Murder, Served Simply (7 page)

M
y alarm, set to “kill,” went off, and I fell with a thunk from the futon in my tiny guest room onto the cold hardwood floor. Everything hurt. When I was in my twenties and slept on my friends' futons, I had been able to hop up like the Easter bunny, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Not anymore. A girl gets over thirty, and everything begins to creak.

I struggled to my feet and rubbed my hip. It was still dark outside, but there was no time to delay. Quilt show judging was that morning at eight thirty sharp. If I was ten seconds later, Martha Yoder would never let me forget it.

Oliver and Dodger were MIA. I heard murmurs coming from the first floor. No doubt they were trying to talk my father out of his substantial breakfast.

When I finally stumbled downstairs, I stepped into my retro kitchen to find my dad at the olive green stove, flipping pieces of French toast. Bacon crackled on a second burner. Oliver and Dodger were at his feet, rotating
their begging tactics between “I'm starving to death” and “Aren't I the cutest thing you have ever seen?” Sitting at the tiny kitchen table, which had been left by the previous tenant, Mom sipped coffee and read the local newspaper.

I filled my favorite French bulldog coffee mug and took a long pull before I said good morning.

Dad waved his spatula. “Breakfast, Angie Bear?”

“Sure,” I said, feeling more human with caffeine in my veins. “I only have a few minutes. Quilt show judging is this morning.”

Mom folded the paper. “You didn't tell us you would be busy today.”

“Oh, well, I'm telling you now. Afterward, I will be at the shop until four.” I sat across from her at the table, and Dad set a plate of bacon and French toast in front of me. I doused both with Amish maple syrup.

My mother sighed. “And what are we supposed to do all day?”

“You're welcome to stay here, hang out at the shop, or go see the sights or old friends. Whatever you like. My Christmas vacation starts tomorrow. The shop will be closed Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.”

Dad dropped two pieces of bacon on the floor. Dodger and Oliver pounced on them. There was a quick flurry of garbled snuffling, and then a hiss. Oliver retreated between my legs under the table, but I saw one piece of bacon sticking out between his teeth.

“Dad,” I complained, “that's not good for them.”

He pulled out a chair. “Oh, it's just a little treat. It's Christmas.”

My sigh sounded frighteningly like my mother's.

Mom didn't touch the French toast or bacon. Instead, she opted for the small serving of plain oatmeal Dad placed in front of her. If that was what I would have to eat to have her figure, being skinny was overrated.

She stirred her breakfast. “I was hoping that you would spend some time with us
and
Ryan today.”

I concentrated on my plate. “I wish you hadn't brought him here.”

“Angie,” my mother reprimanded, “that's not a very nice thing to say.”

“I can't even tell my parents how I really feel?” I blamed the whine in my voice on the early morning. Have I mentioned I am
not
a morning person?

“I can understand why you wouldn't want to see him, Angie Bear, after the way he treated you. It took me a long time before I could look the boy in the eye without wanting to pop him in the nose over breaking your heart.”

“Kent!” my mother chastised.

I beamed at my father. “Thanks, Dad. That might be one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.”

Mom shook her head. “What am I going to do with the two of you?” She continued to stir her oatmeal. I wondered if she had any plans to eat it or if just looking at her breakfast was enough. Maybe
that
was her secret to staying so thin.

“What do you think about Ryan now?” I asked my father.

“He's sorry,” Dad replied.

I popped my last piece of bacon into my mouth to
stop a smart remark. “Got to run. Come, Oliver. It's time to suit up for the elements.” I grabbed the Frenchie's sweater off the bench by the laundry room door.

“You are going to take him to the hotel? Won't that upset the staff?” my mother asked.

“Oliver will be on his best behavior.”

Oliver sat up straighter as if to prove how good he could be.

I knelt in front of him and slipped the reindeer sweater over his square head. “He was with me when Mattie and I set up the show last week. Mimi should be glad I'm not bringing Dodger. He's the real troublemaker in the family.”

Dodger tilted his fuzzy head up to me and mewed, complaining that I didn't trust him. I knew better than to trust that mischievous little kitten.

It was just after eight when Oliver and I stepped through the front doors of the Swiss Valley Hotel. Guests were slowly coming down the grand staircase on their way to the dining room for breakfast, which smelled heavenly. I would've certainly been tempted to finagle a plate if my father hadn't made breakfast.

The Amish girl behind the registration desk smiled at me, and I snapped off Oliver's leash, shoving it into my bag. He gravitated toward the dining room. Oliver believed in second breakfasts the way a hobbit does.

“Oliver, come.” I crossed my arms. “You already had your serving of people food for the day.”

He dropped into a downward dog move and did his best to look like a starving orphan.

I shook my finger at him. “Not going to work.”

The girl behind the counter started to giggle, and I grinned. “He's a handful.”

“You are the lady from the quilt shop, aren't you? I saw you with Mattie Miller last week setting up the quilts.”

“Do you know Mattie?” I asked.

“
Ya
.” She folded her hands on the counter. “Mattie and I used to go to school together many years ago.”

The girl couldn't have been more than seventeen, but she spoke the truth when she said “many years ago,” because the Amish stop schooling at the eighth grade.

“It's always nice to meet one of Mattie's friends. She's a good worker, and I'm lucky to have her with me at Running Stitch. What's your name?” I asked.

“Bethanne Hochstetler.”

I decided to press my luck with Bethanne's friendliness. “Do you know if Junie Shetler is here today?”

She shook her head. “Junie works afternoons and evenings, most of the time. She might be in a bit early because we have so many guests here for the play. Ms. Ford wants everything to be perfect, especially after last night.” She dropped her gaze to the polished counter in front of her.

“After Eve fell,” I said.

“
Ya
. I was at home and didn't learn of it until this morning. It's so sad. I went to school with Eve too, and Junie of course. I feel terrible for Junie.”

“She was Junie's sister, right?”

Bethanne frowned slightly.
“Ya
.
”

I knew I couldn't push Bethanne too far or she wouldn't tell me anything. Most Amish weren't that
forthcoming with English people, especially English people whom they didn't know. “I'm very sorry for Junie. I just met both her and Eve yesterday at the progressive dinner. I was surprised to see Junie working at the hotel after the accident. I would have thought she would have gone home to be with her family.”

“I—I just don't think they were that close. Eve lived in the hotel the last two weeks during rehearsals, and I never saw her and Junie speak to each other even when they were in the same room.” She tapped her pencil on the desk. “Junie may have just been following her family's rules, but if it were my sister, I would talk to her when I saw her. I wouldn't care what my bishop had to say about it.”

“Was Eve shunned for leaving the community?”

“
Nee
, but everyone is so upset over the play that no one wanted to speak to her.”

“No one? You mean none of the Amish.”

She nodded. “When he heard about the play, I thought my
daed
would ask me to quit my job here at the hotel, but he didn't.” She hung her head. “But I didn't speak to Eve either while she was here. I was too afraid to. I was afraid my
daed
would find out and make me quit. I love working for Ms. Ford.” She lowered her voice. “I'd like to run my own inn someday. Not as big as the hotel, but I've always dreamed about having a little bed-and-breakfast. I know that must sound silly to you.” She squatted to scratch Oliver between the ears.

“Not at all. Before I inherited my aunt's quilt shop, I never thought of having my own business, but now I
wouldn't do anything else. Being a small-business owner is hard but rewarding work.”

Across the lobby, Martha stood in the doorway of the sitting room with her arms folded across her chest. Of course she beat me to the hotel. Martha was set on beating me at everything.

“I'd better go.”

Oliver whimpered.

“He can stay here with me if he wants,” Bethanne said. “I'm not going anywhere. I will watch him.”

I glanced back at Martha, who was now tapping the toe of her black boot on the carpet. “Maybe that's a good idea.”

As I walked across the lobby, I heard Bethanne ask, “Do you like cheese, Oliver?”

“Good morning, Martha,” I said.

She nodded. “I have already prepared everything for the judges. They will be here soon.”

Her comment put my teeth on edge, but I held my temper. “Thank you.” I stepped into the sitting room. Mattie was there, smoothing quilt edges. She shot a glance at Martha.

I wondered what the other woman had said to her before I arrived to make her so nervous.

“Thanks for being here so early, Mattie. I hope Aaron and Rachel didn't mind.”

My assistant shook her head. “Rachel dropped me off on the way to the bakery.”

“I was chatting with Bethanne at the desk. She says she knows you.”

“Everyone knows everyone in Rolling Brook,” Martha said.

I frowned.

Mattie watched Martha out of the corner of her eye. “We went to school together.”

“Did you two hear about the accident last night?” I asked, including Martha in my question.

Martha perched on the edge of an armchair. “Of course we heard about it. It is the main topic of conversation in the hotel. I am sorry that Eve is dead. She was a bright young woman, but she should have known better than to come back to Rolling Brook.” She eyed me. “Some people just don't know when they should stay away.”

I was about to open my mouth to rebut when Mattie asked, “Will the play continue?”

“I don't know,” I said. “The actors are still here. I saw them eating breakfast in the dining room with the other guests when I arrived.”

“It would be best if the theater troupe left,” Martha said.

If the theater troupe left, we might never know who cut the rope that caused Eve's fall, and the township might get into some serious financial trouble over the new playground. I didn't share either of these arguments with Martha. Neither would change her opinion. “I thought I would go for a walk around the hotel while we wait for the judges to arrive. Martha, you have everything in order here, don't you?”

“Angie, you are supposed to be here for the quilt show.”

“That's exactly why I'm here. See you ladies in a bit.”

Martha scowled at me.

In the lobby, I made a beeline for the front door.

“Angie, wait.” Mattie came running up behind me. Her cloak was draped over her arm. “Can I go with you? I don't want to be left in the room alone with Martha.”

“Why not? Did something happen?”

Mattie frowned. “I'd rather not say.”

I planted my feet firmly into the carpet. “Mattie, tell me, or neither of us are going anywhere.”

“She offered me a job,” she said in a small voice.

I closed my eyes. “And what did you say?”

She squeezed the chestnut bun on the back of her head as if to make sure it was still there. “That I was happy working for you.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I would hate to lose you.”

“You won't,” she said. “As you can guess, Martha's not too happy with me right now. Exploring the hotel seems like a great idea.”

“Okay then,” I said, zipping up my parka. “Put your cloak on. We aren't going to walk around the hotel. We are going to the barn.”

She let the bottom of her cloak hit the carpet. “But the play people will be there.”

“They are at breakfast, remember?” I pulled on my own coat and winked at her.

With a dramatic sigh, Mattie picked up her cloak and bonnet, just as I knew she would.

T
he wind picked a layer of snow off the ground. It swirled in our faces as we hurried across the parking lot. The cold walk was much easier for me this morning because I had left my beloved cowboy boots at home and opted for my much more practical black snow boots.

When we reached the barn's huge sliding door, I yanked on it, but it didn't budge.

Mattie held on to her cloak so it wouldn't fly into the air. She was a dead ringer for a flying nun. “See. It's locked.” Her teeth chattered. “They don't want anyone going in there, and we shouldn't be there.”

“There's a back door.” I shuffled to the corner of the barn.

Mattie's sigh was lost in the wind, but I knew it was there.

I jogged around the building. My footsteps crunched in the fresh snow. It'd be obvious that someone had been around the barn today with all the footprints Mattie and I left, but it couldn't be helped.

The back door was a normal hinged door. I turned the knob with my gloved hand, and it opened.

Mattie caught her breath as she stopped beside me.

“Open sesame,” I crowed.

“What?” Her forehead wrinkled.

I inwardly groaned. So many pop culture references were lost on my Amish friends. “Never mind. Let's go.”

We crept into the barn. This was actually better than my first idea to go in through the main entrance. The single back door led us directly into the backstage area. The area was dimly lit. There was one high window where the barn's hayloft had once been. Mimi had the loft removed when she converted the building into a theater.

“Why are we here? What are we looking for?” Mattie asked.

“That's my girl,” I said. “We are just getting an idea for where people would have been during the play. We need to know who might have seen what so we know who to talk to about Eve's tumble.”

“Why do
you
need to talk to anyone about Eve? Isn't that the sheriff's job?”

“Officially. But I'm unofficially making it mine too.”

She folded her arms. “Is this because you want to avoid Ryan?”

“What? This has nothing to do with Ryan.”

“Doesn't it?” she asked. “If you are running all over the county, you won't have time to talk to him.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You have a very suspicious nature for an Amish girl.”

She grinned. “I have been working for you for four months.”

Oh great, she was giving me credit for corrupting her.

“Maybe you are right a little, but Ryan isn't the only reason.”

“What's your other reason?”

It was a simple question, but I didn't know how to answer. My shoulders sagged. “I met Eve, and I liked her. Because Eve was too young with too much promise to have this happen to her. Because I think I can help, and if I think I can help, I have to try.”

Mattie placed a small hand on my arm. “Angie, you have a big heart, and I shouldn't have questioned your motives. My family knows that better than anyone. You helped my brother last fall when he was accused of murder, but I don't think this was such a great idea. We should go back to the hotel and prepare for the quilt show judging. Let the sheriff take care of this one. Martha must be livid that we left.”

“Martha is always mad about something. That can't be helped.” I ignored her comment about Mitchell because I knew Mitchell would agree with her one hundred percent. I tilted my head back and peered up at the scaffolding that had held Eve's swing.

Mattie removed her large black bonnet. “Angie, let's go back.”

“We're here now. We might as well take a look around.” I stepped onto the main stage. The curtains were open, and I looked out onto the empty seats. Would an audience ever sit there again?

I returned to backstage crime-scene tape wrapped
around the ladder leading up to the platform. I pursed my lips. That was problematic, but then again it was winter and I was wearing gloves. I wouldn't leave any fingerprints behind. I shook the rung of the wooden ladder, which led up to the platform above. It didn't budge. It was sturdy, Amish made. I was sure the swing had been the same way.

Mattie stood a few feet away from me. “If there is another performance, when will it be?”

I delicately removed the crime-scene tape and let it hang loosely from the ladder. “I thought there was going to be one tonight, but the next combo with the progressive dinner is the day after Christmas.” I gave the ladder another yank.

“What are you doing, trying to pull it down?”

I placed my right foot on the bottom rung. “I'm making sure it's stable.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Stable for what?”

“For me to climb. What else?”

She gripped her bonnet. “You can't climb up there.”

Both feet were off the ground, and I stood on the third rung. “Why not?”

“Because I'm sure you're not allowed. You could get caught.”

“Caught by whom? I will be up and down before you know it.” I started to climb.

“It's not safe. Look what happened to Eve.”

“Someone had cut the rope holding up the swing. There was nothing wrong with the ladder or platform itself.” I climbed to the next rung. “At least I hope not,” I muttered under my breath.

The rung creaked under my weight. I froze. The ladder held. My heart skipped a couple of precious beats. “See. Solid, Amish craftsmanship. You can always count on it.” I continued the climb much faster, not wanting to have my full weight in one place for too long.

She stared up at me. “You are as foolish as my brother claims.”

“I won't argue with that.” At the top, I hesitated for a moment before stepping onto the wooden platform. My knees shook. Usually, I'm not afraid of heights, but in my mind's eye I relived Eve's fall. Gripping the railing, I straightened my knees.

From the scaffolding loft, I couldn't see the audience seats because the bottom of the velvet curtain obscured my view. However, I had a clear view of the stage, both the main stage and the backstage area. If Eve had been paying attention, would she have seen the person cut the rope? I shook my head. It was unlikely that the culprit would do it in the middle of the play. There was too great a risk of being caught in the act. If Blake checked the ropes an hour before the curtain went up, the murderer had to have cut the rope during the progressive dinner. I shivered. We had all been sitting in the dining room enjoying the good Amish food while someone plotted murder. I tried to think back to the meal. Had anyone left the table? I just couldn't remember. But someone could have slipped away unnoticed when Junie dropped the tray.

Feeling more comfortable on the platform, I leaned over the railing and examined the backstage from my vantage point. An area was partitioned off for the
wardrobe and props behind two Chinese screens. Plain dresses, trousers, and simple leather shoes made up the wardrobe, hanging from a metal rack. The props consisted of pots and pans, rakes, a basket of silk flowers, and bonnets of various sizes. Two makeup tables sat outside of the screened-in area.

“Are you coming down now?” Mattie asked. “I think you should come down now.”

“Almost,” I called, and carefully walked along the platform. At the end, a person-sized hole was cut into the wood. I looked up and saw a large pulley dangling above that lowered Eve onto the stage. It would have been very simple to stand above this hole and cut the rope. Why hadn't Eve seen the cut rope? Was it because she was too nervous about the show? I bit my lip. Or because she trusted the crew to take care of her?

I imagined Eve, climbing onto the swing and nodding to someone backstage or even on the platform when she was ready to go down. Who would it have been? Stagehand Blake? Or stage manager Jasper Clump? Or a third person I didn't know about?

From the platform, I could see everything backstage. So couldn't anyone backstage see me if they thought to look up? That was another reason that the rope had to have been cut when the backstage was empty.

“Angie, please come down.” Mattie's voice jumped an octave in the time I had been above her.

Mattie was on the stage now, rubbing her hands together as she watched me. I really should stop being such a bad influence on the Amish girl, or her brother would tell her to quit working for Running Stitch and
work for Martha. Martha would never climb a ladder to get a better view of a murder scene.

I stood. “All right. I'm coming.” As I climbed down the ladder, I wasn't sure I had learned anything new other than confirming, at least in my mind, the time of the crime.

On the stage once again, I replaced the tape and dusted my hands off on my jeans. The swing Eve fell from was shoved back in a corner. I walked over to it and examined it, wondering why I hadn't seen it from above. Looking up, I saw that my view would have been obscured by a beam. So it wasn't completely true. Not everyone on the stage could see what was going on on the platform. “I guess they don't plan to use that again,” I said.

“What happened to Eve seems like such a waste. Why did they even need to lower her on a swing in the first place?”

My mouth fell open. “Mattie, that is a brilliant question! Why haven't I thought of that?”

She twisted her bonnet ribbon around her fingers. “It is?”

“Sure. The lowering of the swing really didn't add anything to the play. I know it was dramatic, but was it necessary? Maybe I should find out whose idea it was and that will lead us to the killer. If you look at it that way, it could have been completely premeditated.” I warmed up to the idea. “The swing may have only been added with the murder plot in mind.”

Mattie shivered. “Then who put it in the play?”

Jasper Clump materialized from the shadows and gripped a sledgehammer in his hands. “It was my idea.”