Murder, Handcrafted (Amish Quilt Shop Mystery)

by Isabella Alan

  “Angie—” Jonah began, but before he could say more, I climbed back into my car and drove away.

  I was turning out of the Grabers’ county road toward Rolling Brook when my cell phone rang. I fished it out of my bag and checked the readout. The call was from Amber. She must be calling in to report on the research project I’d given her that morning.

  I held the phone to my ear. “Tell me what you learned,” I told Amber on the other end of the call.

  “A lot, actually,” she said, seemingly unoffended at my lack of greeting. “You were right. There was another accident involving Griffin Bright. Sixteen years ago to be exact, four years after Kamon’s death, so it didn’t take me as long to find as I thought it might.”

  “A barn fire?” I asked.

  “How did you know?” she asked, sounding miffed that I beat her to the punch.

  “I don’t know any more than that, so please go on,” I said.

  “Griffin was working on installing electricity to a former Amish barn for a new English owner. There was an electrical fire during the job at night. One of the Amish farmhands ran into the building to save the horses. He was able to free the animals, but he died in the fire.”

  I had a tingly feeling again. “What was his name?”

  “Hold on—let me check.”

  I heard rustling paper on the other end of the call. It was torture waiting for her answer.

  “Peter Hoch. This was in Wayne County, so there wasn’t much talk about it here in Holmes, which may be why people don’t remember it as well as Kamon’s death twenty years ago.”

  Peter Hoch. Eban’s last name was Hoch. Eban said his father had died.

  “After Peter died,” Amber said, warming up to her subject, “Griffin dissolved his electrician business. He seems to have disappeared for a couple of years. Then ten years ago, he came back and opened Double Bright Electric with his brother, Blane. There have been no incidents since Peter’s death. The Bright brothers’ business has gotten superb ratings for every year they’ve been in business. Griffin was even given some type of statewide safety award last year because he is such a stickler for rules. I guess he learned his lesson about safety the hard way.”

  Eban. The Amish man Cameron had seen that morning hadn’t been Jonah. It had been Eban.

  Amber went on to tell me more of what she learned about Griffin’s business, but I was only half listening at that point. Eban? Could friendly and kind Eban really be the killer? I needed to talk to Mitchell.

  “Thank you, Amber,” I cut into her recitation of Griffin’s history. “This is just what I needed to know. I have to go.”

  “But, I have more . . .”

  “Can you send it to me in an e-mail? I really have to go.”

  “Oh-kay,” she said.

  “You did an awesome job,” I said. “Really.”

  “I did?” She sounded pleased.

  After I ended the conversation with Amber, I tried to call Mitchell, but it went straight to voice mail. He must still be caught up in that accident. This wasn’t a conversation for voice mail. I stopped myself from calling the emergency number. I wasn’t in danger. I would just keep calling Mitchell until he answered.

  Back in Rolling Brook, I parked in the community lot and nervously glanced around when I stepped out onto the sidewalk on the way to Running Stitch. Much to my relief, no Bigfooters jumped out of the alleys, calling my name.

  There was only a handful of Bigfoot merchandise vendors still on Sugartree Street, and the ones that were there were in the process of packing up their wares. It was only two in the afternoon. There were at least two more hours of shopping to be had. I stopped one of the vendors and asked him why he was packing up.

  “Didn’t you hear?” the man asked. “It was a hoax. Some kid was making a movie for school. Everyone is packing it in.”

  “Too bad,” I said, feeling relieved. At least the Bigfoot mania was over, and I no longer had to fear for my life. I continued on my way to the shop. There were still plenty of people on the street. I’d try to reach Mitchell again from inside the shop where no one would overhear.

  In front of Running Stitch, I stopped. Something was wrong. The CLOSED sign was flipped around on the door. Did Mattie leave the shop? Had she gone to the mercantile to visit Liam? Why wouldn’t she tell me?

  I put my key into the lock and turned. The door swung inward. The interior was dark, but at first glance everything seemed to be in order. “Mattie,” I called, taking a few tentative steps inside.

  Where was Mattie? Where was Oliver? Something was very off. I was about to turn around and go back outside when the door slammed behind me.

  I spun around and found Eban Hoch standing between me and the closed front door, holding a knife as long as my arm.

  And then I heard Mattie crying.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  “Eban,” I cried when I regained my voice. “What are you doing?”

  Barks came from the stockroom. I almost wilted with relief. Oliver was all right. He was trapped, but all right. My eyes adjusted to the dimness of the shop, and I spotted Mattie tied to a chair next to the giant quilt frame. Her eyes were the size of dinner plates, but she appeared otherwise unharmed.

  Eban shook the knife at me. “Give me your purse.”

  “No,” I said. My phone was in my hobo bag, and I wasn’t giving that up. “Eban, we can talk about this. I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seems to you.”

  Without a word, Eban ran around me to the back of the shop and placed the giant knife at Mattie’s throat.

  “Angie, please.” Tears rolled down Mattie’s cheeks.

  I dropped the bag on the floor without a word and kicked it to him.

  Eban picked up the bag and began rooting through the contents. He dropped my wallet, a stapler—I didn’t remember putting that in there—and a packet of tissues on the floor. Finally, he came up with my phone, which he shoved into his trouser pocket.

  If I wanted to, I had a clean getaway out the front door, but that would mean leaving Mattie and Oliver with Eban and his knife. That wasn’t going to happen. I started talking. “You should have kept going home to Wayne County, Eban. You would have been home by now.”

  He laughed. “So that you could send the police for me there? Don’t pretend that you wouldn’t have done that. In the last two days working with Jonah, I have heard all about Angie Braddock, the sleuth, and her determination to find a killer. I knew that I would never get away with Griffin’s murder.”

  I was right. Eban had killed Griffin. I wish that I had been wrong, but I was right. I closed my eyes for the briefest second, wishing that Jonah hadn’t bragged about me.

  “You came here for me, right? Then let Mattie go. She has nothing to do with Griffin’s death.”

  “She’s not going anywhere. Neither of you are.”

  “You can’t keep us here forever,” I said as reasonably as my shaky voice would allow.

  He seemed to consider this. “If I let her go, she’ll go to the police.”

  I shook my head. “No, she won’t. Will you, Mattie?”

  “I—I won’t.” Mattie trembled.

  “I want to help you, Eban,” I said. “But I’m not going to do that as long as Mattie is in danger.”

  “Stop trying to confuse me,” he shouted, and moved the knife closer to Mattie’s throat.

  I held up my hands. “Okay, okay. We’ll stay.”

  He pointed to a folding chair in the middle of the room. “Sit there.”

  I sat. I glanced back through the display window. There were only a few tourists left walking up the street, and none of them even glanced at Running Stitch to see the drama unfolding inside. There wouldn’t be any help coming from that quarter. I had to think of a way to free Mattie, Oliver, and me from this situation.

  “Stop looking at th
e window,” Eban shouted.

  I turned back to him. “I’m sorry.” I gave him my full attention. As the man had a huge knife, he deserved it. “What did you want to talk to me about, Eban?”

  He glared at me.

  I licked my lips, which were impossibly dry. “Why did you wait so long to avenge your father’s death?”

  To my relief, he lowered the knife and stepped away from Mattie. He came toward me with the knife, but I’d much rather have him do that than have the knife at Mattie’s throat.

  “I knew you knew I did it. That’s why I came here.” He waved the knife erratically. “When the Amish girl said you weren’t here, I knew you were out talking to people and collecting proof. I knew you would figure it out.”

  “Tell me about your father,” I said.

  He glared at me. “I never got to know my father, not really. Griffin robbed me of that when he killed him.”

  Behind Eban’s back, Mattie wiggled quietly in her seat, inching the chair backward. Then, I saw what she was trying to reach. There was a small pair of thread scissors sitting on the edge of the quilt frame. One of the ladies must have forgotten them during the last quilting circle meeting.

  “In the barn fire,” I said. “How old were you then?”

  “Five! I was only five.” He narrowed his eyes, taking another step toward me. “You do know about the fire. You do know everything.”

  “Not everything.” I braced my hands on my knees. “But I do know the fire was an accident,” I said. “One that Griffin regretted the rest of his life.”

  “What do you know of it?” he snapped.

  I held up my hands. “Everyone I talked to said how careful Griffin was. They said that he regretted an accident in his past. I thought it was Kamon Graber’s death—and maybe that was part of it—but I think it was what happened to your family too. After that happened, he really started to take protocols more seriously.”

  Behind him, Mattie reached the scissors and began cutting away at the duct tape that tethered her to the chair.

  Eban began to pace. Mattie made eye contact with me. I gestured with my eyes to the back room. I hoped that she would get the hint to take Oliver and run when she broke loose. I would get out of the shop another way.

  “Because of Griffin, I had to become the man in my family at age five, and my mother had to take my sisters and me back to her community. It is not a gut place. The Amish there were strict. The bishop is cruel. I saw him whip a man for the length of his hair. I was on the receiving end of his punishments as well. My mother thought that by marrying my father she had escaped that harsh district, but with my father’s death, she had to return to it with her children. Over the years, I saw the bright and happy mother I knew as a child pull into herself and away from my sisters and me. And it was all because of all the loss she had suffered.”

  “Eban, I’m sorry your bishop is cruel, but Griffin didn’t cause that.”

  “Yes, he did,” he bellowed, taking two steps toward me with the knife outstretched. “If he hadn’t murdered my father, I would have grown up in a loving district, and I would have had both of my parents. My mother might as well be dead and my father most certainly is.”

  Mattie, now free from the duct tape, stood up. I took care not to look at her as she stepped around the chair. But as she turned, she bumped the edge of the quilt frame with her hip and it made a screeching sound across the wooden floor.

  Eban spun around at the noise. “Stop!” he bellowed.

  I jumped out of the chair and picked it up and whacked Eban in the side with it. He staggered across the room into the wall of fabric. Half a dozen bolts of cloth from the shelving fell onto his head. The knife flew from his hand and skittered across the room in front of the display window.

  “Mattie, get Oliver and go out the back!” I cried, and ran for the knife below the window.

  Mattie hesitated for a second, and then ran to the stockroom door. She threw it open and Oliver raced to me.

  I grabbed the knife. “Oliver, no,” I cried. “Go with Mattie!”

  The little Frenchie pulled up short, obviously confused by my command. It was long enough for Mattie to grab him and run out the back door. I was weak with relief.

  Eban struggled to his feet while I was distracted by Oliver and charged at me. I didn’t notice until he was almost upon me. I jumped to the side, and Eban crashed through the front window of Running Stitch.

  Eban’s body hung halfway out of the window. He was badly cut. Gingerly, I picked my way to him. He was lying on his stomach and was still breathing. Thank God. I removed my phone from his pocket and called 911. And related what happened as quickly as possible.

  The street was filling up as shopkeepers, customers, and the remaining Bigfooters came out of the shops up and down the street to see what all the commotion was about. Mattie ran into view around the side of Running Stitch still holding Oliver.

  The sirens approached and I let out a breath because I knew Mitchell was coming.

  Epilogue

  The day after Eban held Mattie and me hostage in Running Stitch was a Sunday, so at least the shop was already closed regardless of whether or not I had a front window. Early that morning, Oliver and I went into the shop to clean up. I sighed as I unlocked the door, turned on the lights, and surveyed the mess. I left the front door wide-open. In the morning light, I was relieved to see that nothing was seriously broken other than the front window, of course.

  Before we left the night before, Mattie and I had swept up most of the glass, and Old Ben had come down the street from his woodshop with a large piece of wood to cover the worst of the broken window.

  I grabbed a broom and began to sweep just in case there was a speck of glass that we might have missed.

  Jonah walked through the open door, holding a casserole dish in his hands.

  “Jonah?” I asked. “What are you doing here? It’s Sunday. Shouldn’t you be in church?”

  “Oh, Angie,” he smiled. “Do you not remember the passage in Luke when Jesus was in the home of a Pharisee on the Sabbath and cured an ill man? The Pharisees thought Jesus should not heal on the Sabbath Day, but Jesus told them it was like rescuing an ox that had fallen into a pit on the holy day. Some work must be completed on the Sabbath out of necessity.”

  “I must have missed that one,” I said.

  He chuckled. “To Gott, I think fixing your window would qualify as an ox in the pit.”

  I smiled, and nodded at the dish in his hand. “And what would God say about that?”

  “Oh, this? It’s breakfast casserole. Miriam asked me to bring it to you.”

  “Miriam did?” I whispered.

  “Ya.” His smile widened. “She and I are both so grateful for what you did. You put your life at risk to prove my innocence.”

  I took the casserole from his hands and set it on the cutting table. “Please thank Miriam for me.”

  “Miriam says you are welcome in our home anytime.”

  I blinked back tears. “I’m glad. How is Eban?” I asked.

  “The doctors say he will be all right. Most of his cuts were minor. It could have been much worse for him. When he’s released from the hospital, the deputies will take him straight to the county jail.”

  “I’m glad that he’s going to be all right. I still sort of like him. If his life had gone differently, I truly believe he would have been a different person.”

  He broke eye contact. “I need to ask your forgiveness, Angie. If it hadn’t been for me, none of this would have happened. I was the one who brought Eban Hoch into our lives. If it had not been for me, he would not have come at all.”

  I shook my head. “If it had not been through you, Jonah, Eban would have found another way to kill Griffin. He was so bitter over what happened to his family.”

  Jonah looked down. “I am ashamed to say that I
understand how he felt. You know I idolized Kamon because he was brave. He saw the world not as a litany of rules passed down by our church leaders but as an opportunity. For Kamon, anything was possible. I think that was why I was so affected by his death. When he died, those possibilities for me died with him and were buried along with him in his grave.” He took a breath. “That’s where I was the morning Griffin died, after I dropped the drunken man off in Millersburg and before I went to your parents’ home.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “Kamon’s grave. I just had the yearning to visit it again after seeing Griffin. I know Kamon isn’t there. I know he’s not on this Earth, but I felt I needed to be there. I had to tell my cousin that it was time to let my anger over his death go. Seeing Griffin showed me that.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Mitchell this?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

  He shook his head. “No one was there. No one saw me, so it didn’t matter if I told the police where I was or was not. It was too private. I didn’t want it to become some part of English law and record, to be recorded and be asked about over and over again.”

  I tightened my grip on the casserole dish. “Thank you for telling me now.”

  He nodded. “I know Miriam has been unkind to you. That is my fault. When Kamon was alive, I had once thought—”

  I shook my head. “Jonah, that’s all in the past. Don’t say whatever it is because it’s no longer true. We’re both different people now who are happy with our lives.” I paused. “I’m happy and grateful to be your friend. That’s more than enough.”

  He smiled. “I am glad, my friend, so very glad.” He cleared his throat. “I should get to work replacing that window. I have a pane of glass in my wagon.”

  As Jonah replaced the window and I cleaned up more broken glass, there was a knock on the door. I set my broom against the fabric shelves and opened the door to find Linda standing there with an enormous roaster in her hands.

  “This is for you,” she said.