Murder, Plain and Simple (23 page)
ter Thirty-six
“Really. You think so?” he asked, sounding relieved.
I laughed. “Really.”
He heaved a huge sigh of relief. “Okay.” He lumbered off to his cruiser.
I opened the door to my little SUV as my cell phone rang in my purse. I checked the readout. It was my mother again. I twisted my mouth. She was bound to be angry that I didn’t return her last call.
I glanced down at Oliver. “It’s Grandma. Should I answer?”
He barked what I interpreted as yes. I helped Oliver in the car and then answered the call.
“Angela Kathryn Braddock, have you been ignoring my calls and e-mails?”
Yikes, she broke out the “Kathryn.” This was serious.
“I haven’t had the Internet installed in the shop or my new house yet to hook up the computers for e-mail.” Of course, I could get e-mail to my smartphone and I had been ignoring my mother’s hourly messages, but she didn’t need to know that. It would only upset her.
“What about the calls?”
“Last time you called, it was a bad time. I was conferring with a town official about the quilt shop.” Translation, I was talking to the Holmes County sheriff about the murder.
“I heard all about the murder in Rolling Brook. It was in your shop, and you’re a suspect. You didn’t tell me!”
I slid into the driver’s seat, put the key in the ignition, and powered down the windows. The car was like a sauna inside. The steering wheel was far too hot to touch. I cranked up the AC. “I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Well, consider us worried. Both your father and I are worried sick. He’s already gone through a whole bottle of Tums—his heartburn has been so bad since we heard. We would have been on the next plane out of Dallas to come fetch you, but your father is not supposed to fly while his knee heals.”
Poor Dad. “How is Dad feeling today?”
“Other than scared to death for his only child? He’s fine.”
“Really. Don’t worry. The sheriff is investigating,” I fibbed. “It was unfortunate that it occurred in my shop. I have no motive to hurt the Amish man who was killed. The sheriff doesn’t think I did.” I mentally added,
At least I don’t think he believes that anymore.
“Are you safe?”
“I’m fine. In fact, the sheriff assigned a deputy to keep an eye on me all day.”
She let out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad to hear that someone is taking this seriously.”
“How did you learn about it?” I grew curious. The only news my father knew about came from the Dallas paper, and my mother wasn’t one to troll the Internet for news about Ohio.
“Ryan called me.”
I almost dropped the phone. “How would he know?”
“He said he read it online.”
“What? Has he been googling me?” I could not keep the bitterness from my voice.
“Oh, honey, he’s concerned about you, and for good reason, it seems.”
I gritted my teeth. “I’m glad to hear Ryan was so concerned that he called
you
about it and not me.”
“He thought it would be awkward to call you under the circumstances.”
You think?
I tilted the AC vent so the cool air hit me directly in the face.
“He apologized for everything and said the breakup was his fault. He sounded so sorry.”
“The breakup
was
his fault. He dumped me, remember?”
“I know, honey, but I know he regrets it now. He misses you.” She sighed. “He did convince me that it was best to postpone the wedding. Ryan needs to do some soul-searching.”
My right eye started to twitch. “You mean cancel the wedding, not postpone.”
“Not cancel completely. Ryan needs some time. He will come around.”
Apparently, our seven-year relationship wasn’t a long enough time to search his soul. As long as Mom knew the wedding wasn’t happening, I didn’t care about the word she chose to use.
“Mom, I do not want to talk about Ryan anymore.”
“Maybe you need to do some soul-searching too.”
“My soul is fine, thanks—”
“I’m worried about you and this crazy Amish murderer on the loose. Do I need to fly up there and straighten this all out? I can’t believe anyone would think that you’d hurt anyone. There was that incident when you were in elementary school when you threw a little boy over your head in pursuit of a pink egg in the middle of an Easter egg hunt, but that was in the heat of the battle.”
“No.” As soon as I realized how much force was behind my answer, I quickly lowered my voice. “I mean no, there is no need for you to come here. Dad can’t come, and he needs you at home.”
An older Amish woman who was walking down the street with a basket of groceries from the tiny market on the corner crossed to get away from me, the crazy
Englischer
.
“I suppose you are right. If you need me to come, call me any hour of the day, and I will fly up to Ohio.”
“I will.”
“I’ll even skip the Little Jewel of Texas benefit, if I need to.”
I had no idea what the Little Jewel of Texas benefit was, but it sounded awful.
“I’m a judge this year.”
Across the parking lot, Willow Moon climbed out of a compact car.
“Mom.” I cut her off. “I appreciate your concern. I really do, but I need to go. The town is having a festival tomorrow, and I just saw the organizer. I need to talk to her.”
Her voice brightened. “A festival. That sounds like fun. What is it celebrating?”
“Watermelon.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed, and then her voice lifted again. “Will there be a watermelon princess crowned?”
“I don’t know. Let me ask the organizer. Talk to you soon. Bye.”
“Remember to call me if you need me.”
I hit the off button on the phone as Willow crossed the parking lot toward my car. She paused, waiting for a courting buggy to pass. “Angie!” Her face brightened. “I wanted to talk to you, and there you are right in front of me.”
“Oh?”
“I have a special job for you for tomorrow.”
“Oh?” My voice dropped.
“You will love it,” she said with the same expression my mother had when she insisted a dress needed an extra layer of crinoline. I had a feeling that I wasn’t going to be nearly as excited about this special job as Willow was.
hapter Thirty-seven
“I thought the special project starts tomorrow,” I said through my car’s open window.
She dropped the beads onto her chest. “It does, but that doesn’t mean we have to wait until then to talk about it. Let’s go. It’s in the barn at the end of the road. It’s better if I show you.”
I grabbed the steering wheel, which was now cool to the touch. Mitchell wanted me to go to work and home. That was it. He would not approve of my walking about town with Willow, a suspect, out in the open where Elijah could see me.
“What’s the holdup? You got something better to do?”
“Not really,” I admitted, and I climbed out of the car.
“Didn’t think so.”
I opened the door to the backseat and snapped the lead onto Oliver’s collar. He snuffled.
You promised we were going home,
his expression said.
“Change of plans, buddy.”
He buried his face under his paw.
Willow peered into the backseat of my car. “He wants to take a nap. Just leave him there. He will be fine.”
I would have agreed with her before my face-to-face with Elijah Knepp. “The walk will do him good. He’s lain around Running Stitch most of the day.” I picked up Oliver and set him on the blacktop, careful to avoid the horse dropping left there earlier in the day by a passing horse and buggy.
Oliver held his nose in the air as if in disgust. He never had these types of problems in Dallas.
Willow waved us on and the strings of beads around her neck clattered against one another with her every step. “The weatherman predicts eighty percent chance of sunshine for tomorrow. I plan to hold him to it.”
“How are you going to do that?” I laughed.
“I will drive to Cleveland and give him a piece of my mind if I feel one drop of rain.”
Now that Oliver was out of the car and moving, his mood improved—he stopped every few yards to smell a tree or bench along the sidewalk.
Beyond Old Ben’s woodworker’s shop, which was closed for the day, the barn came into view. Fresh wood on the siding and shiny pieces of slate roof marked the places where Jonah and the other Amish men made repairs on the old structure. “It’s a hundred times better,” I said.
Willow nodded. “It is. Jonah Graber and his team did an excellent job.” She pointed to the open grassy area, which had recently been mowed. “Because of the good weather, the quilting circle can go there. It shouldn’t be too hot, because the barn will provide the ladies shade most of the day.”
A sense of dread fell over me. “I forgot to check with Anna about the other ladies joining the quilting bee.”
“I knew you were busy the last couple of days with the shop, so Anna Graber and I settled the whole event. All you have to do is allow us to use your quilt frame.”
I gave a sigh of relief. “I’m glad. The quilt frame is heavy, though.”
She waved my concern away. “There are plenty of strapping Amish men around here who can carry it up the street.”
“I’m not sure how I’m going to be in two places at one time,” I said. “I don’t have any help in the quilt shop right now.”
She held on to the longest of her beaded necklaces. “What about Martha?”
“She quit.”
“Well, you need to be here for your special assignment. We’ll find someone to watch Running Stitch,” she said as we crossed the grass to the barn. “You might want some flyers to hand out to the folks watching the quilters. This will be a gold mine in PR as far as Running Stitch goes.”
“I’ll work on them tonight.” I hoped my printer could handle spitting out two hundred flyers. Rolling Brook wasn’t the kind of place you could find an all-night print shop.
The barn’s doors were wide-open and volunteers were inside setting up tables and chairs for the next day’s festivities.
“Running Stitch will get plenty of exposure with the quilting bee. Thank you again for including it.”
“It’s no problem. Anna and I discussed that the bee needs a watermelon tie-in. We don’t want it to be too out of place, so she proposed a watermelon quilt pattern.”
“I’ve never heard of that.” I sidestepped a teenager hurrying into the barn with a bunch of green and pink balloons.
“She’s going to make it.” Willow stepped inside the barn. Despite all the stall windows being opened to let light inside, the space was dim. “We are bringing in some barn lights to hang from the ceiling. They should be here any time.”
“You still haven’t told me what my special assignment is.”
“We need a timekeeper for a watermelon-eating contest.”
“Oh.” That didn’t sound that hard. Was there a catch?
Willow pointed to one corner where two teenagers set up chairs stadium-style. “That’s where the watermelon-eating contest will be at eleven in the morning.”
“How many people are entered?”
“Five.” She sighed. “I was hoping for more, but I must remind myself this is the first Watermelon Fest. Next year, it will be bigger.”
Not if the Amish like Joseph have anything to say about it,
I thought. “What exactly will I have to do during the contest?”
“It’s as easy as an Amish fry pie. You start the clock and stop it when the first person finishes eating all of his or her watermelon.”
It sounded too easy, but I thought this was a situation in which not knowing everything might be best. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
She grinned. “I’ve wanted to bring an event like this to Rolling Brook for years. You don’t know how hard I had to push and lobby for it.”
I stopped walking. “I thought the Watermelon Fest was Farley’s idea.”
“Pfft!” Willow snorted. “That’s just what he tells people. Don’t get me wrong, I have appreciated his help. Especially when trying to get it approved by the town trustees. But the Watermelon Fest has always been my idea.”
The force with which Willow said this surprised me, as it wasn’t the reaction that I’d expected from the mellow tea shop owner. Up to this point, I hadn’t really considered Willow a viable suspect because of her relaxed demeanor. That had been a mistake. “I’m sorry if my comment upset you.”
Her expression softened. “Sometimes Farley can get under my skin, which is not a small feat. He’s a blowhard, but at the same time, I know I need him to get the job done.”
Had Joseph gotten under her skin too?
Clearly, she was passionate about the Watermelon Fest.
“Do you trust Farley?”
She stopped walking. “Of course. Why?”
“You seem upset with him.” I cleared my throat. “Do you think that he could have killed Joseph?”
“Over watermelon?” She laughed. “Oh, Angie, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time. Who knew you were a comedian?”
Who said I was joking?
“The next thing you’re going to ask is if I did it.” She doubled over in mirth.
“I was thinking about it,” I admitted.
She wiped a tear from her eye. “I can assure you I didn’t. I know some of the Amish aren’t overjoyed at the idea, but it will bring so much business. If people come for the fest and see everything our little town has to offer, they are bound to return. We get our share of tourists, but nothing like what Berlin or Sugarcreek do. I think Rolling Brook is just as quaint as those towns and should attract the same number of visitors.”
“Have preparations gone more smoothly now that Joseph is gone?”
“Not at all. In fact, the trustees were considering calling the whole thing off. They would have had it not been for Farley. How can we have all these tourists in town with a killer on the loose? Two of the trustees are especially nervous. It’s one thing for an Amish shopkeeper to get murdered, but what if it’s a tourist? That would ruin everything.”
I winced. Abigail and her children would have a difference of opinion.
I opened my mouth, but Farley’s oily voice broke into our conversation. “Willow, I’m so glad to see you. Tomorrow will be a day to remember for Rolling Brook. Ah! I see you found Angela.” He grinned.
“I did, and she agreed to be timekeeper for the watermelon-eating contest.”
To my relief, Willow said nothing of my suspicions toward Farley.
“Excellent.” He eyed me. “I see you aren’t wandering around the countryside.”
I gave him a weak smile, feeling exposed. I should have gone straight home like Mitchell wanted me to. “It’s getting late. I should head home. Oliver wants his dinner.”
The Frenchie barked agreement.
Willow smoothed the sleeves of her thin blouse over her arms. “Remember, we need you in the barn at ten thirty sharp.” She seemed to want to say something more, but her eye flitted in Farley’s direction.
I hoped that my suspecting her of murder didn’t ruin any chances I had of building a friendship with Willow. Despite everything, I really did like the tea shop owner. Trusting her was another story.
“I’ll be there,” I promised, wondering how I was going to find someone to watch the shop.
“I’m headed back to the tea shop,” Farley said. “I’ll walk you back to your car.”
“That’s not necessary,” I said, and headed across the grass.
Farley didn’t take the hint and followed me.
When we reached the sidewalk, Farley said, “I’ve heard that you have been about town, trying to find out who killed Joseph Walker. I must be a suspect.”
I stepped as far away from Farley as I could while still not walking on the grass.
Had Farley overheard my conversation with Willow?
“I know the Watermelon Fest is important to you.”
“It’s important to Rolling Brook’s survival. We need to make our mark in Holmes County. We need to be known for something.”
The best theme you could come up with was watermelon?
I wondered. Thankfully, I didn’t voice my opinion on this.
“Sheriff Mitchell already spoke to me twice about the murder. As you can see, I haven’t been arrested.”
We walked by Old Ben’s store and the yarn shop. The lights were off in every building and the doors locked up tight. The barn and everyone in it felt very far away. If Farley could drive straight to the point, so could I. “Do you have an alibi?”
A thin smile pulled across his face. “I do.”
“What is it?” We had almost reached the bakery. I wished Rachel, Aaron, or Mattie were still there. Why did everyone in Rolling Brook have to leave so early in the day? In Dallas, five o’clock wasn’t even quitting time.
“That you don’t need to know. I’ve told the sheriff to get him off my case. He verified that I told the truth. You can ask him about it.”
“I will,” I promised.
Farley squeezed my shoulder from behind me. “Just remember, Miss Angela, I don’t need to kill someone to get what I want.”
I jerked away from him before crossing the street in the direction of the community lot and my SUV. I unlocked the car and hopped in with Oliver on my lap. The question remained. What did Farley want?