Murder, Served Simply (6 page)

“How is that possible?” bellowed Wade, who was being interviewed by another deputy on the opposite side of the stage from me. He voice carried, and I wondered
if he had started his theater career not as a director but as an actor.

“Wade, when was the last time the set was checked for safety?” Mitchell asked.

“Any questions you have about our set should be directed to our stage manager, Jasper Clump.”

A small wiry fellow dressed all in black stepped forward. His gray hair was slicked back with enough styling gel to make the folks at Deb stand up and cheer. I imagined a last name like Clump would belong to a huge beast of man. The beast Jasper resembled the most was a rat, or if I was feeling charitable, a possum.

“Jasper Clump?” the sheriff asked.

The possum folded his arms. “That's me.”

“When was the last time you gave the swing and scaffolding a safety check?”

“Just an hour before curtain.”

“Who had access to the scaffolding?” the sheriff asked.

“Anyone on the set. We don't police it, but only the stagehands, Eve, or I needed to climb up there during a production. No one else would have reason to climb up there.”

“But they could have climbed up there, if they wanted to,” the sheriff said.

Jasper's eyes narrowed. “Yes, they could have, but someone probably would have seen them.” He pointed to the top platform. “As you can see, there is nowhere to hide.”

“So between the safety check and the time Eve fell, no one could have tampered with the ropes.”

“That's what I'm trying to tell you. I can prove it to you.” Jasper turned and snapped his fingers at a skinny boy in his late teens. “Blake, tell them.”

The boy, presumably Blake, swallowed, and his pronounced Adam's apple bobbed up and down. “Yes, I did a safety check at seven o'clock. You can look at the log in the back. I signed it with the time I finished my check.”

“I'm going to want to see that log,” Mitchell said. “Could you have missed something in the check, Blake? Maybe something was faulty you didn't realize.”

Jasper's face flamed red. “There was nothing wrong with the setup of that stage. I checked it myself.”

“When?” Mitchell's voice was sharp.

“This morning. The pulley was oiled, and the rope was new and solid. I rely on Blake to do final checks but only
after
I do my own daily check.”

Blake swallowed. “When I saw it, the rope was fine. I always check the rope. It's the most important part.”

The EMTs helped the coroner roll Eve onto a gurney. I had to look away.

I
was one of the last people to be interviewed. By the time Deputy Anderson got to me, he was clearly shaken.

“How did you know Eve?” he asked.

“I just met her a few hours ago at the progressive dinner. She sat next to me during the meal.”

“And—” The deputy's eyes flitted over to the sheriff, who was consulting with the coroner at the foot of the stage. Eve's body had been removed from the scene. The curtain was open again.

“Anderson, calm down,” I said. “The sheriff isn't going to fire you.”

“He's not?”

I shook my head. I didn't add that if Mitchell was going to fire the young deputy, he would have done it a long time ago. “Do you have any more questions?”

“No . . . ,” he said uncertainly.

“Then I'm going to take off. My family is here visiting.”

The deputy didn't bother to stop me. He was too distracted by his fear of termination.

Mom and Dad had been questioned more than an hour ago, but they were still sitting in the audience when I said good-bye to Officer Anderson.

“You didn't have to wait for me,” I said. “Why don't you go into the hotel and settle into your rooms?”

“I canceled our hotel reservation,” my mother said. “Your father and I want to see as much as possible of you this week. By the way things are going, I'm afraid that your house will be the only place we will be able to catch you.”

“You're welcome to stay with me. I had said that from the beginning. I just thought you would be more comfortable at the hotel.” I swallowed and looked around the barn. “What about Ryan? He kept his hotel reservation, didn't he?”

Dad stood up from the folding chair, which served as theater seating in the barn. “Don't you worry about that; Ryan is still staying at the hotel.”

I gave a huge sigh of relief.

“Angie,” my mother said, “you should really be more hospitable. Ryan came a long way to see you. The least you could do is offer him a bed to sleep on.”

“I would,” I lied, “if I had a bed for him. The best I could do is my lumpy sofa. As it stands, you and Dad will get my bed, and I will sleep on the futon.” I waved my hands to stave off any protests. “Not that I mind. I'm very happy that you two and only you two will be staying at my house. Why don't you head over there now, and I'll be heading home soon. I want to check in on the
quilt show before I leave. Judging for best quilts is early tomorrow morning.” I handed Dad my keys and Oliver's leash. “Do you mind taking Oliver home? He's a little shaken up by everything.”

“Not at all,” Dad said.

My parents left shortly after that. I glanced back at the stage. The coroner, Eve's body, and the EMTs were gone. So were the police from Millersburg, but Mitchell and a handful of his deputies were still on the scene. How much did I want to go over there and question the sheriff about what he knew? I knew better than to do that. Instead, I ventured out into the snow.

I pulled open the hotel's heavy wooden doors and brushed off what snow I could from my coat and boots before stepping into the hotel. Irritated theatergoers crowded the lobby, waiting to complain about the night's performance, which had been cut short by Eve's fall. Mimi gave them an option of tickets for another night or a full refund. A refund seemed by far the more popular choice. I wanted to talk to Mimi about the play's future, but that would have to wait, as she was surrounded.

Instead, I stepped into the large sitting room where the quilts were and gave a sigh of satisfaction to find that all of them were undisturbed. The quilts, each one hung from a wooden quilt rack, were made by both English and Amish women in the county. Finding twenty quilt racks for all of the quilts had been the biggest challenge. Mattie had resorted to giving away free pies from her brother's bakery in order to borrow a quilt rack. All the quilts were handmade in the traditional Amish patterns
from Double Wedding Ring and Four Patch to Goosefoot and Tumbling Block. The colors were the easiest way to distinguish the Amish from the English quilts. The Amish ones tended to be more sedate and darker. The English ones included every color of the rainbow. But not all Amish quilters kept to the dark-colored tradition, because they knew that brighter colors sold better to the English tourists.

A well-dressed couple admired a queen-sized Rolling Block quilt made by an Old Order woman from Charm. Her color choices of pinks, reds, and whites were unconventional for the Amish.

The woman, wearing chiffon, brushed her fingers across the quilt's fold on the wooden rack, then turned to her husband, and said, “It's so lovely. Don't you think our granddaughter would love it?”

I stepped forward. “Interested in purchasing a quilt?” I held out my hand. “I'm Angela Braddock, owner of Running Stitch, a quilt shop in town. I'm managing the quilt show along with Martha Yoder, another local quilt shop owner.”

The woman's face brightened. “Oh yes, I think my granddaughter would love this. Pink is her favorite color.”

I nodded. “It's a beautiful piece. The woman who made it is over ninety, half blind, and does most of her quilting by feel.”

“Amazing.”

“All the quilts will be for sale through the end of the show on New Year's Eve, but if you really like that one, I can reserve it for you.”

She clasped her hands together. “Would you? It's just perfect for our granddaughter. Don't you think, dear?” she asked her husband.

“Whatever you think, my sweet.”

The woman smiled as she wrote the check. “It is so nice to come into this room and see all of these beautiful quilts after such a terrible night.” She met my gaze. “Were you at the play? Did you see what happened? It was such a horrific scene. That poor girl. She had her whole life ahead of her. I heard that she actually was Amish.”

“She grew up Amish,” I said as I wrote her a receipt.

The woman's husband peered at a goosefoot-patterned quilt on the next rack and said, “If she was in that play, she's not Amish anymore and her family won't even miss her.”

My jaw twitched. “My aunt was Amish.”

“Oh,” the man said. “But you are not.”

“No,” I said, refusing to explain any further. “But I can assure you that she loved me like a daughter, even though I am English.” I glared at him.

“I didn't mean any offense.”

I clamped my mouth shut to hold back a smart remark. “You can pick up the quilt at my shop.” I handed the woman my card. “Or call the telephone number, and we can make arrangements to get it to you.”

“Thank you,” she said, and her husband put his hand under his wife's elbow and led her from the room.

“You almost lost a sale there,” a voice said to my right.

I jumped and found Ryan sitting in the corner with a
novel on his lap. “I'm frustrated by the assumptions people make about the Amish. They think that they are all the same, but that's not true. It's like saying everyone from Texas is a cowboy.”

He pointed to my cowboy boots. “Like you?”

I frowned in return.

“I know how much you miss your aunt, Angie.” He closed his book and stood up. “I know how important she was to you.”

I blinked away tears. Does grief ever truly go away? I was beginning to doubt it. I refused to think of Eve's family. If I even started to, I would never stop crying. Ryan's wasn't my shoulder to cry on any longer, and I didn't want it to be. “What are you doing in here sneaking up on people?”

He held up his book, a thriller. “Just reading and waiting for you. I thought you might want to check on your quilts before you headed home. We need to talk.”

My shoulders sagged. “Not tonight, Ryan. I don't have the energy for it.”

He stepped toward me. “I came all the way here to see you, and you won't even speak to me.”

“We will have plenty of time before you go back to Texas. After what happened to Eve—”

“Who's Eve?”

“The girl who fell during the play.” I paused. “I don't have it in me for any more high emotions tonight. Can we talk later?”

He stepped closer to me, and I took two huge steps back, bumping into a quilting rack.

“This isn't about the girl. It's about the sheriff. Is he the reason you don't want to talk to me?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice alarmingly high.

“I could tell by the way you reacted when your mother asked about him. She thought you two had much more to discuss than official township business.”

A young girl came into the room carrying a watering can. “Oh, I'm so sorry,” she said. “I didn't know anyone was here. I will come back and water the plants later.”

“No!” I said a little too quickly. “Water the plants now. We were just leaving.”

She hesitated.

Ryan picked up his book from the chair. “Good night, Angie,” he said as he left the room.

“Night,” was all I could manage.

After Ryan left, I realized the girl watering the spider plant in the corner of the room was the same girl who dropped the coffeepot during the progressive dinner. “You were at the dinner earlier tonight,” I said.

She turned to look at me. There were tears in her blue eyes.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

She swiped at her cheek. “I'm fine.”

“Is something wrong?”

She dropped the watering can. Tears flowed down her cheeks. “I'm so clumsy. What else am I going to drop today?”

“I'll go get some paper towels,” I said, and ran to the public restroom on the first floor. When I returned with
a wad of paper towels, I found the girl sitting on the edge of an armchair, staring into space.

I righted the watering can and sopped up what water I could with the paper towels. They were soaked through in seconds. I tossed them into a discreet wastebasket in the corner of the room.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I can't believe what has happened.”

“Do you mean the accident at the play?”

She nodded, and fat tears rolled down her pale cheeks.

“It's been a shock for everyone.”

She whispered something I couldn't hear.

I pulled a footstool close to her. “What was that?”

This time it came barely above a whisper. “She was my sister.”

I rocked back on my stool. “Your sister?”

She nodded. “And it's all my fault.”

I sat across from her on a love seat. “Why's that?”

“Because I'm the reason she came back. She would never have come back without my meddling, and she would still be alive.”

“How did you convince her to come back?”

“The play. My mother knew from her letters she was struggling, finding any small part in New York, so
Mamm
asked me to write her about this theater troupe coming to the hotel and urge her to contact them and try out. I never thought she would actually do it or that they would give her the lead part
.
Mamm
was overjoyed when I got her letter telling us she was coming home.
And now she's gone forever.” She buried her face in her hands.

I remembered now at the dinner when Eve offered to help the girl clean up the spilled coffee and Wade stopped her. “I'm so sorry,” I said. “I'm Angie Braddock.”

“I know who you are,” she said. “You are the new trustee. My father says that you will look out for the interests of the Amish in Rolling Brook.”

If she was Eve's sister, Nahum was also her uncle.

“Nahum Shetler is your uncle?” I asked.

“
Ya
. He believes he is in charge of the family like he's our bishop, which he is not.” She covered her mouth. “I shouldn't have said that. It was unkind. He is my elder. I should respect him.”

“Even if he is crazy?” I asked with a smile.

She gave me the tiniest smile in return. “Even if he is crazy.” Tears returned to her eyes.

“What's your name?” I asked gently.

She removed a soggy tissue from her apron pocket and balled it in her hand. “Junie Shetler.”

“It's nice to meet you, Junie. Is there anything I can do to help you? Ice cream works wonders for me. It doesn't make anything better, but it does take the edge off.”

She shook her head.
“Nee, danki.”
She stood and picked up her watering can. “I should return to work.”

“Shouldn't you go home? I'm sure Mimi would let you take some time off.”

“Mimi has been very kind. She was the one who told me, and she offered to take me home.” She swallowed.
“I would rather work. I'm sure the police have told my parents by now, and—and I just can't be there.”

I stood. “All right.”

Her whole body shook as she tried to restrain a sob. “I wanted her to come back, but not like this, I wanted her to rejoin our community.
Mamm
did too. We didn't know what the play would be about or that it would make so many people angry. If we had known, we would never have told her about it.”

“Who did it make angry?” I asked.

She started to cry in earnest and left the room without another word.

My heart ached for the girl, but I couldn't help but wonder why she didn't want to go home. Wouldn't she want to be with her family at a time like this? Was whatever kept her from home tonight the reason her sister left the Amish in the first place?

I finished straightening the quilts on their racks and left the hotel, more certain than ever that Eve Shetler was not the victim of a tragic accident but of premeditated murder.