He rolled onto his back with Oliver on his stomach. “Yep.”
“Do you want to do it?” I asked.
He rolled his eyes. “It’s Friday night.”
“I’ll take that as a no. Do you want pizza?”
“Yes!” He sat up with a jolt.
The cat and dog meowed and barked respectively. Pizza was something we could all agree on.
“Should I order brownies too?” I asked.
The pizza place also made killer brownies.
“Yes!” Zander pumped his fist. “You always get the best junk food, Angie.” His voice held true respect.
I was going to be a stellar parent.
The four of us were polishing off what was left of the pizza, and Zander and I were moving onto the brownies, when a rapid knock at the Running Stitch’s locked front door interrupted us.
“Who’s that?” Zander asked with a mouth full of brownie.
“It might be one of the township trustees. We’re having a meeting here tonight.”
He swallowed. “That sounds boring.”
Because I was the grown-up, I didn’t agree with him. Out loud. The meetings usually were boring, but considering this meeting’s subject matter was Bigfoot, I thought it had the potential to be a little more animated than usual.
I brushed the crumbs from the brownie off the front of my shirt and opened the door.
Willow trundled in carrying an easel. “Zander! Hello! So glad to see you.”
Zander shoved a brownie into his mouth and said, “Hi” with a mouth full of chocolate.
“What’s with the easel?” I asked with some concern. I knew it was trouble when Willow used props.
She set up the easel in front of the wall of fabric. “Caroline asked me to come to this meeting with a plan for the Bigfooters, and I have.”
I inched toward the easel. “Can I see?”
She moved in front of it and held out her arms. “No, it would ruin the surprise.”
I had a sinking feeling. The only surprises I’d experienced from Willow involved her teas. I couldn’t see this one being much better.
A little before seven, the rest of the trustees entered the shop. Caroline frowned when she saw Zander there, playing on his iPod, but she made no comment.
She settled into one of the folding chairs I’d set up in front of Willow’s easel.
“What’s with the easel?” Jason Rustle asked. He was still wearing the business suit that he must have worn to his office that morning.
Willow clapped her hands in front of herself. “I have a plan for the Bigfooters, just like you requested, Caroline.” She beamed.
Farley rubbed his hands together. “We are all here; let’s get this meeting started. I, for one, can’t wait to see what Willow has in store for us.”
Caroline scowled. “I will be the one who decides when the meeting will begin.” She took a dramatic pause. “Willow, will you begin your presentation?”
Jason Rustle stared longingly at the door. I knew he’d give anything to bolt. I sort of felt the same way, but since the meeting was in my shop, I was trapped.
“Thank you, Caroline,” Willow said formally. “As all of you know, there are a number of Bigfoot believers in Rolling Brook because of the recent sightings around the home of Angie’s parents.” She nodded to me. “The Bigfooters are here and don’t plan to leave until they see Bigfoot or it is proven that it was all a hoax—”
“Because you told them about the supposed sighting,” Jason grumbled.
“Be that as it may,” Willow said evenly, “I believe we can use their presence for the good of the town.” She stepped back and flipped around a large piece of poster board sitting on the easel. In giant block letters in the middle of the poster board, it read, “Bigfoot Day! Join us in Rolling Brook this Saturday to learn about the myth and legend!”
The rest of the trustees, including myself, just stared.
“Cool!” Zander said. “I love Bigfoot.”
Willow grinned. “Me too!”
“You have a nine-year-old on board,” Jason said. “A resounding endorsement indeed.”
“Not cool,” Caroline said, standing up. “Not cool at all. We’re already the laughingstock of the county. Don’t you see that this will only make it worse?”
“Saturday is tomorrow,” Jason said. “How can we plan it in time?”
Willow grinned. “That’s the beauty of it. There’s nothing to plan. My friend Ray, the president of the local chapter of the Bigfooter Society has T-shirts and other merchandise to sell, and the society has ready-made presentations. All we need to provide is a location right here on Sugartree Street.”
“There is no way this is happening,” Caroline protested. “I don’t give my time to manage this township in order to be mocked!”
“I really thought you would like it.” Willow’s face fell. “I know it’s a little outside of the box . . .”
Caroline closed her eyes as if she couldn’t stand to look at Willow.
Jason leaned close to me and whispered, “She’s gonna blow in three . . . two . . . one—”
“Willow, how can you do this without consulting with the trustees? This is not the first time you’ve gone off on your own to plan an event. We can’t just throw something together. A street fair takes planning. Not to mention, we don’t want to do anything to tarnish Rolling Brook’s reputation.”
“Actually,” Farley said, speaking up for the first time since Willow’s big reveal, “I think Willow’s plan is the best we have to go on. These Bigfooters aren’t going away, and it seems that more are coming each day. With the weekend coming, I’m afraid that the numbers will rise. Why not take advantage of it?”
Caroline gaped at him. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m very serious,” he said. “If we fight it, the other communities in the county will only get more enjoyment about poking fun at us. It’s best to embrace it and show that we can laugh at ourselves.”
I found myself nodding. Farley had a point. I could tell by the look on Jason’s face he was considering it too.
“Farley!” Caroline cried.
He smiled at her. “We can’t run these people out of the township with shovels and pitchforks, so we might as well make some tax dollars off their time here.”
“Yeah, it makes sense when it is presented that way,” Jason said. “I think it’s the best course of action.”
Willow grinned. “Should we put it to a vote?”
“I say yea,” Farley said.
Jason and I agreed.
“But!” Caroline stared at us openmouthed.
Jason stood. “Now that we have decided about the Bigfooters, is the meeting over? I have some real work for my real job this evening.”
Farley, Willow, and I stood too.
Caroline fell into her seat. “You’re all in agreement that this is a good idea? That we should cater to these—these people?”
“They won’t be here much longer,” I said. “If no one sees a Bigfoot this weekend, they will leave of their own accord, and I have it on good authority that it’s a practical joke. Someone saw Bigfoot’s sneakers.”
“Really?” Willow asked, sounding disappointed, but she quickly recovered. “Don’t worry. None of you will have to do a thing for Bigfoot Day other than stop by Sugartree Street to join in the fun.”
Caroline groaned, covering her face with her hands.
As the trustees were leaving at the end of the meeting, Jason stopped me. “I heard about Griffin dying at your parents’ house. Bad break.”
“Did you know him?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, but one of my old business partners used to be an insurance investigator. He knew Griffin from that. I guess he had to adjust a job where an Amish man got killed on one of Griffin’s jobsites.�
�
“When was this?”
“Years ago. Not really sure.”
“Thirty years ago?” I asked.
He rolled his eyes. “No way that long ago, Angie. How old do you think I am?”
So that ruled out the fire that killed Raymond’s wife.
“Was the Amish man named Kamon Graber?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, that’s not it. It was an Amish name, but not one as unusual as Kamon. I would have remembered one so unusual. I do remember that it wasn’t even in Holmes County.”
Another person had died because of Griffin’s business and outside of the county? If I counted Raymond’s wife, that was the third death attributed to Griffin in some way.
“Can I talk to your friend?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t know where he is now. He got another job in Arizona or New Mexico—somewhere hot at least—and we lost touch. Sorry—I’d stick around and chat but . . .” Jason looked down at his watch. He’d already said he had a lot of work to do tonight.
While I stood in the doorway of Running Stitch and watched Jason drive away, Martha Yoder stepped out of Authentic Amish Quilts next door and locked the door. She glared at me, and I smiled back. It was a typical exchange between Martha and me. The atypical part was when she marched over to me. “I heard that you were bothering my cousin today.”
My brow knit together. “Your cousin?”
“Mallory Zeff.” She said this as if it was something I should have already known.
“Mallory is your cousin?” Clearly, it was taking me a minute to catch up on this new information.
She sniffed. “Distant cousin. On the side of the family that turned Englisch over fifty years ago. I can’t hold that against Mallory.”
“That’s nice of you,” I deadpanned.
“She said that you came sniffing around pretending to be a police officer and wanted to know if she killed Griffin Bright.”
“I never said that I was a police officer.” I never said it outright, I added silently to myself.
She put her hands on her hips. “Well, I’m here to tell you to leave her alone. She was with me the morning Griffin died. She was so upset about her breakup with Griffin that she spent the night at my house. She just needed to get away from everything for a little while. My Amish home was the best place to escape to.”
“Oh,” I said, slightly disappointed that I had just lost a promising suspect. “Did you tell the police that?”
“Mallory did, and I confirmed her story when a deputy stopped by this afternoon to ask me about it.”
Mitchell’s department SUV parked in the spot next to my car.
Martha glanced at the car and said, “Stop sticking your nose in places where it doesn’t belong. You wouldn’t want the sheriff to know what you’re up to, would you?” With that, she stomped down the street in the direction of the community parking lot where her horse and buggy waited.
As Mitchell got out of the car, Zander flew through Running Stitch’s open front door and threw his arms around his father’s waist. Mitchell gave him a huge bear hug and kissed the top of head. My heart filled up watching father and son together. An unwanted image of that darn giraffe from the nursery in my mother’s house entered my mind again. I swallowed.
Mitchell walked over to me and nodded in the direction that Martha had just gone. “Do I want to know about what was going on here?”
I shook my head. “Probably not.”
“Dad!” Zander cried. “Bigfoot is real, and tomorrow will be Bigfoot Day in Rolling Brook. Can we go? I’ve never been to a Bigfoot Day before.”
Mitchell smiled at me with those aquamarine eyes over his son’s head. “Neither have I.”
All I could think was “stupid giraffe.”
“Dad, did you tell her yet?” Zander asked.
I looked from one to the other. “Tell me what?”
“Grandma and Grandpa are coming up from Florida for a visit,” the boy shouted at the top of his voice.
Mitchell gave me a half smile.
“Ahh,” I said. “Hillary might have hinted about that to me.”
“I thought she might have,” Mitchell said, studying my face. “Don’t look so worried.”
“Worried? Why would I be worried?” I squeaked.
“Before we can move forward with what comes next”—Mitchell gave me a meaningful look—“I need you to meet my parents.” He laughed. “I’ve certainly gotten to know yours over the last couple of years.”
A lump caught in my throat. My brain spun with ideas as to what next might be. “When will they be here?”
“Within a few days,” Mitchell said. “They are driving up from Florida, and they like to take their time and visit friends on their northward trek. It’s hard to predict.”
Great. That wasn’t exactly the precise time of arrival I was hoping for.
“Grandma and Grandpa will love you, Angie,” Zander said confidently. “Just like Dad and I do.”
My heart felt as if it would burst out of my chest at Zander’s sweet words. I silently prayed his prediction was right.
Chapter Thirty-three
Between the murder and looming arrival of Mitchell’s parents, I had a fitful night’s sleep even though Dodger, Oliver, and I were safely tucked back into our little rental house in Millersburg.
I wasn’t feeling chipper when my alarm went off the next morning, and I was feeling even less so while driving to Rolling Brook. Both situations were maddening, but I decided to focus on the murder because that had the greatest chance of being resolved.
Something Jason Rustle said the night before nagged at the back of my mind. He said that he’d heard that an Amish man had died in an accident years ago, but he was almost certain that the man’s name wasn’t Kamon. That could only mean that there was another accident in Griffin’s past. Perhaps Blane would know what that accident was, but I was tired of evasive answers from Griffin’s friends and family. I needed hard facts. Before going to sleep the night before, I had searched the Internet for any mention of another death years ago associated with Griffin Bright that wasn’t Kamon’s. I came up with nothing. Not even Kamon’s. It had been twenty years ago, but that was just at the very beginning of the Internet. The county papers that would have reported the death might not have been online yet. It was clear I needed professional help.
I pulled to the side of the county road between home in Millersburg and Running Stitch in Rolling Brook and dug my phone out of my hobo bag. I scrolled through the contacts until I found the right number, and then called.
“Hello,” a groggy voice answered on the other end of the line.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” I said brightly.
“Angie, it’s like nine in the morning.” Amber Rustle yawned in my ear. “On a Saturday.”
“Don’t you have to be at the library this morning?” I asked. Amber was Jason’s college-age daughter who worked at the main county library. In the past, I had helped Amber find her best friend’s killer. Ever since then, she had sort of become my personal librarian-in-training-on-call. Everyone should have a librarian on speed dial in my opinion.
“I don’t have to be there until nine forty-five.”
“And you are still in bed?”
“Yeah, it will take me like two minutes to get ready.”
Ahh, the ease of youth. “I have an assignment for you when you get to the library.”
“Is it about Bigfoot Day?” she asked. “Dad told us all about it when he got home from the trustees’ meeting last night. He said Caroline’s face turned purple when you all voted for the Bigfoot Day.”
Bigfoot Day. I had forgotten. I rubbed the spot between my eyes where the headache was starting to form. “It did indeed.”
She giggled, sounding more awake. “I wish I could’ve seen it. We
have a few books on Bigfoot. Do you want me to hold them for you?”
“No, this isn’t about Bigfoot. It’s about the murder.”
“You mean that guy who got electrocuted. What a way to go.”
I grimaced. “I know. I think something from his past was the reason he was killed. I want you to do some digging in the newspaper archives at the library.”
“Are you investigating his death?” Before I could answer, she went on. “Why am I even asking? Of course you are. What do you need?”
I smiled. I knew Amber would be up for the challenge. I told her about the accident from twenty years ago that had killed Kamon. “I think that there was a second accident where a second man died. At least your father thought so. He couldn’t remember the man who died’s name.”
“When did it happen?”
“That’s the problem,” I said. “I have no idea.”
“You want me to pour over twenty years of newspapers to find a suspicious death that you’re not even sure happened.”
“Is that too hard of a task?” I asked cheerfully.
She snorted with a superiority that only a future librarian could manage. “Maybe for the average person, but not for me.”
“I knew I could count on you.”
On the street an Amish buggy rolled by.
“It might take me a few hours. Those older records wouldn’t have been digitized, but I will find it.”
“Take all the time that you need. I would rather you be thorough than fast,” I said.
“I’d better get a move on then,” she said, sounding excited. “I’ll call you when I have news.”
I started the car again, feeling much better about the day. I patted Oliver on the top of the head before I pulled the SUV out onto the road. “We have a plan now, Ollie. I always feel better when I have plan. Don’t you?”
He licked my hand, and we continued on our way to Rolling Brook.
On Sugartree Street, I parked in the community lot and froze the moment my feet hit the sidewalk. Willow hadn’t been kidding when she said that the trustees wouldn’t have to do anything for Bigfoot Day. Up and down the street, street vendors were selling T-shirts, mugs, umbrellas, and just about anything you could slap a Bigfoot silhouette on, and there were numerous placards telling what time the Bigfoot talks would be in the Dutchman’s Tea Shop.
Murder, Handcrafted (Amish Quilt Shop Mystery) Page 22