Murder, Served Simply

by Isabella Alan

  Willow shook her head. “I hate to even ask this under the circumstances, but do you think the play will go on? We have another progressive dinner and performance the day after Christmas. The hotel can’t refund all those tickets. We would lose all that money to build the new playground for the kids. What will the children do if we don’t get a new slide and swing set? The one out there is twenty years old. It’s a wonder a child hasn’t killed him- or herself on it yet.” She grimaced. “Poor choice of words. Sorry.”

  I grimaced too. “That’s up to the sheriff as well as the play director. Maybe they won’t want to go on without their star.”

  Willow snorted. “I don’t think the play people are going to be the ones stopping the performance.”

  I was just about to ask Willow what she meant by that when she said, “Maybe you can talk to the sheriff and convince him not to close down the play and the progressive dinner.”

  “I don’t know why he would close the progressive dinner. Most of that took place away from the hotel. I don’t know what I can possibly say to convince him to do anything.”

  “Sweet-talk him.”

  I gave her a look. “Sweet-talk?”

  Oliver cocked his head too. At least he agreed with me that the senior trustee was nuts.

  Willow gripped my free hand. “Angie, you have to. Do you know how bad it would look for the hotel and the township if the play was canceled? Rolling Brook is gaining a reputation for this sort of thing. It could hurt tourism. It could hurt business, your business.”

  “Let’s move away from the stage if you really want to discuss this.” I led Willow to the side aisle and leaned against the wall. Audience members were being interviewed. Once an interview was completed, the individual was dismissed. The police had broken the crowd up into a grid system, and it was surprisingly organized. It was going more quickly than I expected, but then again, more than half the audience had left before reinforcements arrived. “How many people are in the acting troupe?” I shifted Oliver into my other arm. He didn’t seem to mind as long as I didn’t put him down. My little Frenchie was still shaken; we both were.

  “I don’t know right offhand, but I can get you a list.” She smiled at me knowingly. “You will talk to Mitchell?”

  “I didn’t say that. I think it’s good to know all the cast and crew names just in case.”

  “In case of what?”

  I ignored her question. “I’m not asking because I am afraid for the township or for my business. I’m asking because a young girl I had just met and liked very much is dead. Let’s pray it was a terrible accident.”

  She dropped her head. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” She twirled her crystal again. “The police will want to talk to us too, especially you, Angie. You sat next to Eve at dinner. Did you notice anything strange?”

  I shook my head, but then I remembered the odd encounter between Eve and the Amish girl who dropped the tray. The pair knew each other, of that I was certain. How well did they know each other?

  Actors, including Ruben and Lena, and the stagehands appeared from the other side of the curtain. A deputy was with them and instructed them to sit in the first two rows of the audience. They would be interviewed too. I noticed Wade, the director, wasn’t among them.

  I stared at the blue velvet curtain. I had to get back there.

  Willow held out her arms. “Here, give me Oliver and go back,” she said as if she read my mind.

  I handed her my Frenchie and hurried up the three steps to the far side of the stage. Before I disappeared behind the curtain, my eyes fell on my parents’ row. They each were being interviewed. However, Ryan was not. He had his attention firmly fixed on me before I slipped behind the curtain.

  I stood at the end of the stage in the shadows. A spotlight pointed down from the rafters onto Eve’s body, making the stillness of her body more apparent. Overhead, flashes of light went off. I glanced up at two police officers I didn’t know. One from the Millersburg police department and one from the sheriff’s office were inspecting the rigging. The sheriff’s deputy took countless photographs of every inch of it.

  “How is that possible?” bellowed Wade, who was being interviewed by another deputy on the opposite side of the stage from me. He voice carried, and I wondered if he had started his theater career not as a director but as an actor.

  “Wade, when was the last time the set was checked for safety?” Mitchell asked.

  “Any questions you have about our set should be directed to our stage manager, Jasper Clump.”

  A small wiry fellow dressed all in black stepped forward. His gray hair was slicked back with enough styling gel to make the folks at Deb stand up and cheer. I imagined a last name like Clump would belong to a huge beast of man. The beast Jasper resembled the most was a rat, or if I was feeling charitable, a possum.

  “Jasper Clump?” the sheriff asked.

  The possum folded his arms. “That’s me.”

  “When was the last time you gave the swing and scaffolding a safety check?”

  “Just an hour before curtain.”

  “Who had access to the scaffolding?” the sheriff asked.

  “Anyone on the set. We don’t police it, but only the stagehands, Eve, or I needed to climb up there during a production. No one else would have reason to climb up there.”

  “But they could have climbed up there, if they wanted to,” the sheriff said.

  Jasper’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, they could have, but someone probably would have seen them.” He pointed to the top platform. “As you can see, there is nowhere to hide.”

  “So between the safety check and the time Eve fell, no one could have tampered with the ropes.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I can prove it to you.” Jasper turned and snapped his fingers at a skinny boy in his late teens. “Blake, tell them.”

  The boy, presumably Blake, swallowed, and his pronounced Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Yes, I did a safety check at seven o’clock. You can look at the log in the back. I signed it with the time I finished my check.”

  “I’m going to want to see that log,” Mitchell said. “Could you have missed something in the check, Blake? Maybe something was faulty you didn’t realize.”

  Jasper’s face flamed red. “There was nothing wrong with the setup of that stage. I checked it myself.”

  “When?” Mitchell’s voice was sharp.

  “This morning. The pulley was oiled, and the rope was new and solid. I rely on Blake to do final checks but only after I do my own daily check.”

  Blake swallowed. “When I saw it, the rope was fine. I always check the rope. It’s the most important part.”

  The EMTs helped the coroner roll Eve onto a gurney. I had to look away.

  Chapter Six

  I was one of the last people to be interviewed. By the time Deputy Anderson got to me, he was clearly shaken.

  “How did you know Eve?” he asked.

  “I just met her a few hours ago at the progressive dinner. She sat next to me during the meal.”

  “And—” The deputy’s eyes flitted over to the sheriff, who was consulting with the coroner at the foot of the stage. Eve’s body had been removed from the scene. The curtain was open again.

  “Anderson, calm down,” I said. “The sheriff isn’t going to fire you.”

  “He’s not?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t add that if Mitchell was going to fire the young deputy, he would have done it a long time ago. “Do you have any more questions?”

  “No . . . ,” he said uncertainly.

  “Then I’m going to take off. My family is here visiting.”

  The deputy didn’t bother to stop me. He was too distracted by his fear of termination.

  Mom and Dad had been questioned more than an hour ago, but they were still sitting in the audie
nce when I said good-bye to Officer Anderson.

  “You didn’t have to wait for me,” I said. “Why don’t you go into the hotel and settle into your rooms?”

  “I canceled our hotel reservation,” my mother said. “Your father and I want to see as much as possible of you this week. By the way things are going, I’m afraid that your house will be the only place we will be able to catch you.”

  “You’re welcome to stay with me. I had said that from the beginning. I just thought you would be more comfortable at the hotel.” I swallowed and looked around the barn. “What about Ryan? He kept his hotel reservation, didn’t he?”

  Dad stood up from the folding chair, which served as theater seating in the barn. “Don’t you worry about that; Ryan is still staying at the hotel.”

  I gave a huge sigh of relief.

  “Angie,” my mother said, “you should really be more hospitable. Ryan came a long way to see you. The least you could do is offer him a bed to sleep on.”

  “I would,” I lied, “if I had a bed for him. The best I could do is my lumpy sofa. As it stands, you and Dad will get my bed, and I will sleep on the futon.” I waved my hands to stave off any protests. “Not that I mind. I’m very happy that you two and only you two will be staying at my house. Why don’t you head over there now, and I’ll be heading home soon. I want to check in on the quilt show before I leave. Judging for best quilts is early tomorrow morning.” I handed Dad my keys and Oliver’s leash. “Do you mind taking Oliver home? He’s a little shaken up by everything.”

  “Not at all,” Dad said.

  My parents left shortly after that. I glanced back at the stage. The coroner, Eve’s body, and the EMTs were gone. So were the police from Millersburg, but Mitchell and a handful of his deputies were still on the scene. How much did I want to go over there and question the sheriff about what he knew? I knew better than to do that. Instead, I ventured out into the snow.

  I pulled open the hotel’s heavy wooden doors and brushed off what snow I could from my coat and boots before stepping into the hotel. Irritated theatergoers crowded the lobby, waiting to complain about the night’s performance, which had been cut short by Eve’s fall. Mimi gave them an option of tickets for another night or a full refund. A refund seemed by far the more popular choice. I wanted to talk to Mimi about the play’s future, but that would have to wait, as she was surrounded.

  Instead, I stepped into the large sitting room where the quilts were and gave a sigh of satisfaction to find that all of them were undisturbed. The quilts, each one hung from a wooden quilt rack, were made by both English and Amish women in the county. Finding twenty quilt racks for all of the quilts had been the biggest challenge. Mattie had resorted to giving away free pies from her brother’s bakery in order to borrow a quilt rack. All the quilts were handmade in the traditional Amish patterns from Double Wedding Ring and Four Patch to Goosefoot and Tumbling Block. The colors were the easiest way to distinguish the Amish from the English quilts. The Amish ones tended to be more sedate and darker. The English ones included every color of the rainbow. But not all Amish quilters kept to the dark-colored tradition, because they knew that brighter colors sold better to the English tourists.

  A well-dressed couple admired a queen-sized Rolling Block quilt made by an Old Order woman from Charm. Her color choices of pinks, reds, and whites were unconventional for the Amish.

  The woman, wearing chiffon, brushed her fingers across the quilt’s fold on the wooden rack, then turned to her husband, and said, “It’s so lovely. Don’t you think our granddaughter would love it?”

  I stepped forward. “Interested in purchasing a quilt?” I held out my hand. “I’m Angela Braddock, owner of Running Stitch, a quilt shop in town. I’m managing the quilt show along with Martha Yoder, another local quilt shop owner.”

  The woman’s face brightened. “Oh yes, I think my granddaughter would love this. Pink is her favorite color.”

  I nodded. “It’s a beautiful piece. The woman who made it is over ninety, half blind, and does most of her quilting by feel.”

  “Amazing.”

  “All the quilts will be for sale through the end of the show on New Year’s Eve, but if you really like that one, I can reserve it for you.”

  She clasped her hands together. “Would you? It’s just perfect for our granddaughter. Don’t you think, dear?” she asked her husband.

  “Whatever you think, my sweet.”

  The woman smiled as she wrote the check. “It is so nice to come into this room and see all of these beautiful quilts after such a terrible night.” She met my gaze. “Were you at the play? Did you see what happened? It was such a horrific scene. That poor girl. She had her whole life ahead of her. I heard that she actually was Amish.”

  “She grew up Amish,” I said as I wrote her a receipt.

  The woman’s husband peered at a goosefoot-patterned quilt on the next rack and said, “If she was in that play, she’s not Amish anymore and her family won’t even miss her.”

  My jaw twitched. “My aunt was Amish.”

  “Oh,” the man said. “But you are not.”

  “No,” I said, refusing to explain any further. “But I can assure you that she loved me like a daughter, even though I am English.” I glared at him.

  “I didn’t mean any offense.”

  I clamped my mouth shut to hold back a smart remark. “You can pick up the quilt at my shop.” I handed the woman my card. “Or call the telephone number, and we can make arrangements to get it to you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and her husband put his hand under his wife’s elbow and led her from the room.

  “You almost lost a sale there,” a voice said to my right.

  I jumped and found Ryan sitting in the corner with a novel on his lap. “I’m frustrated by the assumptions people make about the Amish. They think that they are all the same, but that’s not true. It’s like saying everyone from Texas is a cowboy.”

  He pointed to my cowboy boots. “Like you?”

  I frowned in return.

  “I know how much you miss your aunt, Angie.” He closed his book and stood up. “I know how important she was to you.”

  I blinked away tears. Does grief ever truly go away? I was beginning to doubt it. I refused to think of Eve’s family. If I even started to, I would never stop crying. Ryan’s wasn’t my shoulder to cry on any longer, and I didn’t want it to be. “What are you doing in here sneaking up on people?”

  He held up his book, a thriller. “Just reading and waiting for you. I thought you might want to check on your quilts before you headed home. We need to talk.”

  My shoulders sagged. “Not tonight, Ryan. I don’t have the energy for it.”

  He stepped toward me. “I came all the way here to see you, and you won’t even speak to me.”

  “We will have plenty of time before you go back to Texas. After what happened to Eve—”

  “Who’s Eve?”

  “The girl who fell during the play.” I paused. “I don’t have it in me for any more high emotions tonight. Can we talk later?”

  He stepped closer to me, and I took two huge steps back, bumping into a quilting rack.

  “This isn’t about the girl. It’s about the sheriff. Is he the reason you don’t want to talk to me?”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice alarmingly high.

  “I could tell by the way you reacted when your mother asked about him. She thought you two had much more to discuss than official township business.”

  A young girl came into the room carrying a watering can. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know anyone was here. I will come back and water the plants later.”

  “No!” I said a little too quickly. “Water the plants now. We were just leaving.”

  She hesitated.

  Ryan picked up his book f
rom the chair. “Good night, Angie,” he said as he left the room.

  “Night,” was all I could manage.

  After Ryan left, I realized the girl watering the spider plant in the corner of the room was the same girl who dropped the coffeepot during the progressive dinner. “You were at the dinner earlier tonight,” I said.

  She turned to look at me. There were tears in her blue eyes.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  She swiped at her cheek. “I’m fine.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  She dropped the watering can. Tears flowed down her cheeks. “I’m so clumsy. What else am I going to drop today?”

  “I’ll go get some paper towels,” I said, and ran to the public restroom on the first floor. When I returned with a wad of paper towels, I found the girl sitting on the edge of an armchair, staring into space.

  I righted the watering can and sopped up what water I could with the paper towels. They were soaked through in seconds. I tossed them into a discreet wastebasket in the corner of the room.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t believe what has happened.”

  “Do you mean the accident at the play?”

  She nodded, and fat tears rolled down her pale cheeks.

  “It’s been a shock for everyone.”

  She whispered something I couldn’t hear.

  I pulled a footstool close to her. “What was that?”

  This time it came barely above a whisper. “She was my sister.”

  I rocked back on my stool. “Your sister?”

  She nodded. “And it’s all my fault.”

  I sat across from her on a love seat. “Why’s that?”

  “Because I’m the reason she came back. She would never have come back without my meddling, and she would still be alive.”

  “How did you convince her to come back?”