Murder, Handcrafted (Amish Quilt Shop Mystery) (24 page)

T
he day after Eban held Mattie and me hostage in Running Stitch was a Sunday, so at least the shop was already closed regardless of whether or not I had a front window. Early that morning, Oliver and I went into the shop to clean up. I sighed as I unlocked the door, turned on the lights, and surveyed the mess. I left the front door wide-open. In the morning light, I was relieved to see that nothing was seriously broken other than the front window, of course.

Before we left the night before, Mattie and I had swept up most of the glass, and Old Ben had come down the street from his woodshop with a large piece of wood to cover the worst of the broken window.

I grabbed a broom and began to sweep just in case there was a speck of glass that we might have missed.

Jonah walked through the open door, holding a casserole dish in his hands.

“Jonah?” I asked. “What are you doing here? It’s Sunday. Shouldn’t you be in church?”

“Oh, Angie,” he smiled. “Do you not remember the
passage in Luke when Jesus was in the home of a Pharisee on the Sabbath and cured an ill man? The Pharisees thought Jesus should not heal on the Sabbath Day, but Jesus told them it was like rescuing an ox that had fallen into a pit on the holy day. Some work must be completed on the Sabbath out of necessity.”

“I must have missed that one,” I said.

He chuckled. “To
Gott
, I think fixing your window would qualify as an ox in the pit.”

I smiled, and nodded at the dish in his hand. “And what would God say about that?”

“Oh, this? It’s breakfast casserole. Miriam asked me to bring it to you.”

“Miriam did?” I whispered.

“Ya.”
His smile widened. “She and I are both so grateful for what you did. You put your life at risk to prove my innocence.”

I took the casserole from his hands and set it on the cutting table. “Please thank Miriam for me.”

“Miriam says you are welcome in our home anytime.”

I blinked back tears. “I’m glad. How is Eban?” I asked.

“The doctors say he will be all right. Most of his cuts were minor. It could have been much worse for him. When he’s released from the hospital, the deputies will take him straight to the county jail.”

“I’m glad that he’s going to be all right. I still sort of like him. If his life had gone differently, I truly believe he would have been a different person.”

He broke eye contact. “I need to ask your forgiveness, Angie. If it hadn’t been for me, none of this would have happened. I was the one who brought Eban Hoch
into our lives. If it had not been for me, he would not have come at all.”

I shook my head. “If it had not been through you, Jonah, Eban would have found another way to kill Griffin. He was so bitter over what happened to his family.”

Jonah looked down. “I am ashamed to say that I understand how he felt. You know I idolized Kamon because he was brave. He saw the world not as a litany of rules passed down by our church leaders but as an opportunity. For Kamon, anything was possible. I think that was why I was so affected by his death. When he died, those possibilities for me died with him and were buried along with him in his grave.” He took a breath. “That’s where I was the morning Griffin died, after I dropped the drunken man off in Millersburg and before I went to your parents’ home.”

“Where?” I asked.

“Kamon’s grave. I just had the yearning to visit it again after seeing Griffin. I know Kamon isn’t there. I know he’s not on this Earth, but I felt I needed to be there. I had to tell my cousin that it was time to let my anger over his death go. Seeing Griffin showed me that.”

“Why didn’t you tell Mitchell this?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

He shook his head. “No one was there. No one saw me, so it didn’t matter if I told the police where I was or was not. It was too private. I didn’t want it to become some part of English law and record, to be recorded and be asked about over and over again.”

I tightened my grip on the casserole dish. “Thank you for telling me now.”

He nodded. “I know Miriam has been unkind to you. That is my fault. When Kamon was alive, I had once thought—”

I shook my head. “Jonah, that’s all in the past. Don’t say whatever it is because it’s no longer true. We’re both different people now who are happy with our lives.” I paused. “I’m happy and grateful to be your friend. That’s more than enough.”

He smiled. “I am glad, my friend, so very glad.” He cleared his throat. “I should get to work replacing that window. I have a pane of glass in my wagon.”

As Jonah replaced the window and I cleaned up more broken glass, there was a knock on the door. I set my broom against the fabric shelves and opened the door to find Linda standing there with an enormous roaster in her hands.

“This is for you,” she said.

I took it from her and set it on the cutting table. “Thank you.”

She nodded at the roaster. “There’s a full chicken in there, roasted with lemon, rosemary, and other herbs. It will make a nice Sunday meal for you.”

“I’m sure it will. Jonah’s wife sent over a casserole, so I’m all set. I’m just not sure I’ll be able to eat it all.”

The chicken smelled heavenly. Oliver was already circling the cutting table as if he was in a remake of
Jaws
and he was the shark.

“I assumed that you would share it with Zander and the sheriff.”

“I will,” I promised.

She smiled. “I’m glad. I can’t stay,” she said quickly.
“The cook is holding down the diner while I’m gone. He can only take pouring coffee for so long before he wants to run back to the kitchen.”

I laughed.

“I just want to say thank you for all you’ve done.” She patted her beehive as if to make sure it was still intact. “The chicken was the least I could do. I spoke with Blane last night, and we’re planning a small memorial service for Griffin next week. I would like you to be there and bring the sheriff.”

“We’ll both be there,” I said. “And you and Blane will be seeing more of each other?”

“I’m hopeful.” She gave a small smile. “Cameron starts working in the diner as a busboy next week. He wants to save up money to go out to Hollywood.”

“Blane is okay with that?” I asked.

“He didn’t forbid it.” She smoothed the sleeve of her waitressing uniform. “It’s a start.”

“A good start.” I gave her a hug.

After Jonah and Linda left, it didn’t take me long to put the shop back in order. I stood in the middle of Running Stitch, happy to see there was no indication of the violence that had happened there the day before.

Oliver woofed and waddled to the front door just in time to meet Tux there. Mitchell and Zander followed their dog inside. The two dogs and boy bound through the shop and out the back door into the garden.

Mitchell stood in front of me. “I thought we’d come by and help you clean up, but it looks like you have the job well in hand.”

“Jonah was here earlier. He fixed the window. I should be open tomorrow.”

“I have no doubt that you will.” He cleared his throat. “I can’t believe I wasn’t here for you yesterday.” His jaw twitched.

I touched his cheek. “You were saving lives on the other side of the county. That’s important.”

He covered my hand with his. “You’re more important to me, and there’s something I have to tell you.”

“What is it?” I dropped my hand.

Before he could answer, the shop door opened again and a fit-looking and very tan older couple walked inside.

“What a charming shop you have,” the woman said. Her eyes were the same unique blue-green color as Mitchell’s.

Mitchell gave me a half smile. “My parents are here. They wanted to meet you as soon as possible.” He lowered his voice. “I put them off as long as I could.”

“Oh,” I said, and then I remembered my manners. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Mitchell’s mother smiled. “You too, dear, but we aren’t much for formality. Please call me Ivy.”

“And call me Luke,” her husband said in a booming voice.

“All right,” I said, unsure I would be able to do it.

Mitchell’s mother walked up to me and gave me a tight hug. “You have made my James happier than I have ever seen him.” She placed a hand on my cheek. “I’m so grateful for that.”

“As am I,” Mitchell’s father said.

“He has made me happier than I have ever been too,” I managed to say.

Over his mother’s head, I saw Mitchell watching us with a silly grin on his face.

“Then it is a perfect match.” She beamed.

“Grandma! Grandpa!” Zander called through the open back door. “Come see the backyard!”

Mitchell’s mother smiled. “I hate to leave you so soon, Angie, but I can never say no to that boy. We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other over the next few days. I’m looking forward to meeting your parents and your friends in the quilting circle too. James has told us so much about all of them.”

I nodded dumbly, and Oliver toddled into the shop through the back door as the elder Mitchells were heading out. Mitchell’s father leaned over and patted Oliver on the head. “This must be the famous Oliver that we have heard so much about. My, you are a fine-looking chap.”

Oliver licked his hand.

I found myself grinning as Mitchell’s father followed his wife outside to join their grandson.

Oliver ran over to me and leaned against my leg.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Mitchell asked.

I met his aquamarine eyes, the eyes that I had fallen in love with the first time I’d seen them, even if I didn’t know it then. “No, it wasn’t.” I smiled.

“I’m glad. I told you I wanted you to meet my parents before we moved forward.”

My pulse quickened.

“And now that you have, I can’t wait any longer.” He removed a small square box from his jacket pocket. Even before he opened it, I knew there was a diamond ring inside.

And in the Amish quilt shop I’d inherited from my beloved aunt, I said “Yes” with Oliver at my
side.

Quilted Tulip Pot Holder

By Angela Braddock, Owner of Running Stitch

Spring is in the air, and the many tulips that are popping in the Amish and English gardens all over Holmes County are my favorite signs of the season. To celebrate the arrival of spring, my quilt shop assistant at Running Stitch, Mattie Miller, created this adorable quilted tulip pot holder and asked me to share it with my readers. You can use the steps below to make the pot holder at home or feel free to stop by Running Stitch, located in picturesque Rolling Brook, and join one of our many quilting classes, where we will give you one-on-one instruction. You will see this pot holder is just the practical decoration to brighten your kitchen this spring.

Supplies

Fabric

Scissors

Thread

Needle

Cotton batting

Step One

Cut six petals from a fabric of your choice. The petals should be at least nine inches long and four inches wide. Take care to make the petals uniform in size and shape.

Step Two

Take three of the petals and sew them together in a tulip blossom shape. This is one side of your tulip pot holder. Repeat this step with the other three petals. Match it to the same pattern as the first side.

Step Three

Cut a piece of cotton batting to the shape of the tulip.

Step Four

Place the two fabric petals together with the “good” sides touching and sew around the edges. Leave a hole large enough in the seam for the batting and then turn the tulip inside out so that the “good” sides are now on the outside.

Step Five

Tuck the batting into the tulip through the hole you left in the seam and sew closed.

Step Six

Quilt a waves pattern across your pot holder to hold the batting and two pieces of fabric together. You’re
done!

Read on for a sneak peek of

PROSE AND CONS,

a Magical Bookshop Mystery

written by Isabella Alan

writing as Amanda Flower.

Coming in December
2016.

T
he petite teenage girl stood in front of the display of sports biographies that was tucked away in a small corner of the bookshop Charming Books, which I co-owned with my grandma Daisy in the village of Cascade Springs, New York. The girl chewed on her lip.

I set down the stack of fall-themed picture books, decorated with smiling pumpkins and mischievous squirrels, and held on to the top of one of the lower bookshelves a few feet from her. “Can I help you?” I asked in my most polite bookseller voice. The trick was to sound friendly and helpful, not too eager for a sale.

The girl turned to me, and tears glistened in her big green eyes. “I don’t know. I’m supposed to pick up a birthday present for my boyfriend’s father. It’s his birthday, and the party starts in a half hour. I’m doomed!”

“I’m sure he would love any book that you give him,” I said encouragingly. “It’s the thought that counts, right?”

She shook her head, and her brown hair covered her face. “You don’t know his parents. They’re horrible.
Nothing I do is right. I just want them to like me or at least pretend to.”

I straightened a row of books that sat unevenly on the shelf. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if Grandma Daisy had moved the books just a little to drive me crazy. She and I had different ideas on the proper way to keep the books organized. I wanted everything in its place, preferably in alphabetical order. Grandma Daisy was satisfied if the books were on the correct floor of the shop. She always said the books would find the person who needed them most, no matter where they were shelved in the shop, so precision didn’t matter. That might be literally true in Charming Books, but still, the alphabetizer in me couldn’t handle the lackadaisical shelving method. After the books’ spines were all sitting precisely at the edge, I said, “That sounds familiar.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What does that mean?”

I gave her a half smile. “My high school boyfriend’s parents didn’t like me either.”

“What would they have bad to say about you?” She blinked at me. “You’re so tall and pretty.”

I chuckled. “Being tall isn’t everything. Neither is being pretty. That’s sweet of you to say that I am, though. You’re a beautiful girl, so if that argument doesn’t work for you, it most certainly wouldn’t work for me.”

She blushed at the compliment and said, “If your boyfriend’s parents didn’t like you, I really am in trouble. Maybe I should just go to his birthday party empty-handed. Why waste my money when it’s not going to do any good?”

“Maybe you just need to let your subconscious pick the book,” I said.

She wrinkled her smooth brow. “What do you mean?”

“Close your eyes and reach for the books. I think the right book will find you.”

She gave me a dubious look.

I shrugged. “It’s just a hunch. What do you have to lose?”

“Oh-kay.” Her voice was still heavy with doubt.

While the girl’s eyes were closed, I watched as a book flew across the shop from the history section and later appeared in her hand.

Her eyes snapped open, and she stared at a tome with Abraham Lincoln on the cover. “How did this get in the sports section?”

“Oh,” I said unconcernedly, “it must have been misplaced. Would you prefer a sports-related title?” I moved to take the book from her.

“No!” She jerked the book away from me and held it to her chest. “No, this is perfect. His father is a history buff, and I’ve seen a picture of Lincoln in his office. I’m only afraid he might have already read this one.”

I fought to hide a smile. “I’m pretty sure he hasn’t read it.”

“How do you know?” She stared up at me with those big green eyes again.

“Call it bookseller intuition.” I smiled.

She hugged the book more tightly to her chest. “This is the right book. I just know it. Thank you so much . . .” She trailed off.

“Violet,” I said.

“Thank you, Violet. You really saved my life with this.”

“Happy to help. Let’s ring you up then, so you can make that party.” I led her across the room to the sales counter.

Faulkner, the shop crow, walked across the counter. His talons made a clicking sound on the aged wood. I clapped my hands at him, and he flew over the girl’s head, cawing, “Four score and seven years ago!”

The girl ducked, and her eyes went round. “Was the crow quoting the Gettysburg Address? Does he know about this book?”

I forced a laugh. “We’ve been playing a lot of historical audiobooks in the shop lately. He must have picked it up from there.”

While she reached in her purse for her wallet, I glared at Faulkner, who landed on one of the low branches of the birch tree. The crow smoothed his silky black feathers with his sharp beak and ignored me. I wondered where my tuxedo cat, Emerson, had gone off to. He usually was able to keep the crow in line. Also it was never a good sign when Emerson wandered off. The cat was up to something or wandering around the neighborhood. I hadn’t yet figured out how to keep him in the shop. His previous owner had taken him all around town.

She swiped her credit card through the machine.

“Would you like me to gift wrap the book for you?”

“Can you? That would be great and would save me so much time. I’m already running late as it is.”

“Of course.” I cut off a piece of brown paper stamped
with orange and red leaves from the roll behind the counter.

After the girl took the newly wrapped biography out of the store, I locked the door behind her and winked at the birch tree that grew in the middle of the bookshop. A spiral staircase led up to the second floor of Charming Books, where the children’s fairy-book loft and my one-room apartment were. My ancestress Rosalee had built the original house, which had been remodeled and expanded a number of times over the last two centuries by other relatives, around the birch tree when she had bought the land after the War of 1812. “Nice work.” I gave the tree a thumbs-up.

My seventy-something grandmother, who with her trim figure could easily pass for a woman of half her age if it weren’t for the sleek silver bob that fell to her chin, came around the side of the tree, shaking her head. “Violet, my dear, you are becoming a little showy with helping customers choose books. What if another customer was in here when you pulled that stunt? It would not do for them to see books flying across the shop.” As usual, she wore jeans and a Charming Books sweatshirt, which was orange that day in celebration of the nearness of Halloween. To complete the outfit, she had added a gauzy infinity scarf decorated with cheerful jack-o’-lanterns.

“Grandma Daisy, it’s after seven. The shop was supposed to close fifteen minutes ago. There was no one else here.”

“Still, you need to be careful.” She tucked a lock of silver hair behind her ear. “Remember, the most
important job of the Caretaker is to keep the shop’s secret. No one outside of the family can know.”

“Four months ago you were arguing with me because I didn’t believe in the shop’s essence. Now I’m in trouble because I do and make use of it.” I couldn’t keep the whine out of my voice. I knew I sounded like a stubborn four-year-old, and I knew it wasn’t attractive on a woman nearing her thirtieth birthday.

Grandma Daisy adjusted her cat’s-eye glasses on her nose. “You’re not in trouble. I just want you to remember your duty as the Caretaker.” She turned and headed in the direction of the kitchen, which was separated from the shop by a thick swinging door.

Like I could forget? Being the Caretaker of the huge Queen Anne Victorian house and the birch tree that grew in the middle of it had been a duty of the women in my family for the last two hundred years. Ever since Rosalee watered the tree with the mystical and healing waters from the local natural springs. After a time, the water manifested itself in the shop and the books, and now the essence of the water was able to communicate with the Caretaker through cryptic messages sent through the books themselves. Trust me. I know how unbelievable that sounds. I hadn’t believed it myself when my grandmother tricked me by pretending to be sick into returning to the village to take over being the Caretaker. Considering the stunt she had pulled over the summer, she should really be glad that I have embraced what she called my “duty.”

My mother should have been the Caretaker after my grandmother was relieved of her post, but fate had
other plans. My mother died tragically when I was only thirteen. As a result, the Caretakership skipped a generation and landed directly on my shoulders. Since I had no children, female or otherwise, it was unknown what would happen to the shop when it was time for me to pass it on to the next generation. I would love to have a child . . . someday, but no woman in my family line had been able to keep a long-lasting relationship. Raising a child without a father wasn’t what I wanted for me or my fictitious child. It’s how I grew up, how all the women in the Waverly family had grown up. I pushed those melancholy thoughts aside and rolled my eyes at Grandma Daisy’s receding back.

“I saw you roll your eyes at me,” Grandma Daisy called over her shoulder.

“The essence doesn’t give you the ability to see out of the back of your head,” I countered.

She glanced over her shoulder. “How do you know? You’ve only been the Caretaker for a few months. How do you know everything the essence can and cannot do?” Before I could think of a smart remark, she said, “Don’t you have some cookies to be picked up from La Crêpe Jolie for the Poe-try Reading tomorrow?”

I smacked myself on the forehead. “Oh, right, I forgot. I’ll go collect them now.”

She nodded. “The Red Inkers should be here by the time you return. Be careful. The traffic will be horrid on River Road with the start of the Food and Wine Festival tomorrow.”

“I’ll be careful,” I promised. The Cascade Springs Food and Wine Festival was the biggest event for the
small village, which depended on tourism for its survival. The festival was held annually the third week of October. This year, at my urging, Charming Books was participating in the festivities by hosting a Poe-try Reading, highlighting the work and life of master of the macabre, Edgar Allan Poe. I couldn’t think of a more perfect author to showcase this close to Halloween. Thankfully, Grandma Daisy seemed to welcome the idea, especially since I was able to recruit the help of the Red Inkers, a local writers’ group whose members regularly met in Charming Books after shop hours to discuss their work.

I grabbed my coat from the coat tree by the kitchen door. “I should be going, then.”

“Don’t be too long. I know
everyone
in the group is looking forward to seeing you,” she said in a teasing voice.

This time I rolled my eyes to her face so there was no mistaking it. Grandma Daisy’s bell-chime laugh rang through the empty shop, and Faulkner joined in on the chuckle fest. Her comment about the group wanting to see me was much more pointed than it sounded. She’d implied—not so subtlety, might I add—Chief of Village Police David Rainwater wanted to see me.

The truth was, I was looking forward to seeing him too.