Murder, Handcrafted (Amish Quilt Shop Mystery)

by Isabella Alan

  I swallowed. “He spoke about Kamon?”

  “Never spoke his name that I recalled, but he talked about mistakes that he made that cost a life. What else could it be?”

  It surprised me that Griffin had still been tortured by Kamon’s death after so many years, decades really, had passed. When I met him with Jonah the day before he died, he seemed not to have a care in the world. I wondered if Jonah would have had more compassion toward the man if he’d known how tortured Griffin had been by Kamon’s death.

  “Where were you early yesterday morning around five?” I asked.

  His face flushed. “It’s time for you to leave.” He shook his drink at me. As he did, I got a strong whiff of the contents. There was a lot more than birch beer in that can. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  I took a step back, remembering Sal’s warnings back at the diner. The Amish teens on the lanes weren’t paying the least bit of attention to us, but I was grateful that there was someone else in the room that would hear me if I had cause to scream. “Is there a reason you won’t answer the question?”

  “Because it’s none of your business,” he slurred.

  “You lost two jobs to Griffin recently. The mercantile and the job at my mother’s.”

  “If I was going to off Griffin for every time he took a job away from me, he would have been dead ten years ago.” He took a swig from his can. “Who are you really? Are you really Daphne Braddock’s daughter?”

  I nodded. “I am.”

  “Then why are you asking all these questions about Griffin that have nothing to do with the job at your mother’s house?” His eyes narrowed to dark lines on his face. “Haven’t I seen you out and about with the sheriff before? Are you some kind of cop?”

  “The sheriff and I have a working relationship,” I said vaguely, “when it comes to certain investigations.”

  He banged his can on the counter. “I knew it. You’re a cop. You think I was the one who offed Griffin. Well, I’m here to tell you that it wasn’t me. No, ma’am.”

  “If it wasn’t you, then who?” I asked, not correcting him with my real identity.

  “How should I know? I only knew him from jobs that we worked on together and then competed for. That doesn’t make me an expert on his life.”

  “You can’t think of anyone who might have wanted to kill him?” I did my best to sound official like Mitchell did when he questioned someone.

  “No one except his brother.”

  “Blane?”

  He nodded. “That guy has an anger problem, if you ask me. Griff and I were there giving your mother our bids for the electrical work at the same time. We hadn’t planned to be there together, but it had just worked out that way. When we left the house Blane was waiting for his brother beside Griff’s truck. If I ever saw anyone who I would describe as mad enough to kill, it would be Blane Bright.”

  I frowned. Blane had told me that he hadn’t known about the job at my mother’s. He had lied.

  “Did my mother see this?”

  He shrugged. “Doubt it. We had parked well up the street and out of view of the house at your mom’s request. She said a construction trailer was to be delivered around the same time, and our cars needed to be out of the way.”

  That would explain why my mother hadn’t mentioned the arguments between the two Bright brothers. She didn’t know about it.

  “What did Blane say to Griffin?” I asked.

  Rex rubbed his chin. “Something about how Griffin was more loyal to some woman named Linda than he was to flesh and blood.” He settled back onto his stool and shook his can at me. It sounded as if there wasn’t much left inside. “I didn’t stick around to see what happened. I don’t borrow trouble unless you count the liquid variety.”

  Blane must have known that Griffin planned to change his will and leave his business to Linda, not to him.

  The man in front of me looked so bedraggled that I immediately felt sorry for him. He was down on his luck even if that downward spiral appeared to be self-inflicted. At the same time, I was surprised that my mother had even allowed him into her house. She was not one to take on a charity case.

  He finished what was left of his drink. “If you really want to know where I was, you should ask the Amish man who stopped to give me a lift back to town.”

  I leaned forward. “When was this?”

  “Can’t remember exactly. Before the sun came out. I had had another rough night.”

  “Where did he find you?”

  “On the side of the road somewhere.” He shrugged. “It happens.”

  “Who was the Amish man?”

  “Don’t know. I can’t tell them apart with all those plain clothes and beard, but unless I was hallucinating, I do remember seeing a goat in the back of the buggy. Don’t see that every day.” He laughed mirthlessly.

  Jonah?

  Chapter Thirty

  I stumbled out of the bowling alley. Rex had to have meant Jonah. What other Amish man would have a goat ride along in his buggy? And Jonah wouldn’t think twice about helping an inebriated man back to town. Then why had he refused to share this alibi with the police or with me? He hadn’t been doing anything wrong. In fact, he was being a Good Samaritan. Why keep that a secret?

  Had Jonah had a cell phone, I would have called him that very second and demanded some answers. Sometimes it was a real pain that most of my friends were Amish.

  Before I backed out of my space in Eight Lanes’s parking lot, my cell phone rang. My mother’s face appeared on the screen. Usually, I would ignore her calls if it was in the middle of a workday, but that was before someone was murdered in her backyard.

  “Angie!” she shouted when I picked up. “You need to come over here and talk some sense into your father. He says he’s not going back to physical therapy because the therapist tried to kill him!”

  I sighed. I didn’t doubt that my father said he wasn’t going back to the physical therapist. I knew it was going to be a battle to convince him to commit to it.

  “Are you coming?”

  I suppressed a second sigh. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Good.” She ended the call.

  I patted Oliver on the head before putting the car in reverse. “It seems we have another nine-one-one call from Grandma.”

  He placed his paws on the dash as if he was ready to go and drive into danger. Then again, he knew Grandma’s house meant beef jerky from my father.

  I arrived at my parents’ home exactly twenty minutes later. As I let Oliver out of the car, I surveyed the county road and was happy to see no sign of Willow or any of her Bigfoot compatriots.

  My mom threw open the front door. “Don’t just stand there—get in here. Your father is in the living room.” Without waiting for me to reply, she spun around and marched away, leaving the front door wide-open.

  “Tread softly,” I whispered to Oliver. “Grandma appears to be a little bit on edge.”

  He licked his nose as if in preparation.

  I found Mom and Dad in the living room. Dad was in his favorite chair, still wearing the blueberry sweat suit and looking downcast. I went over to him and kissed him on the forehead. “Hey, Dad, how are you?”

  “Terrible,” he said. “It was so much more horrible than I imagined it would be. I’m not ever going back.”

  My mother hovered in the doorway. “Talk some sense into him. He can’t use a walker for the rest of his life.”

  “Mom,” I said as gently as possible, “why don’t you go check on Jonah and Eban and see how the kitchen is progressing? I bet a lot has changed since you and Dad left this morning.”

  “Don’t you want me to stay and help you talk to your father?” She frowned at her husband.

  I gave her my brightest smile. “We’ll be fine.”

  She glanced in the
direction of the kitchen. I knew she was itching to see what had been done while she and Dad were out. “All right,” she said, and left the room.

  I felt mildly sorry to sic Mom on Jonah, but it would be much easier to talk to my father without her nearby contributing her two cents every two seconds. My mother was one of those people who actually liked exercise. She jogged three miles on her treadmill every morning. I loathed exercise just like my father. He and I could speak on a kindred-spirit level about an issue that she would never understand.

  He shivered. “They put me on a table and bent me back like my spine was a fold in the Sunday newspaper.”

  “Dad, they’re trying to help you.”

  “AngieBear.” He took my hand. “I’m telling you, the woman had glee in her eyes as she watched me be twisted into a pretzel. Do you hear me? Glee!”

  “Maybe she’s just a happy person,” I said.

  “She’s a masochist,” Dad said with feeling.

  I sighed. “How does your back feel now?”

  He thought about it for a moment. “Sore, but in a different way. The whole thing is sore like someone used it for a punching bag. That’s the therapist’s doing.”

  “That’s because the therapist worked on strengthening the muscles in your back so that the disc will have support. I’ve done a little research on your injury, and it sounds to me that she put you on a flex extension table.”

  He grunted.

  “Did you like anything about it? There has to be one good part,” I said.

  He frowned. “I did like the end when she put this massive damp heating pad on my back.”

  “See, it’s not all bad,” I said in my most upbeat voice.

  He folded his arms. “It was fine for the last ten minutes. The other fifty she turned me into a contortionist.”

  I folded my arms too. “You promised that you would give therapy a chance.”

  “I did.” Like a toddler, he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “You didn’t give it enough of a chance.” I perched on an ottoman a few feet from him. “You promised that you’d do this for me.”

  His face softened. “You’re right. I did. I suppose one visit isn’t much of a fair shake.” He gave the loudest sigh I’d ever heard. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mattie heard it miles away at the Running Stitch. “I suppose I can give it another shot for you.”

  “Good.” I stood up.

  His eyes sparkled. “Don’t tell your mother just yet that I agreed to go back. I like it when she’s all riled up.”

  I shook my head. “You’re terrible. I’ll let you tell her when you’re ready, but don’t put it off too long. She’s really wound up.”

  “Just for another half hour,” he said with a wink.

  I kissed him on the top of the head. “I’ll go check on the kitchen and Jonah before I head back out.”

  Oliver and I went to the kitchen. I was surprised to see that the new floor was almost complete. Eban, who wore kneepads over his trousers, kneeled at the far edge of the huge kitchen, installing the last few floorboards. Jonah and my mother stood on the opposite side of the room, surveying the work. Other than the new floor, everything was out of the room, even the light fixtures in the ceiling.

  The new French doors were opened wide and there was a makeshift workshop of sawhorses and power tools on the back patio.

  “Wow, you guys work fast,” I said.

  Mom nodded. “I was just telling Eban how impressed I was with their work.”

  Eban removed a bandanna from the back pocket of his trousers and wiped his brow. “Danki. The cabinetry was delivered while you were gone. It’s in the garage. We’ll paint tomorrow and install the cabinets on Monday.”

  “Where’s Jonah?” I asked.

  “He had to return to his farm about an hour ago.”

  I bit the inside of my lip. “Is everything okay?”

  Eban shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  This meant I would have to wait to talk to Jonah about the alibi Rex Flagg gave him. I tried to hide my disappointment. “And the doors are fixed,” I said.

  Eban nodded. “And they lock too.”

  I gave my mother a sideways look. “If that’s the case, I’ll sleep at my own house tonight, Mom.” I didn’t think I would survive another night with the accusatory giraffe.

  “Yes, that’s fine,” she said absentmindedly. “Is your father going to return to physical therapy?”

  “He’s thinking about it,” I said, keeping my promise to my father to let him tell her.

  “Thinking about it?” my mother exclaimed. “You were supposed to talk him into it. I ask you to do one thing . . .” She stomped out of the kitchen.

  I watched her go. I had a feeling that I was going to get the blame for my father’s desire to see my mother riled up.

  “Angie,” Eban said.

  I jumped. I hadn’t realized he stood only a few feet from me.

  “May I talk to you for a moment?”

  I stepped back. “Sure, Eban. I’m on my way out, if you want to follow me outside to talk.”

  He nodded. “I could use a break anyway.”

  Eban and Oliver followed me through the house. As we passed the living room, I heard my mother lecturing my father as to why he needed to keep doing physical therapy. I shook my head. I hoped Dad told her about his decision to go back soon or I would never hear the end of it.

  In the front yard, Oliver snuffled one of the tulips that Petunia had decapitated the day before. I supposed I should be happy that Mom was too caught up in Dad’s physical therapy drama to notice the number Petunia had done on her front garden. She would eventually and I would never hear the end of that either.

  I turned to Eban. “What did you want to talk about? Is something wrong with the kitchen job?”

  “Nee.” He shook his head. “I’m very grateful to have the work. I am grateful to both Jonah and your mother for it. It pays well, which will allow me to send money back to my mother for her and my younger brothers and sisters.”

  “No father?” I asked. Immediately, I regretted it. It was too personal a question to ask someone who I’d just met, especially if that person was Amish.

  He shook his head. “My father died when I was younger.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He gave his head a hard shake, causing his glossy bowl haircut to bounce in place. “It was a long time ago. The reason I wanted to talk to you is because of this Bigfoot creature.” He whispered the last part.

  “Oh?” That was the last thing I expected Eban to want to talk to me about. “What about it?”

  “I saw it with my own eyes in the forest this morning. Jonah was inside taking measurements to cut the flooring, and I was carrying the uncut pieces from the garage to the back patio. The creature startled me so much that I dropped the stack of wood. When I did that, it must have scared the animal, and it ran off.” Eban was breathing heavily by the end of his tale.

  “What did it look like?”

  “Sort of like a cross between a gorilla and a bear. It was much taller than me,” he said. He held his hand about a foot above his own head to demonstrate the creature’s height. “The odd part is I could have sworn the animal was wearing shoes. I know I caught sight of white tennis shoes as it was running away.”

  Ahh, I thought, Bigfoot was busted.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  I was still mulling over how I was going to break the news to Willow that her Bigfoot was an impostor when I parked my car outside of Zeff Oak Emporium. I wasn’t sure how this was going to go. It was very likely Mallory would recognize me from my parents’ house the morning before. My hair was hard to miss. If she recognized me, I knew she wouldn’t answer my questions.

  “Ollie, we need a disguise,” I said.

  He whimpered. Oliver wasn’t much for clothing.
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  “Okay, I need a disguise.” I unbuckled my seat belt and peeked in the backseat.

  A navy blue ball cap peeked out from under the passenger seat. I grabbed it. HOLMES COUNTY SHERIFF DEPARTMENT was emblazoned across the front. Mitchell must have left it in my car.

  “This could work.”

  Oliver whimpered again.

  Staring in the mirror attached to my window visor, I tucked my blond curls the best I could up under the hat. Some of my hair sneaked out, but for the most part my hair was covered. “Ollie, this is between you and me, okay?”

  He hid his face in his paws.

  I knew why he was so anxious. If it got back to Mitchell that I was impersonating an officer, I was dead meat.

  I made sure the hat was firmly in place and got out of the car. Oliver reluctantly followed, jumping to the gravel parking lot.

  I pushed open the door to Zeff Oak Emporium. As the door swung inward, the scent of vinegar and lemon oil washed over me. It was a familiar scent that I always associated with an Amish home because the Amish used the mixture as an all-purpose cleaner, especially on furniture, which was why the fragrance was so pungent in the emporium. At my feet, Oliver sniffed the ground. Maybe he caught another scent of something other than lemon and vinegar with that pushed-in nose of his. I certainly couldn’t.

  Mallory Zeff, with her dark braid coiled on the top of her head, polished a dining room table in the middle of the room. As she worked, the bangles around her wrist clattered together. A spray bottle of vinegar water sat next to her on the impossibly long table that looked as if it could seat fifteen or more. A table of that size was not unusual to find in an Amish home. A large Amish family could easily fill fifteen spots at one Sunday dinner.

  She picked up her spray bottle and rag and walked around the table. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  I nodded and flipped the sales tag over that was attached to a dresser while I waited. I whistled under my breath. Amish-made furniture wasn’t cheap anywhere, but this store’s prices were double what I’d seen at other places throughout the county. The craftsmanship was slightly different too. It wasn’t as simple. The wooden furniture in this store held intricate engraving and embellishments on almost every piece. Clearly this was an attempt to appeal to the English shopper of means.