Murder, Plain and Simple (20 page)
hapter Thirty-two
I went into Running Stitch’s back garden, where I’d get a better signal, and I tried to call the number of the Amish shed phone I had for Martha a third time. No answer. Again. I didn’t bother to leave yet another message.
“Miss,” a woman in a flower-printed jumpsuit asked. “I’m trying to select some colors for my next quilt. Do you have any suggestions?”
I placed my cell phone back into my pocket. “No problem.”
In the early afternoon, Anna walked into the shop. She nodded her head at the group of women admiring my aunt’s quilts. “Business is
gut
.”
“It’s been pretty steady, especially considering this is the middle of the week. I don’t know if they are coming in because they are interested in quilts or interested in visiting a real-life crime scene. Either way, it’s been good business. Most have bought something even if it’s only been a thimble, which reminds me—I need to reorder some. They seem to be more popular than I thought.” I chewed on my lip. “I wonder if decorative thimbles would be a nice keepsake item to sell too. I noticed most of the people coming in aren’t serious quilters—they want a reminder of their visit to Holmes County.”
Oliver sauntered over to Anna and allowed her to scratch his head. “You are full of ideas,” she mused.
I laughed. “I guess I’m bursting with ideas right now because I’m happy the shop is open and traffic is good.”
She set her basket on the front counter. “Are you the only one here? Where is Martha?”
“I still haven’t heard from or seen her. I know something is wrong.” I wondered if I should tell Anna my suspicions about Martha and the shop key. But Anna and Martha were friends. I couldn’t say anything until I was sure.
“Wrong how? You think she’s hurt?”
“No, but after hearing Martha wants the shop as her own, I think she’s upset. Wouldn’t she be here by now if everything was all right? Wouldn’t she have contacted me to see when the shop would open?” I forced a smile. “I can understand why the Amish don’t have cell phones, but it can be frustrating to an English person like me when you need to talk to someone.”
Anna patted my hand. “Don’t worry,
kind
.”
“Anna?” I asked.
“That sounds like a serious tone.”
I laughed. “It is. Why didn’t you tell me Elijah burned down your family’s barn?”
Anna sighed. “You asked Jonah the same thing, I suppose. Miriam told me you were on the farm yesterday. She was not happy about it.”
“I’m lucky she didn’t chase me away with a broom. Although ask Oliver about her attack geese. They make impressive security.” I paused. “Jonah said because he forgave Elijah, the past did not need repeating.”
She beamed. “Then, I raised my son well because that’s my answer too.”
“But—”
“No buts. The past is forgiven. Do you know why
Gott
asks us to forgive?”
My religious upbringing was slight, and my memory of the few times I attended Sunday school was foggy. The most outstanding memory I had was of the felt board in the classroom with little felt cutouts of Jesus and the disciples. I had always been drawn to fabric.
“It’s as much for the forgiver as for the one forgiven. Those who don’t forgive are destroyed by their own hatred and bitterness. That’s the last thing
Gott
wants for his children.”
Unsolicited, Ryan came to mind. If what Anna said was true, I needed to forgive Ryan as much for myself as for him.
She grinned. “I see those wheels turning. That’s all that I ask. That you think of these things, nothing more.”
The front door of Running Stitch banged open, and Willow Moon floated inside. “Angie, the store looks fabulous. You wouldn’t even know a man was murdered here a few days ago.”
Two customers at the needle display gasped and hurried out of the shop empty-handed.
I gritted my teeth. “Thank you, Willow.”
“I’ve the most fantastic idea.” She wove about the display in the middle of the room.
Anna covered her mouth to hide a smile.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“What if your quilting circle had a quilting bee during the festival? You could invite as many Amish quilters you like. We could set it up in the field outside of the barn.”
I leaned on the counter. “That doesn’t have much to do with watermelon.”
“True, but it would give a wonderful opportunity to showcase your store, and it’s a way to involve the Amish. It may show other Amish the Watermelon Fest is not the end of the world.” Her eyes were bright.
“It would be a great opportunity for the store, and it would put something out there about Running Stitch other than Joseph’s murder,” I agreed.
Willow nodded. “Exactly. I think it’s high time we made peace with the Amish and English shopkeepers. It is a shame Joseph died, but we can use this as an opportunity to bring the shopkeepers together.”
Her comment again made me wonder if she or perhaps Farley had anything to do with Joseph’s death.
Something caught Willow’s eye. “What cute thimbles.” She floated in that direction. “My mother used to collect antique thimbles.”
While Willow was distracted, I stepped closer to Anna and lowered my voice. “Do you think the quilting circle would do it?”
Anna considered this. “Some will come, but there will be others who will not. They will feel like they are being put on display. A quilting bee is a time of togetherness and work, not promotion and demonstration.”
My face fell.
“Don’t worry. I can roust up enough quilters.” She picked her basket up from the ground. “To do this, I need to make some visits.”
“Are you sure you want to help? Yesterday you told me all the reasons the fest was a bad idea.”
She smiled. “I am not against the fest, and I’m happy to help you because you are Eleanor’s niece. Let me take on this project for you. You have enough worries between the shop, the murder, and Martha.”
Truer words were never spoken.
Willow walked over to us. “So, can you do it?”
I glanced at Anna, who nodded. “We’ll do it.”
Willow clapped her hands. “Perfect. This will be perfect.”
Anna adjusted her glasses. “I love a good sew-in. That’s what we Amish call it. Eleanor and I used to host one once a year. We stopped of course when she got sick. I have missed them. Leave it to me.” She walked to the front door. “And I had better get started,” she said, and left.
Willow made her way toward the door, and then spun around. “I have been meaning to tell you, the night of the murder, I saw lights on in your shop late at night. You know my apartment is over the tea shop, and I can see everything that happens on this street.”
My mouth fell open. “I didn’t know that.” I hurried around the counter. “When did you see the lights?”
She thought for a long minute. “Maybe one in the morning.”
I was already gone. It was Joseph or the killer.
“Did you see anyone go in the shop?” My tone was harsh. “Did you tell the sheriff?”
She shook her head. “Is it important?”
Of course, it is important!
I wanted to shake her.
“Was anyone else with you? Did anyone else see the lights?”
She shook her head. “I live alone.” She placed a hand to her chest. “You don’t think I—I would never hurt anyone.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Joseph was a stern man, but he wasn’t going to stop the fest. That was my only dispute with him. I would never kill anyone, but I would most certainly never kill anyone over watermelon.”
She wasn’t the only one with the watermelon motive. “What about Farley?” I asked.
She cleared her throat. “Farley? I don’t know.”
If she didn’t know, then I would have to find out.
• • •
Late in the afternoon after my last customer left, Martha strolled into the shop. The busloads of visitors who stopped by Running Stitch that day were headed back to the big cities and suburbs.
Oliver lay on his dog pillow beside the quilt frame. He opened one eye when Martha entered and then closed it again.
I stuffed the insurance paperwork on the counter into a folder. “Martha, I’m so glad to see you. Did you get my phone message?”
“Ya.”
She frowned.
“Is something wrong?” I asked. “I was worried when I didn’t hear from you. We had a quilting circle meeting last night. Everyone asked about you and wondered where you were.”
“
Nee
, nothing is wrong.” She set her basket on the floor by the door. “I’m sorry to make the women worry.”
I cleared my throat. “Business has been steady today. I don’t think being closed for the last few days has had as big an impact on the shop as I feared. When I’ve had downtime, I’ve been working on ideas about programs to offer and merchandise to sell in the shop. I would love to get your opinion on some of my thoughts.”
“I’m not interested in your ideas.” Her tone was sharp.
I stepped back. “Oh, well, maybe later? I should start closing up.”
“I don’t want to hear about them later either.” She folded her arms. “I am here to tell you I’m resigning.”
“What? Why?”
“I thought about this a long time, and I don’t like that you’re trying to make this store more
Englisch
. I kept the shop as Eleanor always did, and you want to change it.”
“That’s not true. We’ll continue to have everything Eleanor sold. I only want to do more.”
“That is the
Englisch
way, isn’t it? To strive for more and better? There is never enough. I managed Running Stitch for two years after Eleanor was ill, and what I did was more than enough to keep the business going.”
“This is what this is really about, then? You’re upset Eleanor left me the store.”
“
Gott
forgive me, but yes. I should have been given the store. I worked with her every day for the last ten years.”
Her words stung like a slap in the face. “Martha, I need your help with the shop. You know it better than anyone.”
“
Ya
, I know it better than anyone. That is why it should be mine.”
I sucked in air. “I’m sorry you feel that way. Everything was going smoothly until . . .”
“Until Joseph was murdered,” she finished for me, and picked up her basket.
I dropped my arms to my sides. “Martha, if you are quitting, I need your key.”
She froze and then slowly turned around. “I don’t have it.”
“You left it at home?”
She refused to meet my eyes.
“Nee.”
“Did you lose it?”
She stared at the ground.
“Nee.”
I swallowed. “Did you give it to Joseph Walker?”
She glared at me but said nothing.
“You gave him the key so that he could search the shop for the deed.”
Still she said nothing. What if I was wrong? But then again, Martha hadn’t needed her key since the day before the grand reopening party. She hadn’t opened or closed the shop since then.
“If I am wrong, where is the key?” I asked.
She took two steps to the door and turned. “You are not wrong. I gave him the key because I wanted him to find the deed. If I couldn’t have the shop, it was better that he own it than you. He would have let me run it as I chose, in the Amish way.”
“Was he going to search the shop alone? Who was with him?”
“I only gave the key to Joseph. The shop is small. He would not need any help.”
I opened my mouth to ask another question.
She placed her left hand on the doorknob. I remembered Martha’s quilting at Anna’s house. Her left hand stitched. No matter what part she had played in the breaking and entering of Running Stitch, she did not kill Joseph Walker, as the sheriff had said the killer was right-handed.
“My part in his death is something that I must live with, but you and this shop are not.”
The front door slammed closed after her. I immediately left a voice mail for the sheriff with this latest bit of news. Then I called a locksmith to have the lock to the front door changed.
ter Thirty-three
The bell jangled when I stepped into Jessica’s antiques shop.
Oliver snuffled the floor in search of Cherry Cat and the others.
Jessica closed the lid to her laptop. “Angie, you came back at the perfect time. I made a major sale.” She pointed at a huge cedar wardrobe. “See that over there? I just sold it, for a nice price too. The buyer will be back tomorrow with a truck to pick it up.”
“Congratulations.” I smiled.
“I know. I’m already plotting what I can place there. It took up some serious real estate in the shop.” Her smile widened. “I have even better news.”
Oliver sniffed the suit of armor’s feet, and I pulled him away from it by the collar. It would not do for the ax to fall on him. “Better than a big sale?”
She pulled back the cotton curtain that separated the back of the store from the sales area. “Come to the back room, and I will show you.”
Behind the counter, Oliver and I followed Jessica through the curtain that blocked the back room from view.
Dishes, knickknacks, and old books covered every surface in the tiny room. When Jessica said that she had enough stock to take the cedar closet’s place, she had not been exaggerating.
Jessica held her finger to her lips and pointed to a laundry basket in the corner. Inside Cherry Cat lay on her side while four newborn kittens slept curled up close to her tummy.
Oliver peeked between my ankles as he stared at the kittens.
“They are adorable.” I gasped.
The Frenchie crouched down and watched the basket. I think he fell a little in love too. Cherry Cat hissed at him softly. It was only a friendly warning, “Don’t try anything, buster.”
“Cherry is a good mom. The vet thinks she’s only about a year old herself, so this is likely her first litter. After the kittens are weaned and the vet says enough time has passed, I’ll have her spayed.”
“Are you going to keep her?” I asked in a hushed voice. I didn’t want to hurt the kittens’ ears with any loud noises.
Jessica laughed. “I have to. She runs the shop.”
Cherry Cat was as happy as could be as her four little kittens snuggled against her. A fifth kitten I hadn’t noticed at first was off by himself shivering in the corner of the laundry basket. I sat on the floor and gently petted the dewy fur between his tiny ears. The gray and white kitten staggered over to me on wobbly legs, moving his head back and forth and finding me by scent as his tiny eyes weren’t opened yet. Oliver grew very still. I cupped my hand and the creature curved his body into the shape of my hand. I felt his cool nose on my palm, and his shivers subsided.
Jessica laughed. “I think you have a new friend.”
All the kittens were adorable, but the moment I saw him, I knew this little guy was special. I had felt the same way when I adopted Oliver. It was a little like falling in love. I remember telling Ryan that at the time. He had gone with me to pick up Oliver. He’d rolled his eyes at my romanticized view on pet adoption.
Oliver snuffled but made no move to touch mama or the kittens. Cherry seemed to note his restraint and closed her eyes.
“Does this one have a name?” I asked.
“Not yet. Why don’t you name him?” Jessica said with a knowing smile.
I thought for a minute. “Dodger” popped out of my mouth.
“From
Oliver Twist
, right?”
I nodded. “It was one of my favorite books as a kid. My father used to read it to me with all the voices.”
“I can tell he’s an adventurous little guy, so Dodger is the perfect name.”
“Does this kitten have a home?” I asked.
“Yes,” Jessica said.
“Oh.” My face fell. I started to remove my hand. The little creature mewed in protest.
“Yours,” Jessica said.
I laughed. “Am I that obvious?”
“Yes. He will be weaned in six weeks, and then he is all yours.” She picked up the kitten and nestled him against Cherry with his brothers and sisters. “Let’s give Cherry Cat and the kittens some space and go back into the shop.”
Reluctantly, I stood.
Jessica pulled out a three-foot-high antique milk can for me to sit on before she perched on her stool. “What brings you back here? Since the kittens were born last night, you couldn’t have known about them. It’s about Joseph again, isn’t it?”
“Yes and no. It’s more about your cousin. Danny.”
“What did he do now?”
“Yesterday, he took me to see the Walker farm. I haven’t seen him since, and he had a little mishap.” I went on to tell her about the ants.
Jessica doubled over in laughter. “I would give anything to see it. It’s something we could play at family parties over and over and over again. The whole Nicolson clan would love it.”
I grinned. “I wish I thought to video it with my cell phone. It would have gone viral online.”
Jessica started to cough; she was laughing so hard. She reached under the counter for a bottle of water and took a long swig from it. After she recovered, she asked, “How’s Danny now?”
“That’s why I stopped by. I haven’t seen him since.”
“Don’t worry about him. He’s a guy. His ego was bruised. He’s probably in his apartment wallowing for a bit. He’ll be fine.” Her jovial tone dissipated. “When you came in today, I was afraid you were going to ask me more questions about Joseph’s death.”
“I never really thought you did it. If you wanted to hurt Joseph for abandoning you, why wait thirty years?”
She barked a laugh. “I’m glad the passage of time saved me from further investigation.”
“If you wanted to, you could have easily hurt him back then by telling his Amish family he was dating you. They would have been devastated by that. Instead, you protected him and kept the secret.”
“I loved him,” she said simply.
I smiled. “Plus, it’s hard for me to imagine anyone who can love homeless stray cats so much could kill anyone. You don’t have it in you.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. “If not me, then who do you think it was?”
“You’re not going to talk to Danny about any of this, are you?”
“Please, Danny and I barely acknowledge each other. He’s my cousin, but we have nothing in common other than the same paternal grandparents.”
“I think Elijah Knepp is the killer. You know anything about him?”
“I know he’s Abigail’s brother and went to prison for burning down a barn.”
I nodded. “The Graber barn. Sheriff Mitchell doubts my theory because there was no fire involved in Joseph’s death.”
“I always thought the sheriff was handsome,” she mused with a faraway gaze.
I blinked. Did Jessica have a crush on Mitchell? If she did, that was fine. There was no reason why it should matter to
me
.
“I saw you talking to him the other day outside the courthouse.” She tucked her water bottle back under the counter. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”
“Off of me?” I squeaked. I’d thought that she was about to admit to a mad crush on the county sheriff. I blushed as I remembered Crime Mopper Gill’s comment about the sheriff being sweet on me. “That’s ridiculous. He watched me to make sure I didn’t bolt.”
“I don’t think so,” she said knowingly.
I laughed it off. “I’d better get going.”
She frowned. “I didn’t mean to scare you away.”
“One more thing. I’m thinking of offering quilting classes out of my shop. Do you think I could drum up enough business for the classes?”
She grinned from ear to ear. “Yes. I’d sign up. I could finally make use of all of those bolts of fabric I seem to stockpile because they are so pretty.”
Oliver lay beside the curtain that led into the back room. He sighed and rested his chin on his forepaws.
Jessica laughed. “He misses Dodger already.”
I stepped around the counter to pat my dog’s head. “I think you’re right. I never realized how much he wanted a playmate.”
I snapped on Oliver’s leash. “Bye, Dodger!” I waved to Jessica, and dragged Oliver through the front door of Jessica’s shop.
Oliver whimpered as we returned home.
“I know it was hard to leave him, but he’s too small to leave his mom. It’s only a few weeks, Ollie. Then, Dodger will come home with us. Who needs Ryan? We can make our own little family right here in Holmes County.”
He wiggled his stubby tail in agreement.
For some reason it was Mitchell’s face, not Ryan’s, that came to mind when I thought about my new family. My feet were on autopilot until I collided with Elijah Knepp.