I scooted up in my seat. “You two don’t have to dote on me like this. The doctor said I don’t even have a mild concussion.” Gingerly, I touched the goose egg forming on the back of my skull. “Just a nasty bump.”
Timothy stirred the soup and handed it to me. “I don’t think you should go to work tomorrow.”
The bowl warmed my hands. “Why not?”
His jaw twitched. “You’re not up to it. You should rest.”
I suppressed a smile, secretly pleased he was so concerned. “I’m up to it. The doctor gave me the okay to go. Tomorrow’s the last day before Thanksgiving break. There’s so much work to be done before the college closes for the holiday.”
Timothy’s brow furrowed. “I don’t like it.” He blew on the cup of tea and glanced at his sister. “Becky, I forgot to bring a napkin. Can you go grab one?”
She jumped out of her seat like a shot.
Timothy watched her go. “Chloe.” He took the soup bowl from me. “I want you to be careful.”
I searched his concerned eyes.
“Whoever killed Ezekiel is dangerous. I couldn’t stand it if you were hurt or . . .” He swallowed. “When I saw you lying on the restaurant’s kitchen floor, I—”
“I got them.” Becky waved the napkins in the air.
No, no, no. Keep talking, Timothy. What did you think when you saw me lying on the floor?
Timothy stood. “It’s late. I’ll let you girls get some rest.”
I grabbed his arm. “There’s one more thing.”
A lock of white-blond hair fell over his eye. “One more thing?”
“Can you fix the window latch in my bedroom?” After my discovery in the pavilion, I would never be able to sleep in that room with a window that could not lock.
“What’s wrong with your window?”
I bit my lip and told him.
Timothy stepped back, and I lost my hold on his arm. “Dylan was in your house when you weren’t here?”
“He’s the owner.”
Timothy’s face was thunderous. “I don’t care if he’s the president. He can’t enter your home uninvited. I knew there was a reason I didn’t like the guy.”
“Chief Rose told him he needs to give us twenty-four-hour notice in the future.”
Timothy pursed his lips.
Becky folded the paper napkin in her small hands. “Sounds to me like he was trying to help.”
Timothy shot his younger sister a look. “Don’t defend him.” He sighed. “My toolbox is in my truck. Let me go grab it, and I’ll fix the window.” The door slammed after Timothy.
Becky handed me the napkin. “You know he’s mad about Dylan because he’s jealous.”
I stirred my soup. “Jealous of Dylan?”
“He saw how the professor watched you yesterday.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s no secret my brother likes you. I can tell. Everyone can.”
“Everyone?” A knot formed in my stomach. “How do you feel about it?” I figured it was a safer question than asking how her parents felt about it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know that just yet.
“Fine.” She said with a shrug and then grinned. “If you get married, we’d be sisters.”
“Who said anything about getting married?”
“The more important question is how you feel about it.”
The front door opened, which saved me from answering. Timothy went straight up the stairs, and Becky turned on a television cooking competition show.
I’d just finished eating my soup when Timothy came back downstairs. “I fixed it. Dylan sure did a job on that latch. He mangled it. Luckily, I had an extra latch in my box.” He blushed. “I’m sorry I blew up. I’m not comfortable with this guy coming around the house. Do you know anything about him?”
I shook my head. “I could ask around. Maybe Miller or Clark knows something. They’ve worked at Harshberger a long time.”
Timothy nodded. “At least Greta told him he can’t come into the house again without letting you know.”
Gigabyte bumped his velvety head against my shoulder, and I scratched him behind the ear.
Timothy set his toolbox on the floor. “Are you sure you are up to going to work tomorrow?”
I forced a smiled. “Yes,” I said not feeling sure at all.
“Rest when you get home. I want you to feel well for Thanksgiving.”
“For Thanksgiving?” I squeaked.
“Your father’s not flying you out to California this year.”
“No, he’s not.”
“That’s good news.” He grinned. “You can have a real Troyer family Thanksgiving. I already spoke to my parents about it, and they are happy to have you.”
“Even your dad?” Mr. Troyer followed the rules of Old Order district. Becky and Timothy left the Amish way during their rumspringas—running around time—and before they were baptized, which is why they weren’t shunned and the family can interact with them. I knew Mr. Troyer secretly wished his eldest son and daughter would change their minds and return. My friendship with the siblings was in the way of that wish.
“Even Daed.”
Becky scrambled to her feet. “Chloe, you have to come. You’re practically part of the family. The kinner would love to see you, and Grossdaddi would never forgive us if we show up without you.”
Did this mean that the Troyers weren’t going to Esther and Isaac’s wedding? I knew that Amish weddings were a big deal in the district, and typically, everyone attended.
“I’d love to go.” I settled back into the pillows. A Troyer family Thanksgiving is just what I need.
Becky clapped her hands. “Perfect. This year I’m bringing some dishes of my own. I’ve been watching all the Thanksgiving food shows on television and collecting recipes from the Internet. The hardest thing will be deciding what to cook. Will you make anything, Chloe?”
I laughed. “I don’t think anyone wants food poisoning this holiday.”
Becky shook her head. “Chloe, you need to get over your fear of cooking.”
“Why should I bother if you’re so good at it?”
There was a twinkle in her blue eye. “You may have someone to cook for.”
I stole a look at Timothy. He grinned, and a blush crept up the back of my neck.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, the worst of my headache had subsided, but I still felt dizzy as I dressed for work. The bump on the back of my head was the size of a walnut. The hair on top of it stuck out just a little, giving the illusion of a temporary cowlick. Slow and steady would be the plan for the day. Thankfully, a holiday weekend was right around the corner.
Clark eyed me as I walked into the office. “Moving slowly today, boss? What happened to you?”
Miller peeked over the top of his laptop. His spiky hair looked like it received an extra dose of styling gel this morning.
I eased into a chair at the conference table. “I guess it wasn’t in the paper yet.”
Clark wiggled his brows. “What’s up?”
“You are probably going to hear about it soon enough . . .” I told them about my discovery at the flea market, and my voice only shook a little. I wished that the bump on the back of my head erased the memory of the shears sticking out of Ezekiel’s back.
Miller closed his laptop lid and gawked at me.
“Are you okay?” Clark asked.
I nodded. Again, not the best idea. I needed to remember not to make sudden movements. “I have a bump on the back of my head. That’s all.”
Clark looked dubious. “The murderer could have still been in the pavilion when you found the Amish dude.”
My chest tightened. That was something I hadn’t thought of before. In a place as l
arge as the pavilion, there would have been many places for the killer to hide. He may even have seen me fall.
“His hair was cut off,” Miller whispered. “That’s like Leah.”
“Not exactly like Leah,” Clark jumped in. “Her hair was cut off. He lost his beard.”
Miller narrowed his eyes at his coworker. “I know that but the message is the same to the Amish. It’s still targeting the Amish and their beliefs.” Miller squinted as if holding back tears.
Clark’s eyes drooped. “Man, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Miller said gruffly. He jumped out of his chair. “I’m going to run to the caf for some coffee. Do either of you want anything?”
“No,” I said, careful not to shake my head.
“I’m good,” Clark said.
Clark pointed to the full coffee pot in the department’s tiny kitchenette. “Something tells me he’s not really on a coffee run.”
Inside my office, I was tucking my shoulder bag into my desk drawer when I heard Clark holler. “Chloe, you got a present.”
A present?
I slammed the desk drawer and poked my head out of my officer door. A tiny undergraduate teetered under the weight of an arrangement of fall-colored mums, the arrangement so large I could only see the student’s jean-clad legs and riding boots.
“Whoa,” Clark said. “Let me take that from you before you fall over.”
The student grinned. “Thanks. This came into the mailroom this morning for you, Ms. Humphrey.”
Did Timothy send me flowers?
“Who are they from?” Clark asked as Miller walked back in the office with the largest cup of coffee I’d ever seen. Surely, the college cafeteria called the size “bucket.” Instead of sitting at his usual post at the conference table, Miller slipped behind the partition that marked off his cubicle.
“Oh,” the student snapped her fingers. “I have the note that came with it.”
She checked her coat pockets and frowned. She emptied her jeans pockets and frowned even harder. “Uh-oh. I must have dropped it between here and the mailroom.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”
“Did you read the note?” I asked. “Do you remember the name on it?”
Her eyes grew wide. “No, I would never do that. That’s like breaking the mailroom code or something.”
“If you read the note, it’s okay. We’re not going to report you to the mailroom police.”
“I really didn’t read it.” She smiled brightly. “Just pretend it was from a secret admirer. For all we know that’s who sent it. Gotta go. I’m late for class.”
Clark shook his head as he watched the undergrad flounce out of the room. “I find the students’ energy exhausting.”
I inspected the flowers. They were beautiful, a deep array of orange, red, yellow, and plum. They had to be from Timothy—who else would send me flowers? He must have sent them to cheer me up after what happened last night. A smile formed on my lips.
“What should we do with them?” Clark asked. “Want me to put them in your office?”
“They’ll never fit.” My office was the size of a glorified closet. “Just leave them on the conference table.”
Clark stood up. “I’d love to stick around and investigate this mystery, but I just got an e-mail from a psychology prof who says the video camera I lent him isn’t working.”
I touched the petals on a purple mum. “Did he take the lens cap off?”
Clark scanned the e-mail. “According to this, yes, but I’ll believe it when I see it.”
After Clark left to help the professor, I tapped on the partition around Miller’s workspace. “Can you talk for a sec?”
He flinched.
“I’ve been thinking about it, and I’d like to talk to your cousin.”
“To Leah?”
“Yes. I think the murder and haircutting are related. Maybe she can tell me something that can connect them.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?”
“I mean why do you care?”
“I—I found his body. I’m curious . . .”
“Curiosity isn’t going to help that dead Amish man—or my cousin.”
“I know that. I can’t stop thinking about it.” I tried to push the image to the back of my mind.
He spun a ballpoint pen on the tabletop. “She spoke to Chief Rose, but only because I asked her to.”
“Do you think she will talk to me?”
The pen fell on the floor, and the programmer didn’t bother to pick it up. “I don’t know. My aunt and uncle won’t like it. They take their privacy seriously. They are furious at me already about the newspaper story. But how is it going to stop if people don’t know about it?”
“Where can I find Leah?”
“She works at one of the little gift shops on the square, The Apple Core. My aunt and uncle own it, but Leah pretty much runs the place. That would be the best place to talk to her. Debbie and Abby help out at the shop sometimes too. You don’t want to go to the family farm. My uncle wouldn’t like that.” He picked up a stress ball in the shape of a computer monitor and began to squeeze it. “I can tell her you might stop by.”
“Thank you, Miller.” I paused. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“You too.” He turned back to the line of code running across his computer screen, and I went to my office.
“Hello, hello,” Dean Klink called as he entered the computer services department in the early afternoon. I peered out of my office door, blinking my eyes, sure I looked as owl-like as Miller had earlier in the day.
The dean wasn’t alone. An attractive, smartly dressed woman in a knee-length navy suit and matching pumps stood beside him. She had perfectly straight, glossy, ebony hair and makeup so expertly applied it was as if Mary Kay had swooped down and done it herself.
Clark wiggled his eyebrows at Miller, who gave him the smallest of smiles in return.
I stepped out of my office. “Good afternoon, Dean.”
“Chloe, you’re just the person that I’m looking for.” He clapped his hands. “My, what gorgeous flowers! Whose are they?”
“They are from Chloe’s secret admirer,” Clark replied.
Inwardly, I groaned.
“A secret admirer?”
“It’s not a secret admirer. The student who dropped it off lost the card, so I don’t know who sent them.”
“A mystery, then. I love it.” The dean beamed.
The sleek woman cleared her throat.
“I’m sorry,” the dean said. “I’m taking Collette on a tour of campus. Collette Williams, this is Chloe Humphrey, Director of Computer Services, and her staff, Clark and Miller.”
“Nice to meet you all.” The woman replied in a faintly British accent. I couldn’t decide if it was authentic.
“Collette is our new Director of Marketing.”
I held out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“She started a few weeks ago and has already brought a new energy to the college.”
Now that Dean Klink mentioned it, I remembered seeing an e-mail about Collette’s arrival not long ago. However, I still didn’t understand what that had to do with me. “Is something wrong with your computer accounts?” I asked.
The dean laughed. “Chloe, you act like the only time someone stops by this office is to complain. We have exciting news to share with you.”
Clark stifled a snicker, and Miller ducked behind the safety of his partition.
The dean gestured toward an office chair. “Please have a seat.”
I slipped into a conference chair, and the dean and marketing director followed.
“If it’s not a computer issue,” I said, “what can I do for you?”
The dean grinned.
“That’s why I like you, Chloe. You are always willing to pitch in where we need you.”
“Where do you need me?”
“Collette?” The dean motioned for her to proceed.
Collette folded her hands on the tabletop. Her nail polish was without nick or bump. “One of the ways to attract more students to Harshberger is to be more attractive to the town of Appleseed Creek and neighboring communities. So this year we have entered a float in the town’s holiday parade.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
The dean peeked around the flower arrangement. “Bad news. Tony Rather threw his back out. He fell on a patch of black ice on his driveway and slipped a disc.”
“That’s horrible. Will he be okay?”
“He’s spending the holiday in traction. He’ll be fine.”
I didn’t consider spending Thanksgiving in traction as okay.
Collette’s perfect brow drooped. “The worse news is he was supposed to be one of the faculty members on the Appleseed Creek holiday parade float from the college.”
Clark could no longer suppress his grin. “That’s too bad. The parade is only three days away on Black Friday. Where will you find a replacement?”
I shot Clark a look.
“That’s why we’re here! Chloe, I think you are a perfect choice for the float.”
“You want me to ride on the float?”
“I can’t think of anyone better.”
I could. I turned to Clark. “Clark, you like parades, don’t you?”
A knowing smile spread across the media specialist’s face. “I love a good parade, but I’ll be in Cincinnati visiting my wife’s family for Turkey Day. Too bad. I’ll have to pass.”
The dean’s brow furrowed. “You are going to be in town this weekend, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I said slowly, regretting having told the dean that several weeks ago.
“Then, why not? You’ll be at the center of an Appleseed Creek tradition! It’s an honor to be on our float. Collette has everything planned down to the minute. You won’t have to do anything but show up.”
“I don’t want to take away the spot from a professor . . .”
Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3 Page 35