows.
He’d heard and seen enough.
Time to call the boss.
Harper had taken a bag identical to the one he was supposed to pick up—large, plastic, with the words SHOP SHIPSHEWANA—into The
Kaffi
Shop.
A bag just like the one Stakehorn had found. If the man had handed it over, he wouldn’t have died, but apparently he’d decided to pass it off to someone else.
This Harper dame?
And now she’d given it to the owner of The
Kaffi
Shop. Maybe these people weren’t as backward as they looked. They recognized quality goods when they saw them. Knew a once in a lifetime opportunity when it showed up in their little town.
No doubt there were hundreds of bags exactly like it around Shipshewana, but he didn’t believe in coincidences. He’d seen Harper with Stakehorn.
Stakehorn had taken what belonged to the boss.
It was time for him to take it back.
He hadn’t found it in the
Gazette
on Friday night.
Tonight he’d try again.