Murder, Served Simply

Murder, Simply Stitched

“At turns playful and engaging as the well-intentioned
Englischer
strives to rescue her Ohioan Amish friends from a bad fate . . . a satisfyingly complex cozy.”

—
Library Journal

“In the Amish Quilt Shop Mysteries, Isabella Alan captures the spirit of the Amish perfectly. . . . Throw in the
Englischers
living in Rolling Brook and the tourists visiting and you have a great host of colorful characters.”

—Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

Murder, Plain and Simple

“Who can best run a quilt shop in Holmes County's Amish country—an
Englisch
outsider or only the Amish themselves? With its vast cast of English and Amish characters in fictional Rolling Brook, Ohio, Isabella Alan's
Murder, Plain and Simple
will be a dead-certain hit with devotees of cozy mysteries.”

—P. L. Gaus, author of the Amish-Country Mysteries

“Isabella Alan captures Holmes County and the Amish life in a mystery that is nothing close to plain and simple, all stitched together with heart.”

—Avery Aames, Agatha Award–winning author of the Cheese Shop Mysteries

“This series starter set in Amish country will delight readers with its details of the community's culture and lifestyle. The contrast between the simple life and a grisly murder plays out nicely in this well-done cozy. . . . [The] author does a good job of introducing several key players in the community, which develops a strong sense of place and provides plenty of material for future mysteries.”

—
Romantic Times
(4 stars)

“This is a community you'd like to visit, a shop where you'd find welcome . . . and people you'd want for friends. . . . There's a lot of interesting information about Amish life, but it's interwoven into the story line so the reader learns details as Angie does.”

—Kings River Life Magazine

“Alan's take on the Amish is not necessarily what the reader might expect, and there is plenty of action to keep those pages turning. Cozy readers and Amish enthusiasts alike will be raving about this debut. It proves to be a great start for Isabella Alan.”

—Debbie's Book Bag

“A new series that I look forward to reading. . . . It is well-plotted and has an intriguing cast of characters. . . . . If you like your mystery with an Amish flair, then you should be reading
Murder, Plain and Simple
.”

—MyShelf.com

Plainly Murder
(a Penguin Special novella)

Murder, Plain and Simple

Murder, Simply Stitched

Published by the Penguin Group

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First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,

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Copyright © Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 2014

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ISBN 978-0-698-16396-6

PUBLISHER'S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.

For my sister-in-law
Nicole Flower
with
love

To my readers, who follow me as I switch from writing as Amanda Flower to Isabella Alan and back again,
En frehlicher Grischtdaag!
Merry Christmas!

When I started writing the Amish Quilt Shop Mysteries, my mother, Rev. Pamela Flower, and I went on many research trips to Holmes County. Because Amish Country is so close to where I live, it was always a day trip. However, one weekend we decided to stay overnight to attend the Amish-themed play showing in the hotel's theater. It wasn't until the first scene began that we realized the play was a musical. In surprise, we laughed so hard, tears streamed down our faces. Knowing how some Amish would react to an Amish-themed musical, I realized I had the setting for the third mystery. It was as if it had been wrapped up with a Christmas bow and set at my feet. Thank you, Mom. You remain my partner in crime, who can never be replaced.

Thanks to my dear agent, Nicole Resciniti. Your friendship is one of the best parts of my career. And thanks to my editor, Laura Fazio, for pushing me. Sheriff Mitchell thanks you too.

Love to my family: Andy, Nicole, Isabella, and Andrew; and to my dear friends Delia, Mariellyn, Meredith, and Suzy, for your unfailing support.

Finally, gratitude to my Heavenly Father. You teach me something new about faith with every
book.

W
ater fell from the faucet into the old porcelain sink in Running Stitch's tiny bathroom. Through the closed door, I heard the cheerful Pennsylvania Dutch chatter of the ladies from my quilting circle. Normally, the sound would have made me smile. Today, any noise was certain to cause an instant migraine.

I dabbed my face with a damp paper towel, careful not to mar my eye makeup. When Ryan Dickinson showed up at my door, I wanted to look my best. Not for him but for me. Didn't every girl feel like that when confronted with her ex-fiancé? Of course, most girls don't have their parents to blame for the reunion. I rested my forehead on the mirror and willed myself to get a grip.

A tap came at the door. “Angie, are you okay in there?” asked Anna, who had been my aunt Eleanor's closest friend.

I opened the door. My kitten, Dodger, and French bulldog, Oliver, sat on either side of her. Concern was plastered on all three of their faces.

“I'm fine,” I said, forcing some Christmas cheer into my voice.

None of them bought my act.

“
Ya
,
you sound like it.”

If you had asked me before my move from Dallas to Ohio's Amish Country whether Amish women were sarcastic, I would have said no. Boy, did Anna prove me wrong.

“I
am
fine.”

She stepped back to give me enough space to exit the bathroom.

“You didn't seem that way earlier today. When your parents and Ryan arrived, you practically threw them onto the progressive-dinner sleigh. You barely gave Mattie and me enough time to introduce ourselves.”

I crossed the shop to the long table lined with tureens of soup, each made by a lady from my quilting circle, and chili made by me. I had to bring a little of Texas to this Christmas in Ohio. “The sleigh was leaving,” I said as I stirred my chili. “I didn't want them to miss this important event in Rolling Brook. It's not like they will have another chance to have an Amish progressive dinner.”

“They will if they come next Christmas,” Anna said.

I shivered. “Mom and Dad are welcome back, but this will be the
last
Christmas Ryan Dickinson spends in Rolling Brook if I can help it.”

Mattie Miller, my young assistant in the shop, said, “Ryan is very handsome.”

I scowled at the chili.
Maybe I should add some more hot sauce and show them how we really do chili in Texas.

“He's no more handsome than the sheriff. The sheriff is distinguished,” Anna said.

I flinched. There lay the heart of the problem. Ryan Dickinson, my ex-fiancé, and Sheriff James Mitchell, my kind-of boyfriend, were together in the same county for Christmas. I never thought I would see the day, not even in my worst nightmares. And it was all thanks to my mother, the mastermind behind the drama.

Suddenly, the chili didn't seem all that appetizing. I debated going back to the bathroom in case I needed to toss the half dozen Christmas cookies I had pilfered from the tray Mattie had brought across the street from her family's bakery. I placed the glass lid back on the Crock-Pot.

Mattie's thin eyebrows wrinkled. “Angie, you don't look so good. Are you ill?”

“I'll be fine. The holidays are always stressful, right?”

Anna sniffed. “The
Englisch
make it stressful. It's not that way in the Amish world. We know Christmas is a time of reflection on our faith, and to be with family.”

“I think most English folks know that too,” I said. “But there are also credit cards involved.”

Anna shook her head as if I'd hit her with yet another mysterious English riddle.

Mattie unwrapped a third stack of plastic bowls from their packaging and set them on the edge of the table. “The progressive dinner is across the street at the bakery.”

“Already?” I swallowed hard. The next stop would be Running Stitch. I hurried to the front window. Sure enough, the progressive-dinner sleigh was off-loading
customers, most of whom were local English folks, with the exception of Ryan and my parents.

Before the cold could seep through their heavy winter coats and parkas, they dashed into the bakery. My best friend and Mattie's sister-in-law, Rachel Miller, would warm them up with hot coffee and some of her prizewinning friendship bread.

Maybe if Mom and Ryan overeat, they will be too ill to talk to me about whatever brought them to Ohio this Christmas,
I thought, feeling more cheerful. Then I could spend the rest of the week avoiding talking to them about it. I wouldn't mind talking with my dad though. I suspected he was on my side. Plus, Dad had the ability to pack away a couple of pies single-handedly. The progressive dinner wouldn't even be a challenge for him.

Mattie patted my arm as she carried a tray of crackers to the second long table along the quilt shop's front window. “Angie, don't worry so much. It will all be fine.”

When had Mattie become the calm, reassuring one? When she'd started working for me four months ago, she'd been a quiet, unassuming Amish girl. I liked the new Mattie, but I wasn't sure how her conservative brother felt about her new confidence.

I peered out through Running Stitch's display window. One of my favorite quilts, a double wedding ring pattern done in Christmas red and green, hung over the quilt stand next to a five-foot Christmas tree decorated with white lights and pincushions as ornaments. The Amish don't have Christmas trees in their homes. Like everything else, their Christmas decorations are modest—some greenery and maybe a string of popcorn at
most. I shuddered at what my Amish friends would think of the nine-foot glitzed-and-glittered tree that sat in the front hall of my parents' home back in Dallas. There were enough electric bulbs on it to light up an aircraft carrier. Dad always said it wasn't worth putting up a Christmas tree unless you could see it from space. Thinking of the tree made me nostalgic and happy that both of my parents were in Rolling Brook for Christmas.

The sleigh shifted forward a foot as the two draft horses shuffled in place. Steam escaped from their nostrils as they stamped the snow-covered road. Jonah, Anna's son and my childhood friend, sat on the driver's seat of the sleigh. He spied me in the window and waved. He arched his sandy-colored eyebrows as if to ask a question.
Great,
I thought,
even Jonah wonders how I'm going to handle Ryan. Does the entire town know my ex-fiancé is here for Christmas?
I already knew the answer to that one.

Behind me, Anna and Mattie spoke in hushed tones. I walked across the room in time to hear Mattie say, “Aaron said it's wrong for the
Englischers
to portray the Amish that way.”

Ahh,
I thought,
the play. An Amish Christmas
was the second hot topic in town, and I was happy to have it. At least it took some of the heat off me.

“Did you hear what it's about?” Mattie asked.

“Judging from the title,” Anna said, “something about the Amish and Christmas.”

“Nee.”
Mattie put her hands on her hips. “I mean yes, but it's mostly about an Amish girl who falls in love with
an
Englischer
and leaves the community. My brother says that it belittles our way of life.”

Anna snorted. “Let the
Englisch
have their fun.”

“If it were just
Englischers
.” Mattie lowered her voice until I could barely hear her. “Eve Shetler is in the play.”

Anna clicked her tongue. “
Ya,
I heard that. Eve is an
Englischer
now. It's not our concern what she does now that she has left the community.”

“Many don't feel that way. It's fine she left the community, but why would she come back and mock it?”

“I don't think the play is meant to mock anything,” I said, jumping in for the first time.

“Have you seen it?” Mattie asked.

“No, I heard bits and pieces when I was at the inn setting up for the Christmas quilt show. Tonight will be the first time I'll see it run all the way through.” The progressive dinner would end at the Swiss Valley Hotel on Rolling Brook's border with Berlin. The grand finale of the evening would be the opening of
An Amish Christmas
. Perhaps now was not the best time to mention the musical numbers in the production.

Mattie smoothed the pile of napkins on the table. “Then you can't say for sure.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the bell over the front door rang. Progressive diners poured into the quilt shop. Cheerful chatter quickly filled the small shop. The women raved over the quilts, and the men made a beeline for the tureens of soup. Anna and Mattie took up their posts behind the soup table and began dishing hot soup and chili into bowls.

Mom, Dad, and Ryan were in the back of the pack.
My father gave me a huge grin, and it took all my willpower not to run over to him and give him a big bear hug like I had when I was a little girl. The man behind him, Ryan, stopped me. Ryan had a pained expression on his face as he rubbed his arms, as if to get blood circulating. Clearly, spending the night freezing in an Amish sleigh as it moved from business to business in Rolling Brook and eating heavy Amish food were not what he expected when he arrived in Ohio. I knew Ryan, the fitness fanatic, was already calculating the number of calories he'd consumed since his plane landed and how many hours it would take in the gym to burn them off.

His gaze zeroed in on me. Could I be wrong, but did his expression soften? My stomach did a little flip. I wouldn't let Ryan's chocolate puppy-dog eyes work their magic on me. I wasn't going to be fooled this time. Never again.

I broke eye contact, and I took a deep breath. It was just a week. What could possibly happen to ruin Christmas in a week?

I glanced down at my beloved Frenchie, Oliver. He covered his nose with his white paw. Oliver knew better. He knew all the players on and off the stage.