Murder, Plain and Simple (13 page)
r Twenty
My feet decided what direction they wanted to go and I found myself in front of Miller’s Amish Bakery. Mattie was no longer outside the shop. Instead two English customers sat at a small table outside the door eating blueberry fry pies. The blueberry filling dripped from their chins.
The bell sounded when I went inside the bakery. Mattie stood behind the counter and refused to acknowledge me. It was clear that I was not a favorite of the young Amish woman. What wasn’t clear was why.
An Amish woman and man lingered in the store. The man carried a huge bag of flour and set it on the other side of the counter. It was Jonah Graber.
“Hi, Jonah,” I said.
He smiled when he saw me. “
Gude mariye
, Angie. You are visiting the bakery for some sweets. I remember how much you liked those when we were
kinner
.”
The woman in a white cap and a dark purple plain dress and apron examined me. “Nice to meet you, Angie. I’m Miriam, Jonah’s wife. My husband has spoken of you many times.”
He has?
I returned her greeting, and Rachel came out of the kitchen and her pretty face broke into a smile. “Angie, I’m so happy you’re here. I so would like to visit with you. Hello, Miriam and Jonah. Thank you for bringing the flour.”
“It was no trouble,” Jonah said.
Rachel looked from Jonah to me and back again. “Do you two know each other?”
I adjusted my purse strap on my shoulder. “Jonah and I knew each other as children.”
“I didn’t know that.” Rachel smiled. “How nice.”
If the scowl on her face was an indication, Miriam did not agree with Rachel. Jonah’s wife held the bakery’s glass door open with an expectant expression.
“
Ya
, it is. We have other deliveries to make. I’m sure we will see you again, Angie. I’m glad you’re back.” He shot me a lopsided grin and resembled his fourteen-year-old self.
“Thanks,” I said, noting that Jonah was being much friendlier this morning than he had when I visited his family farm the day before. What had changed between then and now?
“Mattie, I’m going to go out for a minute. Do you mind watching the shop?” Rachel asked.
“Nee,”
the younger woman said barely above a whisper.
Rachel placed a hand on my shoulder. “This is a quiet time in the bakery. Let’s walk a bit.”
I followed Rachel outside. A group of English tourists walked by us. One pointed and said, “There’s an Amish now. Don’t those clothes look uncomfortable?” The woman doing the asking was wearing four-inch spike heels and skintight jeans. Not the typical Amish Country tour attire.
When we were out of hearing range, I said, “I don’t think she should be the one talking about uncomfortable clothes.”
Rachel barked a laugh and covered her mouth. “It’s not right to laugh at others like that.”
“Do tourists say stuff like that very often?”
She wrinkled her nose. “All the time. We deal with it because tourism is the big business in Holmes County. I didn’t mind, considering her outfit.” She giggled.
“She should be careful. These sidewalks were not made for heels.”
Rachel examined my feet. I wore sandals today. “No cowboy boots?”
I laughed. “No, I’m trying to save them for special occasions.”
Rachel’s face became serious. “Does the sheriff really think you were the one who . . . hurt Joseph?”
I pursed my lips. “Mitchell is difficult to read. He seems friendly enough, but as soon as I think he is on my side, he reminds me I’m a suspect, and not just any suspect, but the main one.”
“I can’t believe he would think that of you.” She pressed her hands together. “I want to apologize about how I acted around Sarah on Saturday. I should not have behaved that way.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me.”
“I know Sarah is the one I should apologize to.” She focused on a crack in the sidewalk. “She can be difficult. You may have noticed she doesn’t listen much.”
A courting buggy clomped down the street. The young couple sitting inside had nearly a foot of space between each other on the front seat. If the girl moved any farther away from the young man, she would fall off.
The sun was high in the sky now. I stepped into the shade of a young tree. “Is there another reason the two of you don’t get along, other than her love of gossip?”
Rachel watched the buggy make its way down Sugartree. “Sarah has spread rumors about my family. They have hurt my sister-in-law.”
“Mattie?”
She nodded. “When Elijah was arrested, it was difficult for Mattie.”
My ears perked up. “Why?”
She swallowed. “Elijah and Mattie were courting then.” She added quickly, “They aren’t anymore. My husband and I are glad for that.”
“Aaron didn’t like Elijah?”
“
Nee.
Elijah was not like most Amish men. He rarely went to church services or even socials with the young people. It made me uneasy.” She lowered her voice.
“He’s a loner?”
She shrugged. “That might be the
Englisch
word for it.” She paused for a moment. “I suspected that he hit Mattie a time or two. She denies it, but I saw her bruises. There have been no bruises since Elijah went to prison.”
“Poor Mattie. Is she happier now?”
“I don’t know. You can understand how devastated Mattie was when Elijah went to prison. She’s still not fully recovered and refuses to consider any other young man as her beau. There have been many who have volunteered.”
“Has Mattie seen Elijah since he has gotten out of prison?” I asked.
“Oh no. She doesn’t want anything to do with him.”
“Did she say she doesn’t want anything to do with him?”
Rachel began walking again. “She doesn’t have to. Her brother, my husband, would be furious if she saw Elijah. Aaron and Mattie’s parents are both gone now, and she lives with us. She is always so helpful with the
kinner
, especially the boys.” She cleared her throat. “Elijah’s family was most hurt by Sarah, but our family was hurt too.”
“By Sarah’s gossip?”
Rachel played with the tie of her prayer cap, twisting it around and around her index finger. “
Ya.
She wasn’t the only one who spoke of Mattie, but she kept the gossip going. You heard what she said to Mattie in the shop about Zeph.”
“What exactly did she say about Mattie and Elijah?”
Rachel sidestepped an English woman pushing a stroller. “She said the fire was as much Mattie’s fault as it was Elijah’s.”
I stopped in the sidewalk. We were almost in front of Old Ben’s shop now. Beyond it, I could see the old barn where the Watermelon Fest would be held that weekend. Several Amish men were mending the roof and walls. “Why?”
She turned to me. “Because Mattie, as Elijah’s betrothed, should have known what Elijah was up to and told someone.”
I turned around and started back to the bakery. “That doesn’t seem fair. She may not have known. Did she know?”
“I—I don’t know. She doesn’t talk about it. She hasn’t spoken much at all since Elijah’s arrest.”
“Do you know where I can find Elijah?”
Her eyes were twice their normal size. “No, and please don’t ask Mattie. It will only upset her. We don’t speak of Elijah in our home. It is Aaron’s rule.” She worried her lip. “You aren’t going to go looking for him, are you?”
“He does have the best motive for the murder,” I said evasively.
A shadow moved in the corner of my eye as we passed another gap between the buildings. I spun around. “Did you see that?”
She grabbed my arm. “See what?”
“It was nothing.”
She laughed. “It was probably a raccoon.”
This was the second time something like this was blamed on a raccoon. “Are there a lot of raccoons in Rolling Brook?”
She shrugged. “No more than normal, I would say.”
I forced a laugh. “I’m jumpy.”
“Anyone would be, Angie. I would be a mess if I were in your shoes. I will pray for you.”
I hugged her. “Thank you.”
Rachel and I walked back to the bakery. Before I crossed the street toward the quilt shop, she grabbed my arm. “You won’t try to do anything foolish like talking to Elijah Knepp on your own, will you? He is an angry and dangerous man.”
“So angry and dangerous that he would kill his brother-in-law?”
She dropped her hand. “I—I don’t know. I can’t think that about someone who was once so close to my family.” Her eyes widened. “You will be careful, won’t you?”
“I promise to be careful,” I said.
The Amish woman gave me a hug. “
Gut
, because I think you and I are going to be very
gut
friends, Angela Braddock.”
My face broke into a smile. “I would like that.”
Rachel went through the bakery door. As the door shut, I felt a prickling on the back of my neck. My foot was midair as I was about to cross Sugartree Street when someone grabbed me by the arm and pulled me back on the sidewalk. I stumbled back and my heart pounded against my chest.
ter Twenty-one
I caught my breath. “Willow, you scared me half to death.”
She trilled a laugh. “Where have you been? We’ve been waiting for you.”
Is Willow the one who has been following me?
“You were waiting for me?”
She guided me up the street toward her tea shop. Her gauzy top floated behind her. “The Watermelon Fest meeting is starting in a matter of minutes. You didn’t forget about it, did you?”
Actually, I had completely forgotten. Being accused of murder drove other concerns from my mind. I pushed the flimsy fabric aside. “I know that I’d agreed to come, but this isn’t really a good time.”
“Why not? Your shop’s closed. Where else could you possibly have to go?”
“I . . . well . . .” I couldn’t tell her that I was trying to find the real killer to clear my good name, now, could I?
“I thought so. Trust me. The fest will take your mind off of your troubles.”
The wind chimes hanging from the tea shop’s eaves jangled together. Mattie scowled at us from the sidewalk in front of Miller’s Bakery. Rachel insisted that Mattie had not seen Elijah since he was released from prison, but I had my doubts. How could the two not have seen each other in a place as small as Rolling Brook? And if the former couple had seen each other, Mattie might know about Elijah’s relationship with his brother-in-law Joseph, or maybe even where Elijah was the night Joseph died. I needed to talk to her. Considering her sour expression every time I saw her, would she talk to me?
Willow opened the glass door. All the tables were filled with tourists off the latest bus. They drank tea and ate cucumber sandwiches and blueberry scones. Trustee Jung and two women I’d yet to meet sat at a table by the window.
I sidestepped a toddler waddling around the room. “It looks like business is good.”
“It’s never been better. Not everyone coming to Holmes County wants the five-kinds-of-meat dinner that they serve at all the Amish restaurants.” She waved at the trio at the table and skirted around the tables. Farley stood as we approached and the two women remained seated.
Farley pulled out a chair. “Please sit here, Angela.”
“Umm, thank you,” I murmured as I slipped into the chair. He patted my shoulder before he took the seat next to me.
“Hillary Mitchell, Wanda Hunt, this is Angela Braddock. She’s the new owner of the Running Stitch.”
Wanda held her teacup with a plump bejeweled hand. “Glad to see another non-Amish business move into town.”
“Actually, the business is Amish.” I picked up the cloth napkin from my plate and placed it on my lap. “I inherited it from my aunt Eleanor, and she was Amish. Everyone in my quilting circle is Amish. I want to keep the shop in that tradition.”
Wanda buttered her scone and appraised me. “But you’re not Amish.”
I glanced down at my jeans.
What was your first guess?
“No, I’m not.”
“Good.” Wanda sipped her tea from a dainty flowered teacup. “The Amish bring the tourists here, but at the same time they can be rigid. They are unwilling to try anything new. It can be incredibly frustrating when we want to plan an event like the Watermelon Fest, which will benefit everyone, English and Amish.”
Considering they still drove horses and buggies, I couldn’t dispute the Amish reluctance to change.
The younger of the two women, Hillary, was seated on my other side. Her face was a perfect oval and her cheekbones were so pronounced, they could cut paper. She had long, perfectly straight black hair. She was beautiful enough to be a hit on the pageant scene. She was the daughter my mother wished I could be. “We all have a lot of respect for the Amish. How could you live in this county and not? But the resistance to the Watermelon Fest among those in the Amish community is without cause.”
“She’s right.” Wanda placed her teacup back on its saucer. “You would think the Amish would welcome anything that brings more business to Rolling Brook. Many of the neighboring towns have similar events. Sugarcreek has Swiss Days and Berlin has the Christmas parade.”
A teenage waitress placed a silver-plated three-tiered server with cookies and tea sandwiches in the middle of the table. Willow thanked her. “The issue is Rolling Brook was almost exclusively an Amish town until ten years ago. Now it has several of the storefronts like my tea shop managed by English folk.” A pot of tea sat in the middle of the table. Without asking, Willow poured me a cup. “Angie, you’re going to love this. It’s a special recipe I came up with just for the fest.”
The tea smelled strange, like sweetgrass. “Oh?”
“Go ahead and try it.”
The tea had a pinkish color. I hesitated. “What kind of tea is it?”
“Watermelon tea, of course. I know it will be a huge hit.”
It sounded awful.
“Go on and take a sip.”
I lifted the delicate teacup to my lips. It was worse than awful. It was like drinking a watermelon Dum Dum sucker. “Mmmm,” I murmured.
She beamed.
I noted that Hillary’s and Farley’s teacups were almost full. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one with a gag reflex. I held the teacup in my hand. Wanda refilled her cup. I hoped she’d finished the pot.
“The Amish are territorial.” Wanda
tsk
ed, going back to the conversation about the Amish in town. She selected a ham salad sandwich from the server.
“Not all the Amish,” I said, thinking of Jonah and the Millers. “Aren’t some of them helping out?”
“Some are,” Willow admitted.
Farley placed a pile of cookies on his plate. “When the Amish see what a success the Watermelon Fest is, they will wonder why they ever fought it.”
“At least we don’t have to worry about Joseph Walker meddling in it anymore.” Hillary covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m so sorry. That’s a terrible comment to make.”
Wanda drained her cup of watermelon tea. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Joseph Walker was the reason all the other Amish were set against the fest. He talked about it constantly at their church meetings. He didn’t like anything English in Rolling Brook.”
I thought of my not-so-warm reception from Joseph. Now, knowing his history with his mother’s death and Jessica, I wondered if guilt motivated his anger at the English. Another thought entered my head. Joseph gave the watermelon folks trouble about the fest and now he was dead. That could only mean I was at a table surrounded by prime suspects in his murder. Time to start asking some questions. “How did Joseph meddle?”
Hillary patted a napkin to her mouth. “He used every opportunity to bad-mouth the fest to the Amish in town.”
Wanda broke a cookie in half. “It wasn’t just the Amish. A group of English tourists told me that Joseph said the fest was a crime against the Amish way of life. He said that we wanted to turn Rolling Brook into an amusement park. Can you believe that?”
“I witnessed him tearing down the fest posters,” Willow added.
“Did any of the people he complained to take him seriously?” I popped a bit of peanut butter cookie in my mouth. It was heavenly.
“Some did, I’m sure. The most conservative Swartzentruber and Old Order Amish took his warnings to heart. They wouldn’t be involved with the fest anyway.” Willow refilled her teacup with the watermelon tea. How could she drink it?
My brow wrinkled. “If those Amish would not have helped with the fest anyway, it doesn’t seem as much of a loss.”
Hillary shook her head. “It is. This is the first year of the fest, and we need good press to make it an annual event.” Hillary clenched her jaw. “Joseph went so far as to put an ad in the Amish paper condemning it. In my opinion, all the Amish should get behind the fest. They are being stubborn, but what can you expect from a people who haven’t changed for hundreds of years? Sometimes I walk around Rolling Brook and feel like I’m back in the eighteen hundreds.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” I asked.
Her hazel eyes turned to me. “They hold us back with their ways.”
“The worst part is how he spoke badly of it to the tourists. That’s unforgivable,” Farley said.
Unforgivable? That seemed a little harsh to me. “But don’t the Amish bring the tourists here? You wouldn’t have much business in rural Ohio without them. You didn’t have to open a business here.”
Willow laughed nervously. “Oh, Angie, you are simplifying it too much.”
Was I?
Hillary’s face looked pinched. “You’re new and don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I was about to argue with her, when Farley leaned closer to me. “Do the police have any idea who did it?”
I scooted my chair away from him as I selected a cheese sandwich from the tray. “The sheriff hasn’t shared that with me.”
Willow placed a scone on my plate. “I hope the police don’t think you did it.”
“They must think Angela is the killer,” Wanda said, going back for some more butter. “He was found dead in her store.” She eyed me. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the police weren’t doing a thorough background check on you right now. Do you have anything to hide?”
The piece of dry scone lodged in my throat and the only option to wash it down was the watermelon tea. I took a huge gulp, figuring the faster I drank, the less I would taste it. Wrong.
Willow laughed nervously. “Don’t mind Wanda; she’s suspicious by nature.”
“I’m not suspicious, just realistic.”
“I think we should focus on the fest. That’s why we are all here, isn’t it?” Willow asked.
Farley selected one of the small tea sandwiches to add to his plate. “The fest begins on Friday, and there are still so many more arrangements to be made.”
Hillary had a checklist at the ready. “I disagree, Farley. Everything seems to be well in hand.” She tapped her pen on the list. “We have the watermelon carving and watermelon eating set and ready to go. The watermelon weighin order too.”
“Watermelon weighin?” I asked.
Farley grew serious. “Farmers have been babying their watermelon patches for a month trying to grow the biggest and best watermelon.”
I set the cup back on its saucer. “What still needs to be done?” I asked, hoping to move the meeting’s agenda along. “What do you need me to do?”
Willow refilled my teacup. “We will find a job for you.”
That sounded ominous.
Wanda leaned toward me. “Just think of all the traffic your involvement in the Watermelon Fest will bring to Running Stitch.”
I shifted away from the aggressive woman with a grimace. “But Running Stitch is closed. Indefinitely. I have no idea if it will be open by the beginning of the fest.”
Farley reached a hand across the table and squeezed my wrist. “Just leave that to me, Angela. I will talk to the sheriff.”
I slipped my hand out of his grasp on the pretense of wanting a sip of the awful tea. “You can talk the sheriff into letting me back into my shop?”
“Yes. I’m the township trustee, after all.”
I resisted the urge to wipe my hand on my jeans. “I would appreciate it.” I thought for a moment. I knew it would infuriate Martha if I participated in the fest, but I had to think of what was best for the business. “I’m happy to help out.”
Willow grinned from ear to ear. “I knew when I heard you were coming, Angie, you’d be great for the town.”
Great for the town? The only newsworthy event that had occurred since I arrived was the death of Joseph Walker. That wasn’t great—it was a nightmare.
