Murder, Simply Stitched: An Amish Quilt Shop Mystery (2 page)

“C
an you show me where?” I asked Emma.

She nodded and led me around the other side of the barn to the poultry tent.

Oliver ran this way? Toward the birds? I bit the inside of my cheek. He must really have been frightened by Petunia.

To my relief, Emma passed to a third penned section of grass, which was a rough eight-by-eight-foot square. At least thirty baby rabbits with puffy tails and floppy ears squatted inside of it in a circle around my dog.

Oliver cowered in the middle of the bunnies, which was the only place I couldn’t reach him while outside the pen. The bunnies surrounded him like a velvet-soft ring of protection, and even though they looked sweet and cute, I was wary of entering their domain. They took in Oliver under their collective paw, but would they feel the same way about me?

One of bunnies stood between Oliver’s two front paws. It was ridiculously cute, and I could not resist whipping my phone out of my pocket and snapping a few photographs.

Emma folded her arms. “What are you doing?”

“Just taking some pictures.”

“Why? Can’t you remember this?”

I paused.
Couldn’t I remember this?
Of course, I could remember it, but I didn’t know if I could describe it, and I planned to describe it a lot. When would Oliver ever be in this predicament again? I hoped for his sake the answer was never.

I slid the phone back into my jacket pocket. “Oliver. Come.”

He didn’t move. The ears of the bunny in front of him flexed.

I sighed. “I’m going to go in there.”

“With the rabbits?” Emma asked. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Why not?” I asked with one leg suspended in the air about to step over the three-feet-high fence.

She shrugged. “You’ll find out.”

I frowned. Maybe Emma had some of the twins’ mischief streak. I stepped over the low fence into the pen.

Soundlessly, the bunnies charged and bounced off my dusty jeans and cowboy boots.

I stumbled back. “Hey. Cut that out!”

They regrouped and charged again. It was like a white, tan, and gray wave of fluff. One bunny sank her teeth into the pant leg of my jeans. “Hey. Who are you? Bunnicula?”

I leaned over and picked up the tiny rabbit, which fit in the palm of my hand. He kicked his powerful back legs, and his long nails scraped the skin on the heel of my hand. I held the kicking bunny over the fence to Emma. “Will you hold this one?”

“No way. He’s a biter. Rabbit bites hurt.”

Bunnicula tried to contort his body so he could get another piece of me with his razor-sharp bunny teeth. Emma was right.

A cat carrier sat in the corner of the pen. The door was open, and hay lay inside of it. Clearly this was the bunnies’ shelter from the weather. I placed Bunnicula in the crate and closed it. Oliver and the other rabbits watched me with interest.

“Oliver, come.”

Again he didn’t move. He liked the bunny ring. It was good to know that he wasn’t afraid of rabbits, or at least not baby rabbits. That was something to cross off his neurosis list.

I glanced over at Emma. The serious girl was smiling. She frowned when she caught me looking.

Now what did I do? I was afraid to walk over to Oliver, who hadn’t moved an inch, because I might step on the bunnies. “Oliver, come here.”

He covered his nose with his forepaw.

The bunnies charged again. This was ridiculous.

Ezra and Ethan appeared from around the side of the poultry tent. Apparently, Jonah and Anna hadn’t been successful in tracking them down. When they saw the bunnies bouncing off my legs, they fell into the grass in a fit of giggles.

I glowered at them. “Can you two help me out instead of rolling in the leaves?”

They scrambled to their feet. “What do you want us to do?” Ezra asked. Or was it Ethan who asked? I could never tell the two apart.

“Distract the bunnies so I can grab Oliver. They’re so small, I’m afraid I might step on one of them.”

The boys’ eyes twinkled as they hopped over the fence. Immediately, the bunnies did an about-face and charged the new intruders. Who needed a guard dog when there were baby rabbits around?

I gingerly stepped across the pen and put my hands on my hips as I glowered at Oliver. He still had his paw over his face. “Oliver.”

He dropped his paw and toddled toward me. I picked up the Frenchie. “Are you okay?”

He gave me his best “poor me” expression.

I stepped over the fence. “Maybe bringing you to the auction was a mistake.”

He licked my face.

Ethan waved his arms. “Angie, aren’t you going to help us get away from the bunnies?” A bunny hung by her teeth from the cuff of his trousers. Those would need mending.

“If you can let Petunia out of her pen, you can find your way out of a bunny yard.”

“You’re going to leave us here?” Ezra squeaked. A bunny gnawed on his black shoelace.

I nodded. “Yes, yes, I am.” I walked to the merchants’ tent. The boys’ protests followed me all the way.

Emma ran up along beside of me. “That was so funny. Ethan and Ezra aren’t used to being left behind.”

I bit my lip. “Maybe I should go back and help them get away from Bunnicula’s brood.”

“Bunnicula?” she tested the word.

I didn’t bother to explain the story of the vampire bunny. Jonah’s conservative wife would frown on it, and I was already on her blacklist as it was. “Should I go back?” I asked.

“
Nee.
The boys will be fine. They were only teasing you when they said they didn’t know how to get out of there.” She skipped away much happier than I had ever seen her. It must be tough being the twins’ older sister.

Outside of the tent, I set Oliver on the ground and removed his leash from my pocket and clipped it on him. He gave me his best pitiful face again. Oliver did not like being on a leash unless we were on a walk.

“It’s the best way for me to keep track of you,” I said.

Inside the merchants’ tent, Mattie Miller, my quilt shop assistant, straightened a pinwheel-patterned quilt on the quilt rack. Actually, she was making it more crooked as her mind was elsewhere. Her attention was on the Miller Amish Bakery table across the aisle, catty-corner to our tables.

In front of the bakery’s long folding table, Wanda Hunt, a heavyset English woman and Rolling Brook township trustee, shook her thick index finger at Mattie’s sister-in-law and my closest friend since moving back to Ohio, Rachel Miller. Rachel was eight years younger than I am but already the mother of three boys. Wanda’s sequin-encrusted pantsuit stood in stark contrast to petite Rachel’s plain blue dress and white apron. “You need to talk some sense into your husband. His plan threatens the integrity of the township.”

The integrity of the township?
That sounded bad.

Rachel smiled at Wanda, but her typically smooth forehead puckered. At the far end of Rachel’s table, an English shopper frowned at the conversation and set the blueberry fry pie she’d selected back on Rachel’s table before walking away.

Oliver crawled under the quilt shop’s table. He’d had his fill of excitement for the morning. With my dog hiding and Mattie looking as if she may faint dead away just from witnessing a disagreement, any intervention was up to me.

I brushed more dirt off of my sleeve and stepped across the aisle. “What’s going on?”

“I’m glad you are here, Angie.” Wanda’s mouth fell open. “What happened to you? You’re covered in dust.”

“I had a run-in with a goat,” I said, hoping Wanda would leave it at that.

She sniffed. “How unfortunate.”

She was telling me.

Wanda pursed her lips. “Can you please talk some sense into Rachel? She seems to think her husband has every right to open a
factory
on Sugartree Street.” She said factory like she uttered a swear word she wasn’t completely comfortable saying.

I stared at her. “Why would I do that?”

She huffed. “Be-because it’s a terrible idea.”

“Why?”

Wanda threw up her hands, and several sequins went flying. “It will ruin the integrity of the township.”

“You already said that once, but what does it mean?”

“Rolling Brook is an Amish town and needs to keep a certain look to attract visitors. An ugly factory will ruin the look.” She straightened. “It will make a mess. There will be delivery trucks going through town. There will be noise.”

I stepped back to avoid any more flying sequins. “Aaron cares about the town. He wouldn’t let his business hurt it. You should be happy about this. Think of all the tax revenue it will bring Rolling Brook.”

Wanda’s collection of rings caught the sunlight pouring in from the open end of the tent as she placed her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe you’re taking their side about this.”

“The Millers are my friends; of course I would take their side. Besides, your argument doesn’t make sense to me. When I first moved here, the trustees were all upset the Amish didn’t want to have an English festival in town. Now you are upset because Rolling Brook isn’t Amish enough?”

“That situation was completely different. The Watermelon Fest was a strategy to bring more tourists to Rolling Brook. The Amish should have seen that. It was a onetime thing. Tourists are attracted to Rolling Brook because it’s an Amish town and has an Amish look to it. A factory pumping black smoke out of its chimneys at the end of the street will ruin that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Wanda, it’s a pie bakery not a nuclear power plant.”

“A what?” Rachel asked.

I shook my head slightly.

Wanda wouldn’t budge. “When tourists visit Rolling Brook, they want a peaceful and quiet place to recharge and enjoy. They don’t want anything that reminds them of their city lives. A factory will.” She folded her arms, and the glittery bangles on her wrist clanked together. “Angie, I would think you would be on the trustees’ side. This factory will impact your business at Running Stitch too. The tourists will stay away and seek more authentic Amish towns in Holmes County to buy their quilts and notions.”

Rachel frowned. “My husband’s pie factory would not do any of that. He would never do anything that would hurt the township like that.”

I smiled at her and was happy to see her standing up for herself for once. I knew that was difficult for her to do. It was not the Amish way for a wife to fight her husband’s battles.

Wanda snorted as if Rachel’s words had no bearing. “Anyway, a factory, ugly or otherwise, will ruin everything for the township. How can we compete with Charm and Berlin when we have a factory at the end of the street? Your loyalty to your friends is admirable, but you need to think about your business, Angie.”

I wasn’t buying her argument. “Lots of tourists visit Amish Country for the pies and other pastries. It may actually attract more visitors. You need to see it as an asset.”

Wanda dismissed my comment with a wave. “You haven’t been here long enough to know what the tourists want. I won’t hold your naïveté against you when I report back to the trustees.”

I gritted my teeth. “Aaron has a right to grow his business even if it is on Sugartree Street as much as any of the Amish and non-Amish shopkeepers do. I don’t see you complaining to Willow Moon about the Dutchman’s Tea Shop in the middle of town. It’s not exactly Amish.”

Wanda frowned. “We have worked extremely hard to make Rolling Brook have a particular appearance. A factory of any kind at the end of Sugartree Street will destroy that. Mark my words.”

I snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”

From the expression on Wanda’s face, clearly I said the wrong thing. “There are plenty of other places in Rolling Brook where he could build the factory, places where the tourists don’t go.”

“He wants to give factory tours. Many of the cheese factories do that,” Rachel said.

Wanda scowled. “I see we’re not going to come to an agreement with this. Your family leaves me no choice. I will have to ask Head Trustee Jung to enforce our zoning and building ordinances. I really didn’t want it to come to this, Rachel, but Aaron has brought this on your family.”

I folded my arms. “What zoning ordinances?”

Wanda’s expression was smug. “There are township ordinances that must be followed and enforced. The factory your husband plans does not meet them.”

“What are they?” I persisted.

“There are ordinances that limit the size of the structure and the number of employees a business can have. It’s all spelled out in the ordinance. I’m sure Trustee Jung will give Aaron a copy when he visits the bakery today.”

“How did I not know about this?” My temper flared. “I have a business in Rolling Brook too.”

“Oh, Angie, your tiny quilt shop is nowhere near being in violation.”

Rachel twisted the edge of her apron in her hands. “What do you mean by today? You said that Trustee Jung would visit the bakery today.”

“I asked Trustee Jung to give me one more chance to talk you into changing your mind. It would be much easier if that happened than have the unpleasantness of delivering cease and desist papers to your door.”