Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3

by Amanda Flower

  The screen door slammed shut, and Timothy stormed down the steps. “Chloe,” he called. “I’m ready to go.”

  Grandfather Zook bumped my shoulder. “You should go.”

  I leaned over and gave him a hug.

  Timothy was silent the entire ride back to Appleseed Creek, even though I wanted to ask him what happened inside his parents’ house. What did they say? What did they not say? How did it all affect Becky? Him? And even me?

  It was nearly six when he turned into the driveway. I hoped Becky hadn’t waited for me to eat supper. For the first time that day, I wondered how her first day at the greenhouse had gone.

  Timothy didn’t turn off the truck.

  I opened the passenger side door. “Good night.”

  He laid his hand on my forearm. “Thanks for coming with me today, Chloe.”

  I blinked. A tingle radiated from where his hand touched my bare arm. “You’re thanking me? I was the one who asked you to get involved in this investigation.”

  “I was already involved whether you asked for my help or not.”

  The door stuck. He leaned across my body and pushed it open. “Good night. Take care of your shoulder. I’ll let you know when I hear from Aaron about Hettie Glick.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  As soon as I entered the house, Becky was ready to tell me all about her first day at Little Owl Greenhouse. “Chloe, I had the best day. Scotch and Cookie are so much fun.” Her face glowed. Despite working all day, Becky had managed to make a shepherd’s pie for dinner. She warmed a piece for me in the oven as she told about her day, then she kept me up until past eleven with stories about the greenhouse owners. I was glad to see her so happy and saw no reason to ruin it with news of my day.

  At midnight my cell phone rang, and I almost fell off my bed. I’d been asleep less than an hour.

  “Chloe?” Tanisha’s voice sounded as if she was across the room from me—not across the world.

  Guilt washed over me. I’d promised Tanisha I would call her back the night I had dinner at the Troyer’s farm, and that was three days ago.

  “Did you lose my phone number or something?” She sounded hurt. Apparently, she hadn’t forgotten.

  I rubbed my eyes. “I’m sorry, Tee. How are you?”

  “Awful.”

  I smiled at her bluntness. If I had been asked the same question under those circumstances, I would most likely have said “fine” or “okay,” even if neither were true.

  “Have you heard from Cole?”

  “No, and I don’t want to. What does he have to say to me other than that he doesn’t love me anymore?”

  “He does love you, Tanisha. I know he does. Maybe he’s afraid you will find some hot Italian guy to fall in love with.”

  “I just might,” she grumbled. “Anyway, that’s a crock about him loving me. If he loved me he would understand why I have to stay here. I committed to teach here for two years. If he had a problem with it, why didn’t he say something before I signed the contract?”

  I couldn’t argue with her there. “What can I do? Other than flying to Florida and telling Cole what a huge mistake he’s making, that is.”

  Her laughter sounded rough, harsh. “Be there. I need my best friend right now.”

  I gripped the phone and nodded. “I’m here for you, Tee.”

  “You are? Then why am I the one calling you? I’m the one in the middle of a crisis here.”

  I didn’t correct her, nor did I tell her that I was in the middle of a crisis of my own. What could she do thousands of miles away but worry?

  To her credit, Tanisha was much more intuitive than given credit for. “What’s going on? I know something is up.”

  My mind searched for the words to tell her. “Umm . . .”

  “Is this about that hot buggy boy? Weren’t you at his parents’ home when I called?”

  I sighed. “It’s complicated.”

  “Good, because I need someone else’s complications to think about right now. Don’t let me wallow in self-pity and snotty tissues.”

  I shook my head, smiling at my friend’s invitation, then heaved a heavy sigh. “Okay. I hope you’re sitting down.” I proceeded to tell her everything that had happened since Becky called me about the accident on Friday. Even as I spoke the words, they sounded unbelievable to me. And I’d lived them.

  Tanisha groaned more than once during my story. “Where does the hot buggy boy fit into all of this?”

  “You mean Timothy.”

  “Duh.”

  “Becky is his sister . . .”

  “And?”

  “He agreed to help me find out what really happened. If we can find out who cut the brake line, we will know who the intended victim was.”

  “Do you think it was you?” She sounded incredulous.

  I hedged. “Why would it be me? I just moved here.”

  “You’re right.” She was quiet for a minute. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he liked you. Why else would he agree to help you investigate?”

  “Umm, because his sister’s in trouble, his family is not talking to Becky, and the younger children are being affected.”

  “Naw, it’s because of you.”

  I had to laugh. Tanisha laughed too.

  We talked until I was too tired to string together a full sentence. As I drifted off to sleep, I found myself wondering if Tanisha might be right.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Hettie didn’t want to meet us at her home. Instead she agreed to meet us at a coffee shop in the neighboring town of Mount Vernon during lunchtime the next day. Timothy picked me up from my office again.

  Joel sneered at him as we left the department. “Is this going to turn into a regular thing, boss, with your boyfriend?”

  Timothy gave him a glare that could have turned sand to glass, and Joel didn’t say another word.

  Even though I had been to the outskirts of the town, this would be my first visit to downtown Mount Vernon. Just like in Appleseed Creek, the heart of the town was a square. However, this town was clearly English, as no Amish businesses were in sight, and a memorial statue of a Civil War soldier dominated the center of the square.

  Timothy parked on one of the side streets, and we entered Rita’s Coffee Haus. Tanisha would call the décor shabby chic.

  An elderly Amish woman sat in the front of the shop near the large picture window. She wore silver wire-rimmed glasses, a dark navy dress, black apron, and a black bonnet tied securely under her wrinkled chin. Even if she’d been sitting in the back of the shop, she would have been easy to pick out. Clearly, the rest of Rita’s diners were business people in khakis and suits on their lunch hours. As well as a coffee bar, the café had a full lunch menu of specialty sandwiches.

  Timothy approached the elderly woman. The pair spoke in quiet tones. I stood off to the side, waiting. She peeked around Timothy. I wiggled my fingers at her and felt like I was being inspected by a mother superior. She ducked her head back behind Timothy and said something else in Pennsylvania Dutch.

  “Thank you,” Timothy said. He waved me over to the table.

  “Sister Hettie. This is Chloe.”

  She examined me. “You’re a redhead.”

  I blushed. I don’t know why. Having red hair was nothing to be ashamed of, yet I wondered for the nine millionth time why people thought it was unusual enough to comment on. There were millions of redheads in the world. Did my redheaded brethren in Ireland have the same problems? “I am.”

  “My oldest daughter had red hair when she was younger. She’s old now and it’s all white. Your hair is almost as lovely as hers was.” She bobbed her chin. “I have a soft spot for redheads.”

  I smiled. For once in my life my hair color worked to my advantage. “Thank you.�
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  She pulled out a seat. “Sit here next to me.”

  I sat next to her while Timothy took a seat opposite us. He leaned forward. “I told Hettie why we are here. I—”

  “Can I take your order?” A college-aged girl with a side ponytail and hoop earrings large enough for my cat’s head to fit through had stepped up to our table. Timothy sat back while I ordered an iced mocha. He and Hettie both asked for black coffee.

  I listened while they chatted about people in the Amish district until the girl returned with our drinks. When she did, I took a big gulp of the iced mocha. Heaven.

  Hettie watched the waitress go. “Aaron tells me you want to know if anyone wanted to kill my nephew.”

  I nearly choked on my mocha. Timothy appeared unfazed by Hettie’s directness.

  I wiped my chin with a napkin and peered at Hettie. “We are so sorry for your loss.”

  Hettie nodded. “The Lord giveth; the Lord taketh away.”

  “Thank you for coming out to meet us,” I said. “Aaron said you and the bishop were close, and that the bishop had consulted you often.”

  “Members of the district may believe I could sway my nephew’s opinions, but that isn’t true. I was someone he knew he could talk to without being questioned. That was all.” Hettie didn’t add cream or sugar to her coffee. “My nephew was a fine man and one of the best bishops we’ve ever had. He was strict but fair. No one had a bad thing to say against him.”

  If that were true, this was a dead end.

  “What about Deacon Sutter?” Timothy asked.

  Hettie stopped just short of taking a sip of her coffee. “Why do you ask about him?’

  “Everyone in the district knows he thought he’d make a better bishop than Bishop Glick did.”

  “Which is exactly the reason he has never been one. The Lord wouldn’t allow a pushy man to be bishop.” She peered over her mug at me. “Rarely do the ambitious rise to places of importance among the Amish. You have to remember our culture is much different than your politics. My nephew told him this many times. I even heard them discussing it once when the deacon visited my nephew’s farm.”

  “How did the deacon take it?”

  “Not well.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked. “Did he yell, stomp his feet, or argue with the bishop?” My palm made a handprint on my glass.

  “The deacon was angry, and their conversation was heated. However, neither man stomped or yelled. As I told you, no one in the district would want to hurt my nephew.”

  Timothy watched Hettie intently. “What about outside of the Amish?”

  She sipped her coffee. “There may be one man.”

  “Who?”

  “An Englisch developer. His name is Grayson Mathews.”

  I almost dropped my mocha. “I met him on my first day at the college. He was meeting with Dean Klink.”

  Hettie wrinkled her nose. “Striking some kind of deal, I’m sure.”

  “Who is he?” Timothy asked.

  “He’s a local football hero from Appleseed Creek, or at least, that’s what Dean Klink said.” I set my drink on the table. “Don’t you know of him?”

  Timothy gave me a half smile. “I grew up Amish, Chloe. We don’t really follow football.”

  “Oh.”

  “Hettie?” Timothy turned his attention to her. “Why do you think this Mathews person would want to hurt the bishop?”

  “He wants to buy several homes in the district to build what he calls a planned community.”

  “You mean like homes for Englischers?”

  She nodded.

  “Not one of the families is willing to sell, but he’s relentless. He makes everyone uncomfortable. My nephew’s farm was one that Mathews wanted the most. He stopped by my nephew’s house many times, more often than the others. Mathews is not stupid. He knew if he could convince my nephew to sell, the other families would likely sell, too.”

  I turned to Timothy. “Did you know about this?”

  He frowned. “No.”

  “I’m surprised.” She set her mug on the table. “Your father’s farm is one of those Mathews wanted to buy.”

  Timothy’s eyes narrowed. “No one in the family told me this.”

  Hettie folded her napkin. “You are no longer part of the farm. It is not our way to tell outsiders our personal business.”

  Timothy’s face reddened.

  “Your father would have told you had you stayed in the faith.” Hettie pursed her lips. “The farm should have gone to you and would have if you stayed in the faith. Now, I suppose it will go to Thomas, unless he falls away too.”

  Timothy’s jaw twitched. “I didn’t fall away. I found another way to believe.”

  She shook her head and finished her coffee.

  I cut in. “Do you know how we can find Mr. Mathews, or where his offices are?”

  She wagged her head. “I think my nephew said that he was from Columbus, but that’s all I know.”

  If Mathews was a legitimate developer in Ohio, it should only take a couple of minutes to find everything I needed to know about him online. What was his connection to Harshberger?

  The bell above the door rang, and Isaac stepped inside.

  “That’s my great-nephew. He’s here to take me home. His mother needs me to help with the younger children. They are all taking this so hard.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and some of her toughness faded. Instead of an austere woman, I saw a grieving aunt.

  She started to stand, and Timothy rose and held her chair. Isaac’s glare spoke volumes. Had Becky tried to contact him since the accident?

  Hettie’s eyes cleared. She straightened her spine and scrutinized Timothy. “I trust you haven’t thrown any more softballs through anyone’s front room window, have you?”

  The color red tinged Timothy’s cheeks. “No, ma’am.”

  She nodded as if satisfied with his answer.

  After Isaac and Hettie had gone, we watched as their two-seater buggy passed in front of the picture window.

  I let out a slow breath. “What do you think about this Grayson Mathews angle?”

  Timothy looked stricken, his eyes wide, sad. “My father didn’t tell me.”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to upset you. There was no chance he was going to sell the farm, so why should he worry you?”

  He shook his head, his face grim. “That’s not it. Hettie was right. He didn’t tell me because I’m not Amish.” He stood up. “Let me take you back to campus.”

  I grabbed my purse and stood. “Can you take me to pick up my rental car on the way? The insurance company finally agreed to pay for one.”

  Timothy smiled, although it didn’t meet his eyes. “Sure, where are you picking it up?”

  I reached into my purse for the scrap of paper I had jotted the car dealership’s name and address on. “It’s called Uncle Billy’s Budget Autos.” I showed him the paper. “Here’s the address.”

  Timothy laughed now, and the cloud that had settled on his face when we started our conversation with Hettie lifted. “I don’t need the address. I know exactly where that is.”

  “Why is that funny?” I dropped the piece of paper back in my purse.

  “You’ll see.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Uncle Billy’s Budget Autos was a mile outside Appleseed Creek. The front lawn resembled an auto graveyard. The sad remains of hoods, engines, and truck beds covered the ground, which was mostly weeds and crab grass. A large white sign on a pole read UNCLE BILLY'S BUD.

  “Uncle Billy’s Bud?”

  Timothy glanced at me. “It used to have the whole name, but a storm came through here and tore most of the sign away.”

 
; “When was that?”

  He grinned. “Fifteen years ago.”

  “Oh.”

  A huge man with bushy red hair and a beard stepped out of the body shop as Timothy turned his truck into the pothole-ridden parking lot. “Hello there!”

  I climbed out of the car. “Are you Uncle Billy?”

  “Just call me Billy. I’m nobody’s uncle. Uncle Billy sounded more businesslike, you know?”

  Businesslike where? Mayberry?

  “Hey there, Timothy. In the market for any new truck parts? I’ll give you a great dealer on a carburetor.”

  Timothy shook his head.

  Billy shrugged his massive shoulders. “You must be Chloe Humphrey. Got your rental car right here.” He pointed to a compact car that had been red in a former life.

  “What is that?” My voice shot up an octave.

  Billy didn’t seem to notice my alarm. “It’s a 1990 Chevrolet Prizm. Isn’t it a beaut? I’ve kept her running long after her expiration date.”

  No kidding. The car looked like it was held together mostly by duct tape and prayers.

  Billy moseyed over to the car. I stepped up for a better look. I touched the driver’s side mirror, and it fell to the ground.

  “Not to worry,” Billy said. He produced a roll of duct tape as if from thin air. “We can fix that in a jiffy.” He then proceeded to tape the mirror back to the side of the car.

  I leaned close to Timothy, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Is this car safe?”

  Timothy nodded, and whispered back. “It might not seem like much, but Billy keeps all of his cars in working order.”

  Billy dropped the side mirror on the ground. “Whoops!”