Murder, Handcrafted (Amish Quilt Shop Mystery)

by Isabella Alan

  He groaned. “If you are talking about Willow’s close encounter with Bigfoot on Sugartree Street a few years back, then yes, this isn’t my first rodeo.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Well, there wasn’t a murder involved. Willow made a fuss for a few days, and I had my deputies search the woods and general area. They came up with a whole lot of nothing. We finally ruled that it must have been a figment of Willow’s overactive imagination. Most likely it was an animal and she mistook it for Bigfoot.”

  “And do you think these sightings are figments of imagination too? Both Jonah and I saw—”

  “No, I don’t, but I don’t believe it’s Bigfoot either. Most likely someone playing a prank, which is a complication I don’t need with this murder.” He rubbed his eyes. “I guess it was right to send Zander to Hillary’s for the night.”

  I touched his arm. I knew how much he hated to give up time with his son. “You know I would normally offer to watch him for you, but since I’m staying with my parents tonight, I don’t think you want him here.”

  “No, I don’t. If Zander knew about this Bigfoot thing, I would never hear the end of it. He loves those Bigfoot-hunter specials on television.” He shivered. “And if he did hear about it, Hillary would blame me.”

  That I didn’t doubt. Mitchell had a fairly good relationship with his ex-wife, Hillary, but their marriage ended over his strange hours and police work. Hillary was hypersensitive about Zander’s being affected by any of Mitchell’s cases. The last thing in the world that she wanted was their son to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a cop.

  “Bigfoot aside, do you have any leads other than what you learned from Jonah?”

  He chuckled. “You never stop.”

  “It never hurts to ask, right?”

  He shook his head.

  A new cruiser drove up, and Deputy Riley exited the car. Riley was much older than Anderson and had been on the force longer than Mitchell had been sheriff. If he was unhappy about having to stay up all night to guard the crime scene, he didn’t show it.

  Mitchell quickly pecked me on the cheek, something that he would not normally do in front of one of his officers. “I need to talk to my deputy and head back to the station. I want to look into this Bigfoot thing. Please stay inside the house tonight.”

  “I will,” I promised. I meant it too. Had Anderson been the deputy on watch I might have been able to slip out of the house to take a peek at the crime scene, but I wouldn’t have a chance with Riley on the job.

  Oliver and I headed toward the house and Mitchell and his deputy spoke in low voices beside Mitchell’s car. As I shut the front door to my parents’ house, I focused on the large oak tree across the street where I had seen the person or thing or who knew what. I could barely make out the trunk in the dark. Whatever I had seen beside the trunk this morning might just be the key to solving this murder.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I woke up the next morning in a bright yellow room with cramped toes because I’d knocked them on the poles at the end of the daybed all night long. Daybeds are not for tall people. I would have been better off if I had slept on the floor.

  I blinked at the yellowness of the room. I would call the color goldenrod. All the furniture was white, polished to a high sheen, and adorable. It was a baby’s room or, at least, my mother wished it was a baby’s room. My parents’ large house had five bedrooms, and she reserved this one for her unfulfilled dream of being a grandmother. There wasn’t a crib in the room—she hadn’t gone that far—but a giant giraffe mocked me from the corner. I covered my face with my pillow so that I wouldn’t have to make eye contact with it.

  On the floor, Oliver whimpered his sympathy, and I had to wonder why it wasn’t enough that my mother had a granddog and grandcat. It wasn’t that I was opposed to the idea of children. I loved Mitchell’s son, Zander, but—a thought made me sit straight up in bed. What had Mitchell wanted to talk to me about the day before?

  The giraffe watched me with shiny glass eyes. The brute.

  Had he wanted to talk about this room? Well, not this specifically, but marriage and babies and the future? I smacked my head with the heel of my hand. How could I be so stupid not to think of this before? What else could it be? Didn’t Mitchell say he wanted me to have all my “working faculties” for the conversation? I wanted to marry Mitchell, didn’t I? I knew in my heart that I did. The problem was I didn’t have the best track record as far as successful engagements went. Okay, my track record was terrible. I slid back down under the blankets and covered my face with the pillow.

  Oliver whined and placed his paws on the side of the daybed.

  “You little mongrel!”

  My muddied thoughts were interrupted by shouts from the other side of the bedroom door. I threw the covers back and ran into the hallway just in time to see Dodger streaking down the grand staircase. I may have been mistaken, but it looked to me as if he was grinning. Bringing him to my parents’ home had been a very bad idea.

  Mom pointed to me. “Your cat climbed up my curtains.”

  She pointed to the curtains that covered the window at the end of the hallway. Sure enough, the gauzy fabric was decorated with tiny little pinpricks that I knew all too well. I had given up having curtains in my own house after Dodger had scaled them half a dozen times.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” I said groggily, trying to hide a yawn. “I can make you some new ones. We still have the same fabric at the shop.”

  “That cat is a terror.” Even though it was only seven in the morning, she was dressed and in full makeup. I didn’t look that put together at noon.

  “He’s not so bad,” I said automatically, coming to Dodger’s defense.

  My mother plucked an invisible piece of lint from the sleeve of her thin cashmere sweater. “Jonah and his helper are already here setting to work.” She pointed to me. “You need to make sure that cat stays out of their way.” She made her way to the stairs.

  I groaned and headed back to my room to dress for the day. Dodger would be going with me to Running Stitch, and on a day that I had a quilting class. I hoped Mattie would understand.

  Twenty minutes later, I reemerged from the yellow room more awake. The first order of business was to find Dodger and make sure he wasn’t disemboweling one of my mother’s throw pillows like Mitchell predicted that he would.

  “Ollie,” I said to the Frenchie at the top of the grand staircase. “Go find your brother.”

  Immediately, the black-and-white Frenchie trundled down the stairs in a half run/half tumble. It was adorable. I took care not to laugh. Oliver could be sensitive about his stocky build.

  At the bottom of the stairs, I watched as Oliver headed through the formal dining room into the kitchen. That figured. Dodger would want to be in the center of the action.

  In the kitchen, I found Jonah and Eban in the process of tearing out the countertop and lower counter.

  “Mrs. Braddock said we can take all the counters and cabinetry we remove, so take care when removing the granite. I would like to keep it in one piece,” Jonah told the younger man.

  I wasn’t surprised by Jonah’s comment. The Amish didn’t let anything go to waste. They were the ultimate recyclers. It was common in the county to see them in flea markets and school rummage sales looking for something that the English had cast aside for something newer, bigger, and better.

  Dodger was perched on the counter opposite the broken French doors. His tail swished back and forth across the granite. My mother would never tolerate a cat on any counter. He purred as I approached. I wagged my finger at him. “It’s not even eight in the morning and you’ve already upset Grandma.”

  His white whiskers curled upward.

  I put my hands on my hips. “Furthermore, if she knew you were on the counter, she would flip her lid.”

  The coy fel
ine’s smile was back. He was hopeless.

  I turned to find Jonah and Eban staring at me.

  I gave them an innocent look. “What?”

  Eban laughed. “Do you always talk to your animals?”

  I grinned back. “Yep.”

  This only made the young Amish man grin more broadly. “Then, I guess everything Jonah has told me about you is true.”

  I narrowed my eyes at Jonah. “Are you spreading rumors about me?”

  He placed a hand innocently to his chest. “Me?”

  I rolled my eyes, glad that Mitchell wasn’t there to see it. Then he would know where Zander got the habit from for sure. “What did he tell you?”

  Eban’s eye twinkled. “That you are quirky and highstrung.” He paused. “Oh, and that you solve murders in your spare time.”

  I arched my brow a Jonah, who was smiling. “Quirky and high-strung? Here I am trying to keep you from going to jail and you’re telling Eban I’m a nut,” I said, but I couldn’t help but smile. I was so relieved that Jonah seemed to have recovered from his dark mood from the night before. I wouldn’t have cared if he had told Eban I had escaped from the circus.

  “I never called you a nut,” Jonah teased.

  “Good to know.” I tried to hide my smile.

  Still laughing, Eban knelt in front of the lower kitchen cabinets to the left of the French doors and began removing the hardware with a screwdriver. I was happy that Eban was there. He seemed to be able to keep Jonah’s mind off the murder.

  “I’m glad to see you here today, Jonah,” I said. “I wasn’t sure you would be able to come, considering . . .”

  He tucked a flat carpentry pencil behind his ear. “If you think that Miriam wouldn’t want me to come, you’re right.” He sighed. “But she knows that this job pays well, and we could use the money.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek, physically holding back the question on the tip of my tongue about the Grabers’ financial situation. The Amish didn’t like to talk about their personal affairs, and I didn’t know anyone who enjoyed talking about their finances, even with a close friend.

  On the floor, Eban carefully placed each handle pull and all the screws from the cabinetry into a small cardboard box that he pulled along beside himself as he made his way down the long stretch of cabinetry. His movements were controlled as he paid close attention to details. I had no doubt his work would be meticulous. I was relieved that Jonah had found someone whom he could count on for this job. My mother would accept nothing less than perfection.

  I picked Dodger up off the counter and cradled him in my arms.

  Jonah nodded at the cat. “I’m glad you are here to collect him. He’s been eyeing the French doors. I think he was in the process of planning an escape.”

  Dodger began to purr. The cat had no shame.

  I tucked the cat under my chin. “Will you finish taking the kitchen apart today?” I asked.

  He nodded. “And we will begin installing the hardwood floor. It should be delivered by ten this morning. Once the floor is down, the job will go swiftly. The cabinets are already made and waiting at a local warehouse.”

  “Who is taking over the electrician work now that . . .” I trailed off.

  “Now that Griffin is dead? That I don’t know. You will have to ask your mother.”

  I smiled. “Maybe I’ll wait a little bit on that. She’s not in the best mood after Dodger’s antics.”

  He laughed. “I think Eban and I are on her troublemaker list too. She wasn’t happy when we tracked mud into the house from the backyard.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t worry. Her bark is worse than her bite.”

  “Reminds me of another person I know,” Jonah muttered.

  I grunted.

  Jonah made a face. “Angie, should you be looking into the murder? One man is dead. It could be dangerous.”

  “Jonah, we already went over that yesterday. I’m not backing down now.”

  He sighed. “Maybe I should come with you.”

  “And abandon my mother’s kitchen remodel? No way,” I said. “Mom would never let me hear the end of it.” I took a breath. “But I have a question.”

  He stroked his beard again. “I have a feeling that I’m not going to like this question.”

  I shifted Dodger in my arms so that his forepaws hung over my right shoulder. The cat made no move to jump from my arms. I knew I should be concerned about his extra affection. When it came to Dodger, that could only mean he was plotting something. “Yesterday morning, you left your farm at four a.m. But you told the police that you didn’t arrive here until six. Where were you during that time?”

  He frowned. “How do you know when I left the farm?”

  I scratched Dodger between the ears. “Anna saw you leave.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Jonah, are you going to tell me? It’s important.”

  “It is personal. I would rather not speak of it.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  I stepped back. “What did you tell the police about your whereabouts that morning? I know they must have asked.”

  “They did several times.”

  “What did you tell them?” Dodger was beginning to grow heavy in my arms. He wasn’t a small cat, but I was reluctant to put him down because he might make a beeline for the French doors.

  “I told them the same thing that I have just told you. That I would rather not speak of it.”

  My brow knit together. “And Mitchell was okay with that?”

  He opened and rooted through a toolbox that was sitting on a card table in the corner of the room. “He was not pleased, but I am not obligated to tell him where I was.”

  “Jonah,” I said in exasperation. “You’re a prime suspect for murder. If someone can provide you an alibi, tell the police. That’s your best chance of being cleared.”

  “I was alone. There is no one who can give me an alibi, so where I was is irrelevant. I told the sheriff that.”

  I felt my eye begin to twitch. I was shocked that Mitchell had allowed Jonah to leave the sheriff’s station last night with how uncooperative he was being. I knew Mitchell must have let him go as a favor to me, which made me only more determined to find out who the real killer was.

  “Jonah, you have to tell the police. Maybe someone saw you wherever you were and can provide your alibi.”

  He removed a small crowbar from the toolbox. “I already told you I was alone.”

  I felt my heart sink. “Jonah, this is important.”

  “I know this,” he said. The good humor that had been in his voice when he and Eban had been teasing me just a few minutes ago was gone. “I should get to work and you should go to your shop. I don’t have an alibi. That is final.” He turned away from me and began speaking to Eban in Pennsylvania Dutch and pointing at the countertop.

  As I stared at his back, my shoulders slumped. Dodger pressed his nose against my cheek as if to comfort me. Like Oliver, he knew when I needed to be consoled.

  “AngieBear!” My father’s voice boomed through the house.

  I ran to my father with Dodger hissing in my arms.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I skidded to a stop in the living room and placed a hand on my chest. “Dad, are you okay? I thought something happened.”

  Dad sat in his enormous leather chair. Oliver was sitting at his feet and from the empty plate on the side table it appeared that the pair had shared a morning muffin. “I’m so sorry, my girl.” His eyebrows pinched together in regret. “I just wanted to make sure you would stop and see your dear old dad before you left for the day.”

  “You know I wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye.”

  He nodded. “I do, but not being able to see my favorite child to the door because of this silly back injury drives me crazy. Your mother would chain
me to this chair if she could.”

  I kissed him on the forehead. I was still carrying Dodger. “I’m your only child,” I said.

  “It is a good thing because I can’t imagine loving another one as much as I love you.”

  I grinned. This was an old conversation that I had had with my father for as long as I could remember, and I never tired of it. From the smile on his face, he never did either. “When is your physical therapy appointment?”

  He groaned. “Your mother is taking me to the torture chamber in a few minutes.” He shivered and gestured to his clothes. “She made me put this on this morning.”

  Dad was wearing bright blue sweats. Dad dressed much more casually since he left his high-powered corporate job in Dallas, but he still wasn’t a sweats kind of guy. I tried to remember if I had ever seen him in sweatpants before. Nothing came to mind.

  “You look cute,” I said.

  He wrinkled his nose. “You know that girl who turns into a blueberry in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?”

  I nodded.

  His mustache drooped. “Well, now, I know what she felt like.”

  “Dad,” I chuckled, “you don’t look like a blueberry, and I’m sure if you even hint to Mom that you would like some other workout clothes, she would run to the store. You know she loves any excuse to shop.”

  He sighed.

  “Promise me you will do the exercises the therapist asks of you,” I said in a much more serious tone of voice.

  He made a face. “‘Exercise’ is a dirty word in my book, only to be surpassed by ‘diet.’ I loathe both of them.”

  “Dad,” I said in exasperation, knowing that I sounded much like my mother. “Do it for me?” I asked. “It really scared me when Mom told me you were hurt.” Without warning my eyes filled with tears.

  He held out his hand to me. “Oh, AngieBear, I would do anything for you.”

  I smiled and squeezed his hand. “Good. Mom will be glad to hear that too.”

  He sighed again. “I suppose it won’t be so bad if I can get some better threads. A man can only stand to be a blueberry for one day.”