Who Killed Uncle Alfie?

by Samantha Price

  Amish Mystery: Who Killed Uncle Alfie?

  Ettie Smith Amish Mysteries Book 11

  Samantha Price

  Copyright © 2017 by Samantha Price

  All rights reserved.

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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  ETTIE SMITH AMISH MYSTERIES

  About Samantha Price

  Chapter 1

  As I stood at the front gate of the small house belonging to Ettie and Elsa-May, I hoped the people in the community were right that the two elderly ladies could help me with my problem. I hadn’t seen them since I’d left the Amish community around forty years ago.

  Looking down at Tom in his cat carrier, I could see he was anxious. His long, gray tabby fur was standing on end and his bright amber eyes were fixed on me, asking where we were. “It’s all right, boy, we’re visiting some friendly people and I’m sure they like cats. Everyone does.” I closed the garden gate behind me and continued on the path that led to their front door.

  I waited awhile after I knocked. I knew that, being in their eighties, the elderly sisters might take time to answer the door. When I heard the high-pitched yapping of a small dog, I held the cat carrier behind my back.

  “It’s all right, Tom. Mommy won’t let the nasty dog get you. You’re safe and sound in your basket.”

  Tom answered with a low growl. That was his, ‘I don’t like dogs, get me out of here,’ growl.

  The door was opened by Elsa-May holding a disagreeable-looking white dog in her arms. Elsa-May looked very different from how I remembered her. Now she was wearing glasses on the end of her nose, and her midsection had increased considerably. Of course, what I could see of her hair had grayed considerably, too.

  “Molly Miller, is that you?”

  “Yes. How are you, Elsa-May?” I nodded toward the cat carrier and held it slightly to one side. “And this is my Tom.”

  “Come inside and I’ll put Snowy out the back.”

  I walked inside, glad that the dog was going out. Tom and I didn’t like dogs; they had no manners and, if they weren’t farm dogs, I didn’t see they served any real purpose.

  Ettie walked out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a tea towel. I sure hoped they wouldn’t use that same tea towel to wipe the dishes later.

  “Hello, Ettie. It’s nice to see you again. You haven’t changed a bit.” I placed Tom’s basket carefully on the floor, thinking how much older Ettie looked. She was stooped over, her hair was going white, and her face was more lined, but her beady eyes and tiny body were just the same.

  “Molly Miller! I haven’t seen you in many years.”

  She came closer and gave me a gentle hug while I patted her on her back as she did so.

  Ettie’s gaze dropped to Tom. “Who do we have here?”

  “This is my best friend, Tom. We’ve been together awhile.”

  “Do you want to let him out?” Ettie asked.

  At that moment, Elsa-May came through the back door and closed it behind her, clicking the dog door shut. “There. We’re safe from Snowy for now. Would you like a cup of tea, Molly?”

  “I would. Yes please. Shall I let Tom out now?”

  “Jah, I’m interested to meet him,” Ettie said.

  “While you two are doing that, I’ll make the tea.” Elsa-May disappeared into the kitchen.

  Poor Tom leaped out of the cat carrier, frightened to a frazzle, and I felt a pain shoot up to my shoulder as he stuck a claw into me. Then he proceeded to run around the sisters' living room before finding a hiding place under the couch.

  “Molly, your thumb!”

  I looked down to see blood dripping and I cupped my other hand underneath it. Ettie grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into the bathroom. She poured iodine on my thumb and wrapped it in a bandage.

  “There now, all better. Does your cat usually attack you?”

  “He was scared of the new environment, and he doesn’t like dogs.”

  “Tea's ready,” we both heard Elsa-May call from the kitchen.

  “She has a loud voice,” I commented quietly to Ettie who simply nodded.

  “Come and sit down and tell us what you been doing these past years,” Ettie said as I followed her into the living room.

  Elsa-May sat there already, with tea and cookies on a low table in between the couch and a row of chairs.

  “Where’s Tom?” I asked.

  Ettie said, “I can see his tail; he’s still under the couch.”

  “Ah good.” I sat down, looking forward to a cup of hot tea.

  After Elsa-May had slurped her tea, she said, “Molly, I heard a whisper you’re coming back to the community. Is that right?”

  I was wearing a plain dress, but no kapp. I would soon have to wear one again. “Yes. And that has something to do with why I’m here today visiting both of you. People tell me if I have a problem, you’d help to fix it.”

  Ettie and Elsa-May glanced at one another, and Ettie said, “What kind of problem do you have?”

  “It’s to do with a man.”

  “We can’t help you if you’re looking for a man. We’re not matchmakers,” Elsa-May said sharply and to the point.

  “Are you forgetting about Ava and Jeremiah?” Ettie asked her sister.

  Elsa-May gave a low chuckle and then pushed her spectacles up onto the top of her head, pushing back her prayer kapp. “I’d forgotten about that. Well, maybe we can help you. Did you have a particular man in mind?”

  “No, no. That’s not why we’re here.”

  Elsa-May leaned forward.” Well, that’s what you just said. Didn’t you leave the community to become a teacher?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I would’ve thought schoolteachers would’ve been more accurate about what they say.”

  Ettie said, “Why don’t we let Molly tell us why she’s here? I mean why they’re here?”

  “Denke, Ettie.”

  Elsa-May reached forward and took a cookie, and as she munched on it, I began, “It’s quite a long story.”

  “We’ve got all day long,” Ettie said as she brought her teacup to her lips, her eyes fixed on mine. I knew I had to be accurate and precise around Elsa-May, and with Ettie staring at me waiting for a story, I knew it had to be good.

  Chapter 2

  Molly’s Story.

  I’d just finished putting the last decorating touches on my new home. It wasn’t a new-build home, not even close to that, but it was new to me. I don’t know what brought me back to live near my old Amish community that I’d left so long ago. I certainly don’t have good memories of growing up with my strict, elderly ant once my parents died. But, here I am, and this is the place I’ve chosen to grow old in now that I’ve retired from teach
ing.

  The stop at the small coffee shop had become a morning ritual on my way to the stores. Most mornings I went to the hardware store; there was always something that needed fixing or painting in the old renovator I’d bought. I took every opportunity to get out of my lonely haus. I’d come to realize that the hollow emptiness of my home was a reflection of the dark emptiness that lay in my heart. I tried my best to decorate my home to make it feel like a pleasant place. I filled it with flowers, fragrances and happy colors, but it still did nothing to stop the empty feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  As I took my second swallow of coffee, my eyes were drawn to a man who had just walked through the door. I had no reason to notice him at all. He had his back to me while he gave his order at the counter and for some reason I could not take my eyes from him. He turned away from the counter and toward me, stuffing notes into his well-worn, brown leather wallet as he did so.

  He looked up, presumably to find somewhere to sit. It was then that his blue eyes fastened onto me. I thought at first that he only looked at me because I was gawking at him. Normally, I would have quickly looked away if I caught a man’s eye. Even at my age I was modest, as the Amish had taught me, but I ignored my inner promptings and continued to stare.

  His features were not outstanding and he seemed as old as I. The lines in his weathered face had many stories to tell, I was sure. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened as his face crinkled into a smile, and he was still looking right back at me. I was surprised that a man could still make my heart beat that much faster. I knew him...yes, I knew him from somewhere, but where?

  “Molly Miller?” My name rolled off his tongue like a well-formed musical note.

  I looked at him a little harder, squinting to make my vision clearer since I’d left my glasses at home.

  “Is that you, Jazeel?” Could it really be the first boy I had ever fallen in love with? Jazeel Graber from my old Amish community? I could not even begin to add the years; it was all so long ago.

  “Well, I’ll be. Is it really you? Is it really you, Molly?”

  As he walked closer, I stood up. It seemed natural to hold each other even though I never embrace anyone and normally don’t like to be touched. We clung to each other like two rats that were swept off a bridge in a rainstorm. He was the man I should’ve married. He had asked me when I was eighteen, but I’d had grander plans back then. Marriage and the drudgery of chores and running a household and doing what I was told...that, I'd thought, was not how I wanted to spend my days.

  I left the Amish and followed my dream of getting my teaching qualifications. For years I’d taught other people’s children. It was fulfilling enough, but what if I’d taken the other road? What would have happened if I’d married Jazeel all those years ago? I had come face-to-face with the man I’d left at the crossroads. Had I made the right choice all those years ago?

  I wondered why I had turned his marriage proposal down. In the moment we held each other, I ached for my lost kinner and grosskinner that I would have had if I’d said yes to Jazeel’s offer to wed. Instead, all I had to show for my life that would soon be over, was an old wrinkly face, fading eyesight and an empty heart and home. Could it be that Gott was kind enough to bless me with Jazeel’s embrace once more before my days on this earth came to an end? Even though my years of loneliness had steeled my tough heart, tears threatened to escape my eyes.

  We shouldn’t have regrets...or should we? What if we could have our lives over again, having the knowledge and wisdom that only age and many years of experience can bring? It seemed to me a cruel fact of life that youth is only for the young.

  I did not want to be the first to pull away. I wanted to hold Jazeel forever. I closed my eyes and savored his touch. I would replay it all that night when I was alone in my small house. We pulled out of our embrace at exactly the same moment.

  “Please sit, Jazeel, sit with me. Unless...” I looked around. “Unless you’re here with someone else?”

  “Nee, I’ve come alone.”

  Alone, but does he have a wife, a fraa, as the Amish would say? I studied his clothing and noticed that they were not Amish. He was clean-shaven with no hint of the traditional married man’s beard.

  Maybe he’d never married. No, he would not have stayed single, I told myself sharply. I didn't want to get my hopes up. I realized that even though I’m old and jaded, within me lay a spark of hope like a teenager would have.

  Jazeel said, “I haven’t been to a meeting for some time. I’ve decided to go back, though. I’m not in and not out. I guess I’m a bit of a backslider.”

  I giggled, like a girl. He had always been so funny. He sat down in front of me. His dark weathered skin had replaced the youthful honey-colored skin of yesteryears. His thick hair had thinned, and the color had faded, but inside he was the same man, the same Jazeel.

  I wasn’t ready to marry anyone when Jazeel had asked me all those years ago. I had been too young to know about true love and how rare it was. If I’d known then what I know now, I would have said yes. I had assumed in my youthful stupidity that when I was ready to marry, someone would appear. I did become ready some years later, but no man appeared.

  Jazeel pulled his chair in toward the table, looked across at me and smiled. “Do you live ‘round here now?”

  “I’ve just moved back.” I did not take my eyes from him. “And you?”

  The beeper sounded, to let him know his coffee was waiting for him at the counter.

  Ah, modern technology; apparently it was too much work for the waiter to bring the coffee a few steps to the table.

  I kept my eyes on him as he walked to get his coffee. His walk was slow and deliberate. He walked exactly the same way as when he was young, only slower.

  Again, I savored every detail of his appearance, so I could think of him later when I was alone.

  He returned with his coffee. Once he’d taken a careful sip, he said, “Tell me, did you end up becoming a teacher? I lost track of you.”

  “I did. I became a teacher, and did everything I ever wanted.” Except marry you, is what I should have said. “And you? Did you get married and have lots of kinner?” The question was a tough one for me to ask, and no answer he’d give would make me happy. If he’d never gotten married I would be sad for him because he might have been as lonely as I. On the other hand, if he said he’d married, I would be unreasonably jealous. Jealousy is a horrid thing and no good ever comes from it.

  With my hands under the table, I dug a fingernail into the palm of my hand to steel myself against his response. He had to have gotten married and had bopplis. The women had far outnumbered the young menner back then; that was one thing I clearly remembered.

  He looked down into his coffee then set his eyes back on me. “I married. I married a wunderbaar woman. Jane, that was her name, and she went to be with the Lord two years ago.”

  I instinctively laid my hand on his. “Oh, Jazeel, I’m so sorry.” I was ashamed of myself for hoping he wasn’t married. I certainly was sad that his fraa was no longer with him.

  He covered my hand as it rested lightly on his, blanketing it with the warmth of his other hand. “We had a gut life. Five kinner and three grosskinner so far, to show for it.”

  I wondered, is that how life is measured, by those we leave behind? If that’s so, was my life all for naught since I leave no one behind?

  “What are you thinking, Molly, with that faraway look in your eyes? You regretting turning me down all those years ago and running away from me?”

  I studied his face; he was being humorous. I could tell by the twinkle in his eyes, even though his face remained deadpan. Did he guess I regretted my youthful ambitions? Most likely he did. He could always read me as easily as one would read a book: it appeared not too much had changed. I figured I should not play a game, as I would have done in my youth.

  The young Molly would have replied, Of course not, I’ve had a wunderbaar life. As the old Molly, I said, “
Yes, I regret not marrying you.” There I’d said it. I not only said it to him, I admitted it to myself. I didn’t know when I was young that I would grow old. Sure, I knew it: I knew that everyone gets old, but I didn’t really believe it would happen to me.

  He raised his eyebrows and shook his head at me. “You robbed me.”

  “Robbed you?” Was he serious now? I wondered.

  “Robbed me of having a life with you,” he said.

  I withdrew my hand and leaned back as far as I could. I did not expect him to be so honest right back at me. For the first time, I realized that my bold and self-centered decision had affected someone I loved. It made me regret my decision that much more. It was a bold move in those days for an Amish woman to leave the community for a career. Careers don’t last forever, but familye does. I could have put my effort into a familye, could have taught our own children. The career I’d left him and the community for was gone now, and I was left with only memories. If I’d married Jazeel, I would have had so much more.

  I straightened my back and held my head up high. Regrets were useless and did nobody any good. What was done was done. Besides, I’d been a good teacher and I hoped I’d enriched my students lives, showing them love and kindness as I guided their young minds to appreciate learning and live a good life.

  No words were necessary as Jazeel and I stared into each other’s eyes, much as we'd done when we were teens. I knew that he still loved me; his gaze tugged at my very soul.

  I took for granted the connection that we had. Surely only people truly in love can affect each other so.