Murder, Simply Stitched: An Amish Quilt Shop Mystery (11 page)

The bell rang and Trustee Farley Jung stepped inside the tea shop. I tried unsuccessfully not to wince. I wasn’t a fan of the head township trustee. “Good morning, ladies. What a pleasant surprise to see you up and about so early, Angela.”

“Good morning, Farley.” I gripped the plastic bag a little more tightly.

“So many visitors this morning,” Willow trilled. “What can I help you with, Farley?”

“I’m dropping off the itinerary for Friday’s meeting. I’ve made some adjustments to the agenda because of Wanda’s passing.”

“You are still going to meet even considering . . .” I trailed off, thinking if the meeting was postponed, I would have more time to study the world’s largest binder.

He frowned but didn’t look particularly broken up over his fellow trustee’s death. “Wanda was an excellent trustee, and she knew how important our work is for Rolling Brook. She would want us to go on as usual.” He frowned. “It won’t be easy. She was our point person on Miller’s factory plans. I will take over that portion from here on out. Also, as head trustee, I will have to appoint a trustee to take her place.”

I sidestepped around the tea table. “Looks like you two have official business. I will let you get to it.”

Farley stepped in my path. “Angela, there is no need for you to rush off.”

“Farley, would you like a cup of my new tea?” Willow asked.

I grimaced, and Farley appeared concerned at my expression. “I’m not thirsty at the moment, thank you.”

“Willow, I thought—”

She shook her finger at me. “Angie, we can always use a second opinion.”

It was time to make my exit. I didn’t want to be there when Farley started to gag. As much as the head trustee creeped me out, I didn’t wish Willow’s clove-laced tea on my worst enemy.

“Farley, you must try it. It’s pumpkin sweet potato tea, my own recipe with a special kick. I will grab you a teacup.” She hurried to the sideboard for another cup.

Farley looked panicked. “Willow, please don’t trouble yourself. I just brushed my teeth.”

She laughed. “That’s no reason to skip a cup of tea.”

He was doomed.

I slipped out the front door as he took his first sip. After which, he shoved an entire orange scone into his mouth.

O
utside, the rain picked up. I tucked the heavy binder under one arm and dashed across the street. Inside my shop, I found Oliver looking up at one of the high fabric shelves.

“Don’t tell me Dodger climbed up there,” I said. I removed my damp coat and placed the binder on the fabric-cutting table in the middle of the room. I peeked into the shelves while Oliver kept vigil. Dodger wasn’t in trouble. He was curled up in a ball, asleep on a stack of notions. “He’ll be okay there, Oliver. It’s best to let him sleep, remember?”

Oliver whimpered. Babysitting was serious work for the Frenchie.

I moved his dog bed from its spot by the window to under the shelf where Dodger slept. Oliver circled twice before settling down with his head on his paws.

I cleared the cutting table of everything except for the binder, which I removed from the plastic bag. I whistled as I flipped through the building codes that encompassed a hundred plus pages of tiny print. How would I even start? From the end, because those are the current rules, or from the beginning, to see how everything started?

A flash of lightning brightened the shop, followed by a low rumble of thunder. Oliver covered his eyes, but Dodger didn’t stir. I winced when I thought of the condition of the auction grounds. They would be a muddy mess. From May through October, Rolling Brook held auctions on Wednesdays and Saturdays. The rest of the year, it was on Saturday only. I hoped everything would be dried out by Saturday, or I wouldn’t be wearing my cowboy boots to the auction. I
needed
my boots for the auction.

I closed the binder. At that moment, I had to get the shop ready to open, even though I suspected the foul weather would keep the tourists away. At ten, I flipped the
CLOSED
sign to
OPEN
. A lone Amish buggy clomped up the street in the rain. I couldn’t see who it was because the buggy’s plastic side windows were snapped closed.

After the buggy went by, Mattie dashed across the street from the bakery. Despite her speed, her black cloak dripped onto the shop’s wide plank floor when she ran through the door. “I’m making a mess.”

“You’re fine. Tourists will track water in all day long if this rain keeps up. At least I hope they will. It’s better than the rain keeping them away.”

“The buses will still come,” Mattie promised.

As if on cue, a tour bus rolled up the street in the direction of the mercantile, typically the first stop in town. Buses parked there and passengers wandered down the street.

Mattie held up her cloak. “I’ll hang it in the bathroom until it dries out.”

When she returned from the bathroom, I asked, “What are you doing here?”

She froze. “Didn’t you want me to come in today?”

“Of course, I do, but I thought that you might have been needed at the bakery.”

She shook her head. “Both Rachel and Aaron are working at the bakery today.”

“They are?”

“Why are you surprised?” she asked.

“I dropped by the teahouse this morning, and Willow said that she didn’t think Aaron was there. She claimed that she usually saw him outside of the bakery in the early morning.”

Mattie frowned. “Aaron and Rachel didn’t arrive at the bakery until eight. The sheriff was at the farm interviewing them again.”

So while I was at the station signing my statement, Mitchell was at the Millers’ farm.

“They don’t need your help the rest of the day?”

She shook her head. “I think they don’t want me there. I irritate Aaron with my constant questions about what the sheriff asked.” She peered into the shelves above Oliver and saw Dodger. “You brought him today.”

“Oliver insisted. You know how he doesn’t like it when we leave Dodger home alone.”

She pursed her lips. “I hope he doesn’t claw any of the quilts like he did last time.”

“Keep an eye on him.”

She frowned. She didn’t mind working, but maybe kitten-sitting was something different.

“Since you are here, I might go out for a few hours.”

“Out where?”

“I want to talk to a few people about Wanda. I’m starting to realize I know very little about her. Maybe if I learn more about her, I can make sense of what happened and help your family.”

“
Danki
for caring for my family so much to do that.” She slipped behind the cash register, ready and willing to check out customers.

I smiled. “I’ll check in with the sheriff too. There’s a chance that Wanda’s death was simply a tragic accident. That could solve everything right away.”

Mattie folded her hands on the countertop. “I hope that is the case.”

“You and me both, but that still won’t solve the problems Aaron’s having with the township trustees over the pie factory.” I tapped the top of the ordinance binder with my fingers. “That’s where this comes in.”

“What is that?”

“The laws and ordinances for the township.”

“It’s huge.”

“I know, and I have to read it. I want to find a loophole for Aaron and his pie factory to slip through.”

She gnawed on her lip. “You know Aaron would not want you to do this.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t, but I doubt it has even occurred to him to use the English law to his advantage. From what Willow has said, the new ordinances don’t necessarily cancel out the older ones. There could be something there.” I grabbed my jacket and slapped my thigh. “Oliver, come.”

He looked up at his slumbering charge.

“He will be fine, Oliver. I will take good care of him,” Mattie promised.

The Frenchie barked at her as if to say “You’d better” before he trotted in my direction.

There was another flash of lightning and crack of thunder. Oliver yelped and dove under his dog bed. It didn’t cover him that well. His white bottom and stub of a tail stuck out.

“On second thought, can Oliver stay here with you too?”

She laughed. “I’ll take good care of them both.”

I thanked her and left the store with an umbrella. I headed north on Sugartree Street away from where the pie factory would be and in the direction of my car in the community lot across from the mercantile.

As I hurried passed the Millers’ Amish Bakery on the other side of the street, I saw Rachel inside at the bakery counter. She didn’t have any customers. That was unusual. Typically in the morning, there were customers lined up out the door. The bakery was a regular stop for many people in Holmes County, each and every morning. Was it the rain that kept the visitors and regulars away or the rumors surrounding Wanda’s death?

I
didn’t hesitate long as the rain continued to fall in a curtain. I jogged the rest of the way up the street. My sneakers splashed in the puddles gathering on the sidewalk. By the time I jumped into my SUV, my tennis shoes were soaked through. I wished I had another pair of shoes and socks in the car, but it wasn’t worth driving home for my feet to get soaked again.

I considered driving to the sheriff’s department to see if Mitchell had any news about Wanda’s death, but what was I going to say:
Hey, care to hand over the autopsy report?
That would never work. Then, I remembered that the auction house was closed. Maybe the rain would even keep Gideon and his staff indoors and I could visit the crime scene undetected. I drove straight there.

The auction grounds were on the edge of Rolling Brook township, which meant it still fell within the jurisdiction of the township trustees. Perhaps that’s why Wanda was there on auction day. Maybe she visited there as a trustee not just to read Rachel the riot act.

With my window wipers at the max, my car bumped over the grassy field that had served as the parking lot the day before. Yesterday, the field had been full with buggies and automobiles. Today, it was full of only mud.

If anyone was around, it would be pretty obvious I was there. There wasn’t anywhere to hide my car in the field, and my tire tracks dug deep into the muck. I had never been so happy to be an SUV owner in my life. I slipped out of my car. It was immediately obvious that carrying my umbrella was a futile activity as the rain came at me sideways.

Maybe visiting the auction grounds in the middle of the rainstorm wasn’t the smartest idea I ever had. But the rain couldn’t keep at this pace for long. The weatherman had said there would be isolated thunderstorms throughout the day. I didn’t remember anything about hurricanes cutting across Ohio’s farmland. I decided to make a run for the main auction barn and wait out the storm there.

As I crossed the grounds the only sound I heard was the constant rain on the barn’s aluminum roof and the squish of my shoes. I slipped into the auction barn and sighed with relief as I shook water from my clothes. The large barn felt hollow and cavernous with the absence of the auction visitors. With countless stalls there were also endless places to hide in the building. I shivered and wondered if running back to my car would be wise. I shook off my fears. It was only the wind and rain that made me jumpy. There wasn’t anything to fear in the auction barn. There wasn’t anyone there.

Baaa!
A bleat came from a far corner of the barn.

That was strange. I had assumed that all the farmers took their animals home after auction day.

Baaa!
The bleat came again.

I followed the sound.

Bang!
A stall door smacked against the wall and a goat ran toward me at full tilt. I turned in time for the goat to hit my side instead of my stomach. The impact knocked me to the ground.

I groaned and rolled onto my back. There would be a bruise, probably more than one. Petunia, the runaway goat, peered down at me.

Another face came into view. It was the stockier of the two boys I had seen with Reed the day before. “You all right?”

I sat up with a grunt. “I think I will live.”

“She didn’t mean you any harm. Head butting is how a goat says hello to a friend,” the Amish boy said. “She must like you.”

“Great,” I muttered.

The boy gave me a hand up. “You are the
Englischer
who wanted to talk to Reed yesterday. The auction is closed on Thursdays.”

“What’s Petunia doing loose out of her pen?” I asked.

“She’s Gideon’s goat. He’s raised her since she was just a kid. He lets her have the run about the property on nonauction days. She’s almost like a pet, but don’t tell him I said that.”

I was about to ask him why Gideon wouldn’t want Petunia to be called his pet goat when I noticed the second, much taller Amish boy.

“I saw you helping with the auction yesterday. Do you two work here?” I asked.

“Ya.”
The taller of the two boys said.

“What’s your names?”

“I’m Zeph,” the teen who had helped me up said. He pointed his thumb behind him. “And that’s Gabe.”

“Reed Kent works here too, right?”

“Ya,”
Zeph said.

“For how long?”

Gabe removed his black felt hat. “A couple of weeks, not that long.”

“How long have the two of you worked here?”

“About a year,” Gabe said. “Ever since we finished school.”

That put the boys at about fifteen, Reed’s age. The Amish finished school at the eighth grade. Again, I wondered why Reed hadn’t been in school yesterday. It was a Wednesday. Had he skipped school to work? Had Wanda known?

“Is Reed here now?” I asked.

They shook their heads. “We haven’t seen him since he left with the deputy.”

“So you haven’t spoken to him since yesterday.”

Zeph frowned. “We can’t get involved with
Englisch
troubles.”

“
Ya.
My
daed
wouldn’t like it.”

“But you two are friends with Reed.”

Zeph shrugged. “He had cigarettes.”

I frowned. “That’s the only reason you were friends with him.”

Gabe shrugged too. “He was okay for an
Englischer
.”

“Did he say why his mother sent him to Ohio?”

“He said it was because he stole a car.” There was a bit of awe in Gabe’s voice.

“He’s only fifteen. How could he steal a car when he can’t drive?”

“That’s what he said.” Zeph’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you here? There’s no auction today.”

It was a very reasonable question, which just so happened to be one I didn’t want to answer. “I’m looking for Mr. Nissley. Is he here?”

Zeph frowned as if my answer disappointed him. I’m not sure what he wanted me to say instead. I thought it was pretty genius.

“Ya,”
Gabe said. “I saw him walking to his house two minutes ago. He’s having Zeph and me muck out the auction pit where the animals were held for auction yesterday.”

Zeph grimaced. “It’s a mess after all those animals move through.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I can imagine,” I said, inching toward the door. “I’ll just go look for Gideon then.”

The two boys watched me go. Outside the barn, the rain had calmed to a miserable drizzle. It wasn’t until I was almost upon the canning shed that I realized I was being followed.

“Baaa!”
Petunia cried.

“You decided to come along, did you?” I asked.

She shook rainwater from her head and onto me. Not that it made much difference. I was already soaked.

“All right. You can join me, but none of that knocking over business, okay?”

“Baaa!”

Hmm. My conversations with Petunia weren’t all that different from many I’d had with my former fiancé. That should have been telling.

Police tape surrounded the canning shed. Even though I had discovered Wanda’s body outside of it, it appeared as if the sheriff decided to cordon the entire area off. And there was
a lot
of crime scene tape. I recognized Deputy Anderson’s handiwork immediately.

I bit my lip, wondering if I had gone far enough. My curiosity about what may be on the other side of the shed got the better of me. I stepped around the side and there was a blue tarp held above the ground with wooden stakes. I knew better than to pull up the tarp.

I peered down at my feet. I had already made a set of footprints on the perimeter of the canning shed. Uh-oh. I hoped the rain would wash them away. The sheriff would not be pleased if he knew I was snooping around his crime scene.

So Wanda came back here. Had she stepped back here to eat her fry pie in peace? Had she run into someone? Had she planned to meet someone? If she had been alone, then it was a tragic accident. Was Rachel’s fry pie really to blame?

Petunia came up next to me and proceeded to chew on the tarp.

“Hey, stop that!” I clapped my hands at her.

She peered at me with one horizontal-pupil eye as if to say, “Really? You think clapping is going to stop me?” She kept going.

I bent over and tried to pull the tarp away from her, but she had a good grip and fought me. “Petunia, let go. This is a crime scene. You’re not supposed to eat it.”

She let go, and I went flying back into the mud with a splash. Another bruise for the collection. By the end of the day, I would look like an Amish quilt.

She munched on the bit of blue tarp left in her mouth. I decided it was wise to let her keep it.

“
Eich!
Petunia, why did you have to go and eat that? Don’t I feed you enough?” the goat’s owner asked.

I scrambled to my feet to find Gideon at the corner of the shed. Even though the rain had slacked off, water dripped from the brim of his black felt hat.

Petunia swallowed the bit of tarp and strolled over to him as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

“Will she get sick from eating the tarp?” I asked.

He turned to me. “Aww, she will be all right. She’s eaten worse. I had to call the vet one time when she chewed through the barbed wire fence. Other than barbed wire, she can eat just about anything. I wouldn’t say it was
gut
for her, but it is hard to stop her when her mind’s made up.”

No kidding.

“You’re covered in mud. Did you take a tumble? The grass can be slick from the rain. You have to pay attention.”

“It was something like that.”

“The boys told me you were here and wanted to talk to me about something.” He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “I have to say that I’m surprised to see you back here. I didn’t think the sheriff wants anyone back here until he finds out what happened to Wanda.”

“I followed Petunia,” I lied.

Petunia turned her head and glared at me with her left eye. Something told me she would remember the fib.

“What did you want to ask me? Did you forget something yesterday? We always have folks coming back the next day after the auction, claiming they left something behind. Most times, I don’t have it. It’s that person’s job to keep their stuff together. I’m too busy to run a lost and found.”

“I . . . well . . .” My mind was blank.

He removed his hat and brushed the water off it before setting it back on his head. “You’re here about Wanda.”

I blinked at him. “How did you know that?”

“Everyone
Englisch
and Amish knows you solved Joseph Walker’s murder. Do you think you will solve this one too?”

“Do you think Wanda was murdered?” I asked.

His face hardened. The friendly Amish man was gone. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“Why did you hire Reed Kent?” I asked quickly. “That’s what I came here to ask you.”

Gideon removed a handkerchief from the back pocket of his trousers and wiped the rainwater from his face. I didn’t bother to clean up. The only thing that was going to get me clean was a power washer.

“I needed to find a replacement for my son Josiah, who used to help me as much as he was able, and Reed needed the work.”

“Where is Josiah now? Did he leave home?”

He scowled. “That is not your concern.”

Okay, touchy subject. Perhaps Josiah left the Amish community.

“Do you have any other children?”

“Nee.”

That was unusual. The Amish tended to have large families.

“Has Reed been a good employee?”

“He knows his way around horses,” Gideon said. “Horses are popular here at the auction. We always have some that are being auctioned off. It’s nice to have an experienced handler on the property.”

My brow wrinkled. “He lived in LA. What would he know about horses?”

“He can ride and had a horse back in California. From what I gathered, he worked at the stables to pay for his horse’s board. The kid knows his stuff. I put him through the paces with a few horses I had on hand before I hired him. I’m not hiring anyone who’s not comfortable with animals.”

“Baaa!”

Apparently, Petunia agreed.

“But he’s English,” I said.

He rested his hands on his belly. “So are you. What of it?”

“With so many Amish young men who would love to work here at the auction house and have horse training experience, why would you hire an English teen, especially one”—I paused, thinking of Reed’s semi-Goth attire—“who dresses so differently than the Amish?”

“So you think Amish and English should be separated. Don’t you have Amish working at your quilt shop?” he asked.

Suddenly, I realized how ridiculous my question must have sounded. “I’m sorry. I must sound horrible.”

He shrugged. “You are not the first person to ask me that question, nor will you be the last. I even had to answer to my bishop about it.”