Plain Confession

by Emma Miller

  Soon Rachel was seated at the table across from the man sipping peppermint tea and nibbling at a cinnamon bun. Her thoughts were racing, but she was determined not to leave there without answers. Baker was an enigma, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t be capable of shooting his neighbor. “I came here to talk to you about your neighbor, Daniel.”

  “Right. You said.”

  “Did you know that Moses Studer confessed to killing his brother-in-law?” she asked, watching him for his response.

  “Moses?” Baker shook his head. Clearly, it was news to him. “No way he killed a man. Any man, even Daniel.”

  “He told the police he did it. They arrested him.”

  “I don’t care what he told the police. You ask me my opinion, I’m giving it to you. Moses didn’t kill anyone. Accidentally, maybe, but not on purpose. He doesn’t have it in him to put a bullet in a man deliberately.”

  “You aren’t the first one to tell me that,” Rachel said, “but I’d appreciate anything you can tell me about Moses and Daniel. And the family,” she added. “How well did you know the deceased?”

  He shrugged. “Not well. Like I said, I keep to myself.”

  “I understand that there was some kind of disagreement between you.”

  “You’re danged—you’re right there was. Pardon my rough talk. I don’t get guests often, and never ladies. Daniel Fisher was a miserable, mean-hearted excuse for a man. I wouldn’t waste powder or shot on him. If I wanted him dead, I know a lot of ways to make it look like an accident.”

  Rachel felt an unease come over her again, but she forged ahead, unwilling to let Chuck know that he unsettled her. “Actually, initially, the police thought it was an accident. Then determined it wasn’t.”

  “What changed their mind?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” She looked up at him. “So . . . you disliked Daniel.”

  “Hated his guts. Always sneaking onto my land and shooting my deer. Told him to stay out. Always pressing for what wasn’t his. Greedy scum. Amish clothes don’t make a decent man, begging your pardon.” He bit into the homemade pastry and closed his eyes. “Best cinnamon bun I think I’ve ever tasted,” he pronounced. “A man could die happy after two or three of these.”

  Rachel watched him enjoy the treat. “I believe that Daniel Fisher thought the land was his.”

  “None of that he lived on was his. Come to them by his wife’s dead father. Not an acre in Daniel’s name.”

  “I mean that the Studer family believed that the old orchard where Daniel died was part of their farm.”

  Chuck spooned a measure of honey into his tea. His voice, when he spoke, was easy, but his narrowed dark eyes were hard. “You want to talk about land trouble? My people have had land trouble for the last couple hundred years. When the English and the Germans came, they thought this land was theirs for the taking. But Shawnee and Lenape and other tribes have lived and died here for thousands of years.”

  Rachel listened, drinking her tea.

  “I have solid title to this section of the mountain, granted by old charter from Billy Penn’s son, a deed to more than six hundred acres. Legal enough to win a half dozen courtroom challenges. My great-great-grandmother had sense enough to marry a Scotsman so the land technically went to a white man.”

  “Then why does Daniel’s family think the land is theirs?”

  He shrugged. “Greedy, like I said. Trouble with the Studers didn’t start until Daniel married the daughter. Before that, Alma’s husband and some of his family hunted the orchard, but they knew it wasn’t theirs. That tree stand where Daniel died was well inside my property line. Had he been where he was supposed to be, maybe he’d be alive today.”

  “Isn’t your property fenced in?”

  Baker scoffed. “That twelve-foot fence? Around six hundred acres? Not likely. I may be crazy, but I’m not a fool. That’s just for show. I never caught Daniel at the gate. He always sneaked in. I tried talking to him. Made it clear I didn’t want him or anyone else hunting on my property. But he wasn’t much for reasoning. Had a temper, that one.”

  She thought about all the nice things people had had to say about Daniel at the funeral and the initial impression of him they had given. Then she thought about the things she had learned since and she wondered if you could ever really know someone. She cleared her throat. “Did you see Daniel the day he died? Maybe you were out hunting, it being opening day of deer season, and ran into him?” She tried to make it sound casual. “On your property, maybe?”

  “I know what you’re asking.” He shook his head. “But I didn’t see him that day when he was out hunting. Had I seen him, I’d have run him off. But I couldn’t have seen him while I was out hunting because I’m no hunter.”

  She looked at him across the table. “You aren’t?”

  “Was before Afghanistan. No more. Seen enough shooting. Killing. More than enough. I keep the guns to guard this land against intruders. I’ve got no use for hunting. I don’t eat meat.”

  The man was full of surprises. “You’re a vegetarian?” she asked.

  That half-smile softened his rough face. “You could say that. I like my eggs of a morning, and I do love an occasional fish fillet. But the deer and bear and smaller creatures, they’re safe on my land. At least they are if I can keep men like Fisher out.” He cupped his hands around his mug and inhaled the scent of his tea. “Hunting is pretty fierce in this part of the state. I look after my deer, put out salt blocks, see they have fresh water when the temperature drops. The world can be a dangerous place, Rachel, but this . . .” He waved a hand. “This is my sanctuary and maybe theirs, too.”

  Chapter 10

  As Rachel pushed a shopping cart through the automatic doors of Wagler’s Grocery, she mulled over her meeting the previous day with Chuck Baker. Despite his oddity, she couldn’t help liking the man. But she knew she couldn’t allow personal feelings to interfere with finding the truth about what happened to Daniel. She also knew something she’d had to learn the hard way: that not everyone told the truth.

  She’d been annoyed with herself that she hadn’t asked the one question she should have asked Chuck, and that was who he thought shot Daniel. He told her she was welcome to come back again to talk, and she intended to do so. She could ask him then. Before she talked to him again, though, she knew she needed the facts behind the land dispute. That had involved a trip to the county office to see who actually owned the land in question.

  Like most old property deeds, ownership had been contested multiple times, but once it had temporarily passed out of Baker hands. The very helpful clerk there had found a break in ownership in the 1930s, which was later restored to the Baker family.

  Apparently, the Bakers had fallen behind in taxes on an orchard and hay meadow during the Great Depression, and one Lemuel Studer, neighbor, had purchased the property at the sheriff’s auction. The head of the Baker family, listed as John, alias Munsee John, Baker, had come up with the required amount within the stipulated time of leeway and had reclaimed his land by paying the tax plus a penalty. The county, as per the agreement at the time of the auction, would have returned the money Lemuel Studer had paid out to him. The clerk said it happened all the time during the Depression. Lands were confiscated and auctioned off, but if the owner could pay up within a certain amount of time, the land reverted back to the owner. Which meant that the old orchard where Daniel died was legally owned by Charles Munsee Baker, and had been unencumbered since 1938.

  That meant that either Mary Rose was mistaken about the land or she’d deliberately lied about it being part of their property. Who owned the land didn’t really matter all that much. Just because Daniel died in Chuck’s orchard, that didn’t mean Chuck killed him. But if Mary Rose told an untruth about owning the land when she didn’t, had she told others?

  Now Rachel wanted to go to the orchard and see for herself where Daniel had died. But she had chores for the B&B that couldn’t wait. First on her list was a li
ttle shopping. Ada had asked her to pick up half-and-half, cake flour, brown sugar, and pickling spice. What Ada intended to pickle in late November, Rachel wasn’t sure, but whatever her housekeeper wanted, she was happy to supply. It wasn’t sensible to question the grocery list when there were new guests arriving for the weekend. Actually, it was never wise to question Ada about anything having to do with the kitchen.

  The store was busy with mostly women, both Amish and English, picking up something for supper. Outsiders often seemed surprised to see the Amish with a grocery cart filled with toilet paper, boxed cereal, and baking ingredients like flour and baking powder, but Amish families needed to purchase things they couldn’t make at home. It always made her smile to see an entire family trailing behind mother and father, all dressed in their best go-to-church clothing. Knowing that most came by horse and buggy, Wagler’s had always provided a shaded spot to tie the animals sheltered from the elements, a courtesy the new management had preserved.

  Most of the shoppers were friends or neighbors, but Rachel didn’t really have time to chat so she wheeled the cart quickly through the produce aisle, stopping only to pick up lemons and romaine lettuce. On second thought, the navel oranges looked nice and she loved oranges. Oddly, Bishop, who rarely would touch table scraps, loved the peel. The cat was constantly stashing pieces of orange peel under Rachel’s bed and under her bathroom sink. She picked out a half dozen oranges, bagged them, and dropped them into her cart.

  As she rounded the aisle she almost bumped into Margaret O’Meara and her husband, Fred. He was pushing the overflowing grocery cart and she was scolding him about the two bags of potato chips that he’d just added to their order.

  “We have pretzels. We don’t need those, and if I did want chips, it wouldn’t be those.”

  “But I like them and they’re on sale.” Red-faced Fred, a tall, balding man with a potbelly, pointed to the display. “Buy one, get the second one free.”

  “And have you checked the date on the bottom?” Margaret demanded. Her shrill voice always reminded Rachel of nails on a blackboard. “They might be out-of-date, something the company wants to get rid of. Honestly, Fred, you’re as bad as a child. I—” Margaret finally noticed Rachel and immediately donned her church face. “Rachel, how lovely to see you,” she said, her voice as sweet as honey. “We simply can’t wait for your wedding. You make such a sweet couple.”

  “Hello, Margaret. Fred. How are you?” Rachel smiled. Margaret was president of the Stone Mill Library Ladies, a women’s organization that supported the town library and offered cultural opportunities to members and the public. She and her husband both sang in the Methodist church choir with Rachel, but truthfully, Rachel had never been able to take Margaret in large doses because she always seemed unhappy about something.

  “Let me give you some advice, dear. When you and Evan are husband and wife, shop alone. Otherwise . . .” Margaret sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “I declare, this man will be the death of me.” She scooped up Fred’s two bags of chips and shoved them back on the shelf. “The male of the species can’t resist snacks. Honestly, bringing him along costs us a fortune in grocery bills.” She leaned closer. “I find Wagler’s on the expensive side, don’t you? I can do much better at the discount grocery in State College.”

  Rachel, who’d been considering picking up the chips at the sale price, thought the better of it. She smiled politely, made a remark about the weather, and made her escape down the pet food aisle. Halfway along the aisle, she found her way blocked by the substantial bulk of Lois McCloud, wife of the town funeral director and best friend of Margaret. Rachel knew Lois well and liked her. Lois was a cheerful woman, also from church choir, who knew and told far too much about her neighbors and their doings.

  “We’re practicing Sunday, right after church,” Lois reminded her. “Not six as usual. Don’t forget. To make up for last week’s Wednesday that had to be cancelled. You will be there, won’t you?”

  “If I can,” Rachel said. She picked up a bag of cat food for Bishop and smiled politely. “I’d love to stay and chat, but . . .”

  Lois took the hint and made her decision between dog chow and kibbles quickly. “I’m sure you must be busy with all your wedding plans and the inn. See you in church Sunday.”

  “I’ll do my best to be there,” Rachel promised, then hurried off in search of the next item on the list. She had just reached the far end of the pet treats when she heard Margaret’s loud voice from the next aisle over.

  “Lois, lovely to see you,” Margaret squealed. “How is your husband’s cold? We missed him in church last week.”

  Rachel moved on; it took her two aisles to find the pickling spices, which were with the canning jars. Then she backtracked to the baking aisle. There, to her pleasant surprise, she found Coyote Finch tossing bags of chocolate chips into her cart. With her, belted securely into the child seat, was an adorable little girl, her hair in tiny pigtails tied with red bows, wearing a sparkly red cowboy hat, a fluorescent red scarf, and furry boots.

  Rachel smiled at the toddler. “Hi, Raysheene. Hey, Coyote. Where are the other kids? Helping Papa?” As usual, Coyote, a genuine ex-California free spirit, was dressed like no one else in Stone Mill and possibly like no one else anywhere. Her trim form was wrapped in an oversized Peruvian alpaca poncho; purple, skin-tight, faux-leather slacks; and macramé gladiator sandals that laced halfway to her knees.

  “Yes, thankfully, the tribe is all with Blade.” Her friend opened a bag of animal crackers and handed the child one. “Don’t gobble, we don’t want you to choke again,” she admonished gently. “Raysheene is just coming to terms with solids. Her last foster mother still had her on a bottle and baby formula. Can you believe it? And she’s such a big girl.”

  The child beamed and threw up her arms. “Big!”

  Raysheene was the couple’s newest foster child, a child born with Down syndrome whom they were in the process of adopting. Rachel was continually surprised by the Finches’ ability to welcome mentally and physically challenged children into their large family, all the while growing their family business, homeschooling their brood, and maintaining a sense of humor.

  “Love the new organic section,” Coyote said. “I don’t care how much chemical-free products cost, I’m buying them. I always liked Wagler’s, but I’m over the moon since they started carrying organic wheat and rye flour. Raysheene has a delicate digestive system, and I have to be so careful with her diet.”

  Rachel nodded. “I like the changes here, too.”

  Wagler’s had been an institution here in Stone Mill for decades. It had been difficult to imagine it without Ed and Polly at the helm, but the new owners seemed friendly and totally dedicated to keeping Wagner’s a place where the community preferred to shop rather than drive over the mountain to State College. Everything here was practically the same as before, including the store name and staff, but they had updated and enlarged the deli and the produce section and added an aisle of organic foods.

  Coyote leaned close. “You’re quite the subject of a discussion over in aisle one. Margaret and Lois.” She raised an eyebrow teasingly. “If people in this town were into gambling, I think there would be a running bet on whether or not your wedding will go off as scheduled.”

  Rachel grimaced. “Which one of them thinks that one of us will back out?”

  Coyote chuckled. “Both of them.”

  Rachel shook her head. “You’re a troublemaker.”

  Her friend laughed. “I know.” She took a tissue out of her beaded purse and wiped the crumbs off Raysheene’s mouth. The child giggled and Coyote hugged her. She glanced at Rachel. “Got to run. Hungry kids, hungry husband. You’re welcome to join us for supper. Blade’s making his famous vegan chili.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll take a rain check,” Rachel answered. “Lots to do at home.”

  Coyote nodded. “I can imagine, but you know you’re always welcome. Anytime. You and Evan, if you can ever catch up wit
h him.”

  “Cops’ hours.”

  “And yours are just as bad.” Coyote gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and headed off in the direction of the registers. Then she stopped abruptly and reversed the cart back to where Rachel stood. Her friend came close and asked quietly, “I have to ask you, how is Moses? Have you seen him again?”

  Rachel shook her head. “I found a lawyer to represent him, but so far, he’s not recanting his confession.” She looked into Coyote’s compassionate eyes. “I don’t think he did it.”

  Coyote frowned. “Why would he say he had done such a thing? Do you have any proof?”

  “Not yet, but I’m still asking questions.”

  Coyote squeezed her hand. “Follow your intuition. It’s led you to answers before. Doing this, it’s the right thing to do. No matter how it ends.”

  Rachel sighed. “You and Mary Aaron are the only ones who think so.”

  Her friend nodded. “I’ll keep you in my prayers.”

  “And Moses. He needs them most.”

  Coyote smiled. “Both of you.”

  “Thanks,” Rachel said. “We can use all the help we can get.”

  * * *

  “Okay, I’m just going to put this out there. When you suggested a date, this wasn’t what I had in mind. Not exactly my idea of a romantic afternoon with my girl,” Evan protested. He walked ahead of her through the tall grass, carrying the wicker basket stuffed with the lunch Ada had made for them. “You know there could be rattlesnakes up here.”

  Rachel smiled and let him fuss. It was a beautiful fall afternoon, sunny with hardly a breeze. When she’d learned that he actually had a Saturday off, she’d begged him to take her on a picnic. And Evan had fallen into her trap by agreeing and offering to let her pick the spot, even though he thought a picnic in November was a crazy idea.