Murder, Plain and Simple (22 page)

All through Thursday morning, I kept a close eye on Oliver, even when we were inside the store. During lulls between customers, I tried to occupy my mind by composing a newspaper advertisement for Martha’s replacement. I got nowhere with the ad; every time I had a good idea, Anderson ambled by the front window and peered inside, causing me to lose my train of thought.

After most of the visitors had left the downtown area in search of lunch in Holmes County restaurants, I taped a be-back-in-five-minutes sign on the glass front door.

Anderson appeared at my side. “Where are you going?”

“Easy, Deputy. I’m just going across the street to visit the bakery.”

“If anything happens to you or your dog, the sheriff will never forgive me.”

“Nothing is going to happen between here and the bakery.” I pointed across the street. “It’s less than twenty paces away.”

He took a deep breath. “Still. I’d rather you stay inside the quilt shop.”

“Anderson, you are supposed to watch the neighborhood, not put me under lockdown. Now, I’ve told you what I’m doing—I’m visiting my friends at the bakery. You’re welcome to walk me over and pace back and forth in front of the bakery window if it will make you feel better.”

He gave a sigh of relief. “It would make me feel much better.”

Anderson, Oliver, and I walked across the street to the bakery.

Behind the counter, Mattie removed cookies from the display case and wrapped them in cellophane. Tomorrow, the bakery would sell them at a discount price as day-old cookies.

“Is Rachel here?” I asked.

She frowned. “Abram is sick today. She is home with him.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

“Just a cold, but she didn’t want to bring it to the bakery and possibly expose customers. You’ve had a lot of business in your shop this morning.”

I smiled. “It was a good day for business, even if most of them wanted to know about the murder.”

She shook her head. “It must not help that the deputy’s been hovering around the street all day. He followed you over here, you know.”

“I know.”

“
Englischers
find the oddest things fascinating. For the Amish, death is a part of life. It is sad for the ones still on earth, but it is a blessing to whoever is passing on to be with the Lord. Sadly, the circumstances of Joseph’s passing make this time a little different.” She sprayed a vinegar and water solution on the glass-domed counter. “Can I help you with something, or can I tell Rachel you stopped by?”

“Maybe you can help me.” I leaned on the counter. “I need to hire someone to work with me at the quilt shop. Do you have any friends looking for work?”

The bell on the door handle rang as three women in jeans and sparkly tank tops entered the bakery.

Mattie held up her finger to me. “Why don’t you sit at one of the tables, and we can talk about this after they leave?”

My brow shot up. “Okay.”

The women read the chalkboard that hung beside the kitchen door. It listed all the items the bakery sold. Many were crossed out at this time in the day.

One of the women’s mouths fell open. “There isn’t any cappuccino here. I’m exhausted. I need a cup.”

Her friends in impossibly high heels surveyed the room. “I’m sure they have something we can drink, Ashley.”

Mattie smoothed her apron. “We have black
kaffi
.”

“Just black coffee?” Ashley asked. “I can’t stand the stuff. It’s like drinking crude oil.”

Mattie tucked her spray bottle and cloth below the counter. “The tea shop next door has special tea and lattes that you might enjoy.”

Ashley pouted. “But we want authentic Amish food.”

Need I tell the woman that cappuccino wasn’t an Amish delicacy? I sat at one of the round tables in the café area of the bakery. Oliver was perched beside me and placed a paw on my right foot. I guessed Deputy Anderson wasn’t the only one around looking out for me. Oliver would protect me as long as my assailant didn’t have wings. At least he might try to protect me.

“You can buy some things from the bakery here and take them to eat with your lattes at the tea shop. People do that all the time, and the owner of the tea shop doesn’t mind.” Mattie folded her hands on the glass countertop.

“The tea shop is a lovely place,” I said.

The women conferred and, in the end, ordered fry pies to go and went next door to the tea shop. After the women left, Mattie sat across from me at the table. “I thought about what you said yesterday about offering embroidery classes at Running Stitch, and I would like to do it.” She took a deep breath. “If you have an opening, I’d be interested in working at the quilt shop too.”

My brow shot up. “You are?”

She blushed at my obvious surprise. “Yes, I enjoyed the quilting circle and would love to learn more.” She waved her hand back to the bakery counter. “This is my family’s business and not what I want to do.”

I bit the inside of my lip. “Doesn’t your family need you?”

“They can find someone else. I’ve worked here for so long. I’d like a change.” She pressed her hands together in her lap. “Please,” she whispered. “I thought I would be leaving here when Elijah and I were to marry. That was not to be. Three years later, I’m still here.”

An Amish person who wanted change? Was that an oxymoron? I don’t know why I was surprised. The Amish were people too, with dreams and goals, with dreams like Mattie’s that didn’t come true. I knew what that was like. I spent seven years of my life in a relationship that ended in a twenty-minute conversation. Still, I was hesitant. “I wouldn’t want to take you away from the bakery. I know that Rachel and Aaron rely on you.”

“Please, Angie.” Her tone was plaintive.

“I’d love to have you, but you should talk to your brother and Rachel first. I know they would miss you here at the bakery.”

A large group of English tourists came into the bakery set on buying Mattie out of everything that she had left. I waved to her as I left the shop.

Across the street, an Amish woman waited outside Running Stitch. Her back was to me, and I couldn’t make out her face because she wore a heavy black bonnet even though the temperature hovered at eight-five degrees.

I crossed the road. Anderson patrolled the area in front of the bakery and tea shop.

“Thank you for waiting,” I told the woman.

She turned, and I found myself in front of tearful Abigail Walker, the late Joseph’s wife. “Can I speak with you?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” I fumbled in my jeans pocket for my keys to the shop. Finally, I got a good grip on the keys.

Anderson continued to march up and down the other side of the street like a wind-up toy soldier. Good. I didn’t want him to report back to Mitchell about my conversation with Abigail.

I unlocked the shop door and let Abigail and Oliver inside. “Would you like to sit down? There are chairs by the quilt frame.”

Oliver flopped on his dog pillow in the corner of the shop.

Abigail loosened the ties on her bonnet but didn’t remove it. “I cannot stay long. My brother tells me that you believe he killed my husband.”

I winced. “I think he is the most likely person, yes.”

“My brother, Elijah, did not kill him.”

“Given his history, how can you be so sure?”

“Because he was staying with us. He was on the farm when my husband was killed.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “It is harder to be in this shop where it happened than I thought it would be.”

“I’m sorry. Do you want to go outside? We could go to the bakery or tea shop.”

“Nee.
I cannot stay long,” she repeated.

“Could Elijah have left the farm without you knowing?”

“How? Rolling Brook is five miles from our farm. He could not have walked there and back in the dark. By this time it was well after midnight. I would have noticed if someone had gone to the barn and taken one of the horses or the courting buggy. My husband had our family buggy.

“In this way, my husband’s death is my fault. Just that night, Joseph discovered Elijah living on our land. My husband was furious. He didn’t want my brother there, but I had let Elijah stay. How could I not? He is my only brother. Joseph and I argued over Elijah’s being there. Finally, my husband told Elijah he could stay the night, but he wanted my brother gone in the morning. Joseph was a
gut
man but he liked to give orders. He was angry at me for disobeying him.” She touched her apron pocket. “Joseph was too upset to go to bed, so he decided to go to his shop and work. He was finishing a table and chair set for our bishop.”

The image of the chair leg sitting in the vise outside the woodworker’s shop came to my mind. It was the last project that Joseph worked on. Surely, Martha had given Joseph her shop key by the time that Abigail and Joseph argued. Had he used the argument as an opportunity to search my shop for the deed?

Abigail held on to one of her bonnet ties as if it were some sort of lifeline. “I asked him not to go, to stay home because it was so late, but he was so angry, he would not listen. Had we not argued, he might still be alive.”

“I’m so sorry, Abigail.”

“I know my brother has made mistakes, but I was willing to give him another chance. My husband was not.” She licked her lips. “You can do everything right as a parent.
Nee
, you can believe that you can do everything right as a parent, but there is no guarantee how your children will grow up one day. You can only pray for your children and hope that
Gott
is merciful about their path. This is how I feel about my girls, and I know this is how our parents felt about Elijah and me. My parents are gone now, and I feel I owed it to them to lead Elijah back on the right path.”

As if my mouth had a mind of its own, I said, “I didn’t kill your husband.”

“I know this.” She removed a wooden horse from her pocket. “Joseph made this for the girls. When the sheriff came to our home to tell me Joseph had died, I was tidying up the living room and putting away the girls’ toys. I was holding this when the sheriff came to the door. For some reason, I cannot put it down. I carry it everywhere. Is that strange? I should not cling to a possession like this.”

“If it brings you comfort, there is no harm in it.”

Abigail ran her fingers over the smooth carved wood of the horse’s back as if she was unsure whether she could believe me. “I must go.” She replaced the wooden horse in her apron pocket.

As she pulled open the shop’s glass door, I said, “We have space for you in the quilt circle whenever you are ready.”

She bowed her head. “That’s very kind of you. I will consider it. Now I only think of my daughters. Thank you for listening.” She tied her bonnet ribbons and left.