Murder, Plain and Simple (25 page)

I winced and resisted the urge to look back at Mitchell and his family. Why had I assumed that Mitchell wasn’t married? Lots of men didn’t wear their wedding rings, including my father because it no longer fit him. “I hope they like watermelon,” I said.

The barn lights, which Willow promised would be installed last night, were up and the barn no longer seemed as dark as it had the evening before. All the windows were open, as were the barn doors on either side. Fifty or so people, both Amish and English, moved around the building enjoying the displays. A long cafeteria-style table ran along the south side of the barn. A baker’s dozen of carved watermelons sat along the table a foot apart from one another. Metal cake pans of dry ice kept the watermelons cool and fresh in the heat. The smoke from the dry ice curved around a watermelon carved into the shape of a dragon. Beside it, a cat-shaped watermelon looked on. “Aren’t they something?” Willow asked.

“They are,” I agreed. “The dry ice was a nice touch.”

“I thought so too. It brings an air of mysticism to the fest.”

I held back a laugh. I’m sure “an air of mysticism” was just what the tourists expected when they came to Amish Country.

“The eating contest is at the far end of the barn.” She pointed to the northwest corner. The barn was so large the opposite corner was a basketball court’s length away. Something else caught my eye first. In the middle of the barn, there were five enormous watermelons. The largest was the size of a grown man. Several Amish men surveyed the watermelons. They knocked on them with their ears close to the rinds.

“Aren’t they great?” Willow said. “I’m thrilled with the number of submissions.”

I stepped in front of the largest watermelon. It had a bright blue ribbon taped to its side; “230 lbs.” was written in black marker on the ribbon. “Two hundred and thirty pounds? That’s more than my dad weighs, and he’s a big guy.”

Willow laughed.

The podium (I guess that’s what you would call the platform the watermelon was on) was a tower of forklift slates stacked five high. The slates were worn and had seen better days. “Are you sure those slates can hold that monster?”

Willow waved my concern away. “No more dillydallying. The competition starts in three minutes.” She gave me a little shove. “Get over there.”

I stumbled around the giant watermelons. The one in the middle was by far the largest. The rest ranged from eighty to a hundred pounds. I wondered what the winning farmer fed the watermelon to have it grow that large. Steroids?

Willow was right. The eating competition was a big draw. Forty or so guests sat in folding chairs in front of the five anxious watermelon eaters. Another ten to fifteen spectators stood behind the chairs. Willow handed me a stopwatch. “You hit this, you say ‘go,’ and you hit it again when the first person finishes. That’s the winner.” She clapped her hands. “This is so exciting!”

I smiled at the contestants, but they didn’t smile back. They were in the zone. “That sounds simple enough,” I told Willow.

“Wonderful.” She hooked a thumb at the contestants. “Keep an eye on them too. Make sure they really eat the watermelon. I don’t want any cheaters to harm the integrity of my contest.”

I chuckled. “Cheaters?”

“You’d be surprised. I bet one of them tries to pull a fast one, like tossing the watermelon under the table.” She pointed at Oliver. “You better keep him to the side. He might accidentally aid a competitor by eating watermelon that falls on the ground.”

Tossing watermelon? How violent did Willow think this competition would be? “I’ll keep him out of range.”

She tapped the face of her watch. “It’s showtime.”

“I thought I was the timekeeper.”

“Oh no. You are running this whole thing. I’ll give you an intro and then you’re off.”

“Thank you . . . I think.”

Willow stepped in front of the contestants and held out her arm. Her blouse flowed around her like the dry-ice smoke around the carved watermelons. “Hello, everyone! Welcome to the First Annual Watermelon Fest. We have so many exciting events planned for you, and we are kicking things off with the watermelon-eating contest.” She beamed over her shoulder at the contestants. “Are you ready?”

The four men and one woman nodded. In front of each contestant there was a fifteen-pound watermelon that had been cut in half, a large tablespoon, bottles of water, and a soup bowl. I wasn’t sure what the soup bowl was for.

Willow beamed. “I’m pleased to introduce you to our newest member of the Rolling Brook business community, Angela Braddock.”

Tepid claps came from the crowd. How long would it take for them to eat the watermelon? Fifteen minutes? Twenty?

“Angie, if you will do us the honors? By counting us down?”

I cleared my throat and used my best outdoor voice. “The competition will begin on the count of three. Ready? One! Two! Three! Go!”

I hit the on button of the stopwatch and the contestants dug into their watermelons with such ferocity I had to look away. Unfortunately, I soon learned what the bowls were for as contestants started to spit black watermelon seeds into them. Some of them didn’t have the best aim, and the spectators in the front row were showered with watermelon seeds.

Oliver whimpered and hid behind a horse stall. Five minutes into the contest, the eating began to slow. The four male contestants, all built like amateur bodybuilders, groaned as they tried to maneuver their spoons. One had his forehead resting on the table.

The woman ignored her competitors and dug into the watermelon with methodical concentration. Another ten minutes passed. Two of the men had run off in the direction of the Porta Potties when the woman held up her spoon in victory. “Done!”

I hit the stopwatch. Most of the spectators had wandered off by this point. Watching someone become sick over watermelon wasn’t all that exciting. I decided if Willow held the competition next year, she would have to spice it up, like have the contestants eat watermelon while running a race. At least it would be more interesting.

Willow clapped her hands. “What a thrilling contest! Timekeeper, what is our winner’s official time?”

“Twenty-four minutes and forty-six seconds.”

The girl picked a seed from her cheek. “What do I win?”

Willow reached into her purse for an envelope. “You won a thirty-dollar gift certificate to any of the participating shops in Rolling Brook.”

Frowning, the girl took the envelope. I would be disappointed too. Her effort deserved at least a fifty-dollar gift certificate.

Willow turned to the handful of spectators still in the folding chairs. “Please enjoy the rest of your visit to our lovely little town of Rolling Brook.”

The sad remainder of the crowd dispersed.

Willow beamed. “That went well—don’t you think?”

“Yep. I should go check on the quilting circle,” I said. “Anna and the others should have the quilt frame up by now.”

She nodded and floated away. Behind me someone tapped my shoulder. “Mind giving me a quote about the eating contest for the paper?” Danny asked.

“Tortoise wins the race again,” I said, and started to walk toward the entrance of the tent.

As I expected, he followed me. “Are you going to tell me anything about the fire at your house last night?” he asked.

I wasn’t the least bit surprised he knew about it. “No one was hurt, and the fire department had it under control within minutes.”

Jonah pulled one of his twins off the giant watermelon in the middle of the room. The slates gave a little under the boy’s extra weight but held. Jonah reprimanded his son in their language.

“What about the kerosene?” Danny asked as we stepped outside the barn.

“I don’t know anything about it.”

The quilt frame was up and eight ladies sat around it, quilting on their little section. Anna held court and the women nodded their prayer-cap-covered heads and laughed at the story she told in Pennsylvania Dutch.

He grabbed my arm. “Come on. That is Elijah Knepp’s signature. Did he do it?”

I jerked my arm away from him. “You are the investigative reporter, Danny. You tell me.”

Danny glared at me. “We had a deal that we were going to help each other.”

“Yes, we had a deal until you left me stranded by the Walker place.”

“Okay, I admit that was a little childish. Can we start again?”

“Danny, I don’t have time for this today.”

“Have you found the deed to the quilt shop? Even without Joseph around, the Walkers could still dispute your claim to it.”

I ignored his question.

He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a no. If you find it, I suggest you put it in a safety-deposit box at the bank. That’s much safer than your aunt’s methods.”

I hadn’t thought about that before. Would sweet Abigail try to take the shop from me?

“I don’t have anything more to tell you.”

“We had a deal!” He glared at me, and for the first time, he didn’t remind me of a spoiled teenager. In the teenager’s place was a fully grown, angry man. “Maybe you should listen to your mother and go to Texas and marry that lawyer.”

“H-how do you know about that?” I’d never spoken to Danny about Ryan. I hadn’t spoken to anyone in Rolling Brook about Ryan, not even Rachel or Anna.

“Is there a problem here?” Farley sauntered up to us. Despite the hot weather, he wore a three-piece suit with a pocket watch on a chain. I imagine he chose the outfit because it was in keeping with how he thought a township trustee should dress. But instead of looking the part of small-town official, he looked like a Victorian who had been dropped from outer space.

He still made my skin crawl, but in this case, I was happy to see him.

I smiled. “Not at all. Danny’s asking for quotes about the Watermelon Fest. You two should talk. I’m sure you can tell him all about it, Farley.”

The trustee’s chest puffed out. “Yes, I can. It was my idea after all.” He wrapped an arm around Danny’s shoulder. “Let’s talk.” He led Danny away.

Danny glared at me over the trustee’s arm, and I offered him a little finger wave before joining the quilting circle.

Oliver headed straight for Anna’s side. I think he remembered the beef jerky from the buggy.

Rachel stood up from her folding chair. “Angie, so many of the people have stopped to take flyers about Running Stitch. They are really excited about the quilting classes.”

“I’m glad,” I said, hope growing in me that the quilt shop would be a success after all. “And thank you and Aaron for letting Mattie work at my shop. I know you rely on her.”

She smiled. “We do, but I told my husband, Mattie needs to do something she wants right now until she can find her feet again.”

I gave her a hug and waved to the rest of the ladies. “Thank you all for taking part in the bee.”

“It is our pleasure,” an elderly Amish woman said. “When Anna Graber calls in a favor, you jump.”

Anna shook her head. “Bea, you act like I keep a scorecard.”

“You don’t?” The other woman cackled.

“Can you stay and quilt some?” Anna patted the top of the quilt. I could see the blue outline where she’d marked the watermelon pattern.

“I hope to. I need to go back to the shop and grab my quilting kit and see how Mattie’s doing.” I touched the quilt topper. “Anna, this is beautiful. Willow told me you agreed to make a watermelon pattern, but I never expected anything like this. It’s a piece of art. The watermelons look like they could roll right off into the grass.”

“Hush, now. It is nothing.” Anna slipped Oliver a piece of dried meat from her basket. He chomped it down.

“When it’s finished, I want to hang it in the shop.” I didn’t say so, but it would fit in the space where my aunt’s wedding ring quilt once hung.

“I saw you talking to Danny Nicolson.” Sarah threaded her needle. “Did he write the profile on you yet?”

I frowned. “Not yet.”

Sarah adjusted her glasses. “I’m surprised. He asked dozens of questions about you. He should have more than enough material by now.”

“Maybe he’s concentrating on the murder story,” Rachel said.

“What type of questions did he ask?”

“He wanted to know where you were from and what your background was.” Sarah made five tiny, straight stitches. “He wanted to know why you came to Rolling Brook. I told him because you inherited Running Stitch from your aunt.”

“Was that the end of it?”

“No. I got the impression he thought there was more to it than that.” Her needle flew through the next straight line on the pattern. “He said that he was going to get to the bottom of the real story.”

“That is the real story.” I pivoted back toward the barn. Danny and Farley were no longer there. Had the reporter been checking up on me? Was that how he knew about Ryan?

I wanted to question Sarah more, but Martha came across the lawn to the circle.

“Martha,” Anna exclaimed. “I’m so glad you changed your mind and came.” She patted the seat of the empty folding chair next to her. “We have a spot for you.”

I tensed up at Anna’s offer. None of the quilters knew about Martha’s involvement in Joseph’s death. I hoped to keep it that way, not so much for Martha, but for my aunt. Whatever she may have done to me, Martha had cared for the shop when
Aenti
needed her and I would always be grateful to her for that.