“She is much better now. Now that she knows who attacked her. She is less timid, less afraid to venture out. S-she told me of her engagement to Ezekiel Young.” Tears gathered in the corners of the bishop’s eyes. “I h-hope she can heal from that wound too. The man who killed Ezekiel should be punished.”
I bit my lip. After his arrest, Dylan went off the deep end, thinking every woman he saw was his estranged wife. Chief Rose said he had a good shot at an insanity plea, but I didn’t share this with the bishop. Eventually, both the English and Amish papers would cover the trial. Gerald Tanner’s coins were never found.
“And Leah and the other girls?” Becky asked.
The bishop’s eyes were sad. “Sadie has forgiven them and chosen not to press charges. However, the chief of police told me if the judge decides to call the act a religious hate crime, Sadie’s forgiveness will not matter to the c-court. For right now, the girls are free and home with their families.”
Becky fingered her long braid. She’d yet to cut her hair.
“When you are my age, it is easy to forget how it felt to be y-young, to be in rumspringa.” The bishop laced his fingers together in front of himself as if in prayer. “Even leaders in the ch-church do not have all the answers. Gott shows me the way if I am diligent in my obedience to Him.”
“He does the same for all of us,” Timothy said.
The bishop’s eyes were hooded. “Deacon Sutter’s unhappy with my change of heart, and I fear he may agitate for a time about the changes in the district.”
An angry deacon was never a good thing.
The bishop moved toward the open door. “I have told you what I needed to say. Now, I must go.” He tipped his black felt hat and closed the door behind himself.
“Did I imagine that? Or did Bishop Hooley apologize to us?” Becky asked.
“He apologized,” I whispered.
“A Mexican-themed Christmas party might really happen, and we can invite the whole family. I’m going to work on the menu.” She jumped off of the couch and ran to the kitchen.
“I thought you were going to help me unload the pickup,” Timothy called after her.
“Later. Christmas is only two weeks away. I haven’t much time,” she called from the kitchen.
The doorbell rang.
I shook my head. “Another visitor already?”
I opened the door. Thomas grinned up at me. “Chloe, we have come to take you on a sleigh ride.” Beyond Thomas, Grandfather Zook and the other Troyer children waved from a large, open-air black sleigh.
The Quills’ home was in the country, four miles from Appleseed Creek. Our nearest neighbor was a half mile away. Because of the house’s remoteness, we were one of the last roads for the county to plow. Timothy’s truck tires and the bishop’s buggy wheels were the only tracks to mar the freshly fallen snow.
Sparky stamped the snow-covered country road, and the bells on his harness rang. Ruth grinned from the front seat of the sleigh. A brown-haired girl about her age, Anna Lambright, sat between Ruth and Grandfather Zook. Ruth, it seemed, had been reunited with her best friend.
Timothy stood behind me in the doorway. “Ready to go on a real Amish sleigh ride?” he whispered in my ear.
“Yes.” I smiled up at him.
More than ready.
Praise for A Plain Death, book 1 in
An Applewood Creek Mystery series
“As it turns out, Amanda Flower may have just written the first Amish romance-comedy. And all I can say is . . . bring on the next one!”
—USA TODAY
“This new series has mystery, some romance, and several amazing characters. These people are smart, clever, and want only the best for others. Amanda Flower is a talented author who gives readers what they have come to expect, a good mystery with a few twists and turns along the way.”
—RT Book Reviews, 4 stars
“A gentle and thoughtful Christian mystery, this series debut will appeal to readers wanting to learn more about the diversity within Amish communities.”
—Library Journal
“Romance and intrigue make a delightful tangle in this entertaining story. With authentic small-town instincts, Flower populates her tale with quirky characters that bring her story to life.”
—CBA Retailers
“Amanda Flower’s novel, A Plain Death, has everything any fan of Amish fiction enjoys—an endearing heroine, a wonderful cast of Amish and English characters, and an intriguing mystery to solve. Amanda’s smooth writing style and clever touches of humor instantly caught my attention. I read the book in one sitting and am already anxious to read the next Appleseed Creek Mystery.”
—USA Today and New York Times best-selling author,
Shelley Shepard Gray
“Just when you think you’ve got this mystery figured out, Flower throws in another plot twist. A Plain Death is a tasty first installment of what promises to be an exciting new series. Well done!”
—Mary Ellis, best-selling author of An Amish Family Reunion
Discussion Questions
1. What was your favorite part of the novel? Why?
2. Which character did you identify with the most? Why?
3. The Amish in the novel celebrate Thanksgiving. How is their celebration similar to yours? How is it different?
4. There is an Amish wedding during the novel. How are Amish wedding customs different from yours?
5. What did you think of the author’s description of late fall, early winter in the novel?
6. Who is your favorite character and why?
7. Why is the cutting of Amish women’s hair and Amish men’s beard so offensive to the Amish?
8. The novel includes descriptions of many Amish-owned shops in Appleseed Creek. Which would you like to visit most?
9. Consider the position Becky and Timothy’s father is in between the bishop and his children who have left the Amish way. Do you understand his struggle?
10. Chloe is estranged from her father. What do you think about that relationship?
11. Of the antagonists in the novel, which did you dislike the most? Why?
12. What do you know about Amish shunning?
13. Before the end of the novel, who did you think the murderer was? Were you right?
14. What did you think about the conclusion of the mystery? What about it surprised you?
15. If you had the opportunity to visit Ohio’s Amish Country, what activity would you most like to do?
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to my agent and friend, Nicole Resciniti. You are a shooting star to the top. Thank you for allowing me to hitch a ride.
Always thanks to my editors, Julie Gwinn and Julie Carobini, for pushing me and helping me see how to make each book better than the last. Also, thanks to the rest of the B&H team. You are my personal dream team.
Thank you to Suzy Schroeder-Green, who answers my tireless technology questions and whose answers help both Chloe and me look smarter on the job. And appreciation to the Ursuline College community for encouraging one of its librarians to moonlight as a mystery author, and for finding the academic twists in my novels amusing.
Always love and gratitude to my mom, Pamela Flower, who reads every word of everything I write.
And finally, I want to thank my heavenly Father for my dreams and for the people around me who help them come true.
A Plain Disappearance, Digital Edition
Based on Print Edition
Copyright © 2013 by Amanda Flower
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America
978-1-4336-7699-4
Published by B&H Publishing Group,
Nashville, Tennessee
Dewey Decimal Classification: F
&
nbsp; Subject Heading: ROMANTIC SUSPENSE NOVELS AMISH—FICTION MYSTERY FICTION
Publisher’s Note: The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
For Meredith and Hayden
and in memory of Puddleglum
Dear Reader Letter
Dear Reader,
I knew the moment I added Billy from Uncle Billy’s Budget Autos to A Plain Death, the first Appleseed Creek Mystery, he would have a larger role in a future book in the series. I didn’t know he would have a dark past and be a murder suspect. Characters doing the unexpected is one the great delights of writing, and the characters in A Plain Disappearance are no exception. All the characters have astonished me in some way, even my protagonist, Chloe Humphrey. When they surprise me, that’s when I learn the most about them as characters and when I learn the most about myself as a writer.
However, even though I typically write without an outline, I know where some key characters will end up. One example is Curt Fanning. I hope he surprised readers in this novel, but I knew the position he would be in by the end of this book before I finished writing A Plain Death. I hope you agree with me that it’s the place he needs to be.
In interviews, I am consistently asked what the theme is in my writing. I answer this question with “I don’t write to themes. I don’t have a theme in mind.” This is true. My goal as a writer is to tell a story. That is all. There is no big message I am trying to express to the reader. However, when I finished A Plain Disappearance, I surprised myself yet again because I realized I wrote a theme into this series even if it was unintentional. The series’ theme is forgiveness. The forgiveness is between the English and Amish in Appleseed Creek, between the Troyers and their children who left the Amish way, between Timothy Troyer and his past, between Becky Troyer and her ambitions, between criminals and their victims, and we hope between Chloe and her father. Only future novels will tell how the story ends for Chloe and her father.
May the characters make you smile, the mystery raise your suspicions, and the romance touch your heart.
Blessings and Happy Reading!
Amanda Flower
Chapter One
Steam rose from Sparky’s nose and mouth into the frigid late December air as he shook his bridle and pulled the sleigh over a small hill. The sleigh owner’s grandson, Timothy Troyer, sat in the driver seat, wearing a thick wool coat, black knit cap, and navy scarf wrapped about his neck. He held the reins with a light but firm touch, and he looked every bit the part of a young Amish man out for a sleigh ride—even though he’d left the Amish way years before.
Did that mean I was the Amish girl to complete the picturesque scene? I pulled the wool blanket up closer to my face and chuckled to myself. Beneath it I wore a purple and gray ski jacket and flannel-lined jeans. A pink and purple Fair Isle stocking cap, complete with pompom, covered my shoulder-length, straight red hair, and tortoise shell-patterned framed sunglasses protected my hazel eyes from the sun’s glare off of the snow. Not exactly Amish attire.
Timothy cut his bright blue eyes to me, and a smile played on the corners of his mouth. “What’s so funny?”
I burrowed deeper under the heavy wool blankets wrapped around me cocoon-style. “I was just thinking that this was unlike any first date that I’ve ever been on.”
Amusement lit his eyes. “Have you had many first dates?”
“A few,” I teased.
“Really. And what did you do on these dates?”
I thought for a minute. “Went to the movies or out for coffee. Once a date took me putt-putt golfing.”
“Putt-putt golfing?” He laughed. “And how am I doing in comparison to that?”
“Not bad. The putt-putt guy didn’t ask me out on a second date when I beat him twice in a row.”
He winked at me. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Ahead of us a weathered barn came into view through a stand of pine trees. The trees stood well over twenty feet high in a straight line perhaps to protect the barn from the wind and rain flying across the fields. If their purpose was to shelter the barn from Ohio’s dramatic change in seasons, nature won that battle. What remained of the old building consisted of grayish-white weathered boards, the structure’s edges and shape barely discernible in the falling snow until Sparky and the sleigh cleared the stand of trees.
Timothy pulled back on the reins. “Whoa!”
The horse came to a stop.
I released my hold on the blanket. “Why are we stopping?”
“I thought it might be nice to stretch our legs. The hardest part of the winter for me is being stuck indoors.”
I tilted my chin. “You don’t exactly have a desk job.” Timothy was a sought-after carpenter in Knox County and he’d parlayed his business into being a general contractor. Unlike me, he never sat still. As the Director of Computer Services at Harshberger College, I spent most of my time sitting at a desk in front of a computer screen. I inhaled the cold air, and it stung the inside of my nose. “A walk sounds nice.”
Timothy hopped out of the sleigh and whistled. His black-and-brown, mixed-breed dog, Mabel, snuffled from her spot under the bench seat but made no move to leave the warmth of the sleigh. Her body curved around the warm brick that Grandfather Zook—the sleigh’s owner—had placed inside before we left the Troyer farm. “Come on, girl,” Timothy said.
The reluctant dog whimpered.
Timothy placed his hands on his hips—a pose his mother made on a daily basis when she dealt with her seven-year-old son, Thomas. I stifled another chuckle.
Mabel woofed softly, but finally she wriggled out of her place. The dog jumped into the snow, and a cloud of white flew into the air and covered her entire body with a fine dust.
I stood, about to jump from the sleigh myself.
“Wait!” Timothy ran toward me.
I glanced around in search of any danger that may have caused Timothy’s outburst. All I saw was the old forgotten barn, the pine trees, and the white fields. “What? What’s wrong?”
He beamed at me and extended his hand. “Let me help you.”
My face grew hot, but I placed my gloved hand into Timothy’s and jumped lightly to the ground. To my pleasure, when I found my footing, he didn’t release my hand. Despite the leather gloves that kept our skin from touching, a charge passed between us—something I first had noticed when I met Timothy five months ago after moving to Appleseed Creek, Ohio, from Cleveland.
Despite Mabel’s grumbling about leaving the warmth of her blankets in the sleigh, she leaped over a snow-covered stump and rolled onto her back, lavishing herself in the feeling of white powder against her fluffy body.
Timothy blew out a mock sigh. “It’s going to take me an hour to brush all of the knots out of her coat.”
I smiled. Snow fell all around us, as if Timothy, Mabel, and I moved forward inside a snow globe shaken by a giant’s hand. I could almost hear the tinkling notes of the music box.
I pointed to the barn. “Whose farm is this?”
Timothy squinted against the snow’s glare. “This is the old Gundy place.”
“Gundy? I don’t think I’ve heard that name before.”
Timothy brushed away the snow gathering on his coat sleeve. “They moved to Colorado six or seven years ago.”
“They didn’t sell their property before they moved?”
“Not as far as I know.”
I took in the crooked window shutters and gaping hole in the roof of the barn. “It is pretty in a sad, abandoned sort of way,” I said. “Becky should come here sometime with her paints and try to capture its loveliness before it falls to the ground.”
Becky was Timothy’s nineteen-year-old sister, my housemate, and an aspiring artist. Her brother had left the Amish in search of a different kind of Christian faith, but she
left the Amish way to pursue her art—a pursuit put on hold by a terrible auto-buggy accident. The collision left an Amish bishop dead and Becky with a criminal record.
Timothy grabbed my other hand and turned me toward him. “I’m glad you like it, but I didn’t bring you here just to see the old barn. I brought you here to give you your Christmas gift.”
I frowned. “I thought we agreed to exchange them with your family tomorrow on Christmas Eve. I didn’t bring mine for you.”
He smiled. “I wanted to give you something without the entire family watching.” He removed a small black box with a bright red bow on top from his coat pocket.
My breath caught. It was too soon. I wasn’t ready for what he was about to ask me. He placed the box into my hand, and by its long rectangular shape I realized it wasn’t a ring box at all. Disappointment replaced the sudden rush of fear that had coursed through my body.
“Open it,” Timothy whispered. His voice sounded so much like Mr. Green’s did when he watched his children, Tanisha, my best friend, and her young brother open one of their presents Christmas morning, I felt a rush of homesickness for the family that took me in when my father walked away from me. For Mr. Green the joy of Christmas was truly in the giving. I wasn’t the least bit surprised that Timothy was the same way.
I opened the box. Inside on a bed of baby blue velvet laid a delicate silver necklace with two small charms on it. One of the charms was a computer mouse, the other a hammer. I glanced up at Timothy.
He removed the necklace from the box. “Don’t you see? These things can be side by side.”
He didn’t need to explain. Timothy was the hammer, and I the computer mouse. It was such a thoughtful and creative gift, that it brought tears to my eyes. Embarrassment surfaced, too. Timothy bought me this lovely gift and I had a new ratchet set wrapped for him under my Christmas tree. How romantic was that? I suppressed a groan.
“Let me put it on you.” Timothy stepped behind me and hung the necklace around my throat. He tucked the clasp under the collar of my ski coat, his calloused fingers brushing the nape of my neck, raising goose bumps on my skin. He moved back around to face me.
Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3 Page 57