Murder, Served Simply

by Isabella Alan

  I narrowed my eyes. “You have a very suspicious nature for an Amish girl.”

  She grinned. “I have been working for you for four months.”

  Oh great, she was giving me credit for corrupting her.

  “Maybe you are right a little, but Ryan isn’t the only reason.”

  “What’s your other reason?”

  It was a simple question, but I didn’t know how to answer. My shoulders sagged. “I met Eve, and I liked her. Because Eve was too young with too much promise to have this happen to her. Because I think I can help, and if I think I can help, I have to try.”

  Mattie placed a small hand on my arm. “Angie, you have a big heart, and I shouldn’t have questioned your motives. My family knows that better than anyone. You helped my brother last fall when he was accused of murder, but I don’t think this was such a great idea. We should go back to the hotel and prepare for the quilt show judging. Let the sheriff take care of this one. Martha must be livid that we left.”

  “Martha is always mad about something. That can’t be helped.” I ignored her comment about Mitchell because I knew Mitchell would agree with her one hundred percent. I tilted my head back and peered up at the scaffolding that had held Eve’s swing.

  Mattie removed her large black bonnet. “Angie, let’s go back.”

  “We’re here now. We might as well take a look around.” I stepped onto the main stage. The curtains were open, and I looked out onto the empty seats. Would an audience ever sit there again?

  I returned to backstage crime-scene tape wrapped around the ladder leading up to the platform. I pursed my lips. That was problematic, but then again it was winter and I was wearing gloves. I wouldn’t leave any fingerprints behind. I shook the rung of the wooden ladder, which led up to the platform above. It didn’t budge. It was sturdy, Amish made. I was sure the swing had been the same way.

  Mattie stood a few feet away from me. “If there is another performance, when will it be?”

  I delicately removed the crime-scene tape and let it hang loosely from the ladder. “I thought there was going to be one tonight, but the next combo with the progressive dinner is the day after Christmas.” I gave the ladder another yank.

  “What are you doing, trying to pull it down?”

  I placed my right foot on the bottom rung. “I’m making sure it’s stable.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Stable for what?”

  “For me to climb. What else?”

  She gripped her bonnet. “You can’t climb up there.”

  Both feet were off the ground, and I stood on the third rung. “Why not?”

  “Because I’m sure you’re not allowed. You could get caught.”

  “Caught by whom? I will be up and down before you know it.” I started to climb.

  “It’s not safe. Look what happened to Eve.”

  “Someone had cut the rope holding up the swing. There was nothing wrong with the ladder or platform itself.” I climbed to the next rung. “At least I hope not,” I muttered under my breath.

  The rung creaked under my weight. I froze. The ladder held. My heart skipped a couple of precious beats. “See. Solid, Amish craftsmanship. You can always count on it.” I continued the climb much faster, not wanting to have my full weight in one place for too long.

  She stared up at me. “You are as foolish as my brother claims.”

  “I won’t argue with that.” At the top, I hesitated for a moment before stepping onto the wooden platform. My knees shook. Usually, I’m not afraid of heights, but in my mind’s eye I relived Eve’s fall. Gripping the railing, I straightened my knees.

  From the scaffolding loft, I couldn’t see the audience seats because the bottom of the velvet curtain obscured my view. However, I had a clear view of the stage, both the main stage and the backstage area. If Eve had been paying attention, would she have seen the person cut the rope? I shook my head. It was unlikely that the culprit would do it in the middle of the play. There was too great a risk of being caught in the act. If Blake checked the ropes an hour before the curtain went up, the murderer had to have cut the rope during the progressive dinner. I shivered. We had all been sitting in the dining room enjoying the good Amish food while someone plotted murder. I tried to think back to the meal. Had anyone left the table? I just couldn’t remember. But someone could have slipped away unnoticed when Junie dropped the tray.

  Feeling more comfortable on the platform, I leaned over the railing and examined the backstage from my vantage point. An area was partitioned off for the wardrobe and props behind two Chinese screens. Plain dresses, trousers, and simple leather shoes made up the wardrobe, hanging from a metal rack. The props consisted of pots and pans, rakes, a basket of silk flowers, and bonnets of various sizes. Two makeup tables sat outside of the screened-in area.

  “Are you coming down now?” Mattie asked. “I think you should come down now.”

  “Almost,” I called, and carefully walked along the platform. At the end, a person-sized hole was cut into the wood. I looked up and saw a large pulley dangling above that lowered Eve onto the stage. It would have been very simple to stand above this hole and cut the rope. Why hadn’t Eve seen the cut rope? Was it because she was too nervous about the show? I bit my lip. Or because she trusted the crew to take care of her?

  I imagined Eve, climbing onto the swing and nodding to someone backstage or even on the platform when she was ready to go down. Who would it have been? Stagehand Blake? Or stage manager Jasper Clump? Or a third person I didn’t know about?

  From the platform, I could see everything backstage. So couldn’t anyone backstage see me if they thought to look up? That was another reason that the rope had to have been cut when the backstage was empty.

  “Angie, please come down.” Mattie’s voice jumped an octave in the time I had been above her.

  Mattie was on the stage now, rubbing her hands together as she watched me. I really should stop being such a bad influence on the Amish girl, or her brother would tell her to quit working for Running Stitch and work for Martha. Martha would never climb a ladder to get a better view of a murder scene.

  I stood. “All right. I’m coming.” As I climbed down the ladder, I wasn’t sure I had learned anything new other than confirming, at least in my mind, the time of the crime.

  On the stage once again, I replaced the tape and dusted my hands off on my jeans. The swing Eve fell from was shoved back in a corner. I walked over to it and examined it, wondering why I hadn’t seen it from above. Looking up, I saw that my view would have been obscured by a beam. So it wasn’t completely true. Not everyone on the stage could see what was going on on the platform. “I guess they don’t plan to use that again,” I said.

  “What happened to Eve seems like such a waste. Why did they even need to lower her on a swing in the first place?”

  My mouth fell open. “Mattie, that is a brilliant question! Why haven’t I thought of that?”

  She twisted her bonnet ribbon around her fingers. “It is?”

  “Sure. The lowering of the swing really didn’t add anything to the play. I know it was dramatic, but was it necessary? Maybe I should find out whose idea it was and that will lead us to the killer. If you look at it that way, it could have been completely premeditated.” I warmed up to the idea. “The swing may have only been added with the murder plot in mind.”

  Mattie shivered. “Then who put it in the play?”

  Jasper Clump materialized from the shadows and gripped a sledgehammer in his hands. “It was my idea.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Oh, hey, Jasper,” I said as if we were old friends. I tried not to stare at the sledgehammer.

  Mattie stood behind me.

  Jasper’s well-endowed eyebrows knit together. “Do I know you?”

  “I’m Angie Braddock, and I own Running Stitch, an Amish quilt shop here in Rolling Br
ook.” I grabbed Mattie by the arm and yanked her close to my side. “This is my assistant, Mattie.”

  “An Amish quilt shop? You’re not Amish.”

  Like I’ve never heard that before.

  “Got me there. We will just be on our way now.” I took Mattie’s hand and squeezed it hard, hoping that would send the message for her to pay attention.

  Jasper stepped into our path. Even though there wouldn’t be a performance that day, he wore all black like he would as the stage manager during a play. “Wait! You can’t just walk away. What are you doing in here?”

  I gave my most dazzling smile. “We’re hosting the quilt show in the hotel, and we thought we’d just pop over while we waited for the judging to start to check out the stage. Mattie hadn’t been in the barn since it’d been converted to a playhouse, and she wanted to see it. Isn’t that right, Mattie?”

  Mattie didn’t say anything.

  I elbowed her.

  “Ya—I mean, yes, that is what we are doing here.” She sidestepped away from me. “It is amazing how the barn has been transformed.”

  I shared another big smile. “We got a good look, so now we will be on our way. We can’t keep those quilt judges waiting.” I forced a laugh.

  He smacked the sledgehammer in his palm and his opossum-like nose wrinkled. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

  Mattie began to tremble.

  “Why not?” I squeaked. I cleared my throat. “Why not?”

  “Because I heard the two of you talking just now. You are about to go to the cops and tell them I was the one who cut the rope.”

  “Nope. That thought never crossed my mind,” I lied.

  Jasper’s lip curled. “I’m not going to be blamed for what happened. Sure, the swing was my idea, but it was safe. I’d stake my life on it.”

  Sadly, it was Eve who staked her life on it, not Jasper.

  “Angie,” Mattie hissed.

  I ignored her. “Maybe you should go to the police and tell them what you know.”

  “You aren’t going to pin this on me! No way! I do everything I can to keep the actors safe. It’s not my fault if they sneak about the stage trying to off one another. I don’t condone that kind of behavior.”

  “What do you mean by saying ‘trying to off one another’?”

  Jasper turned red. “Everyone knows how actors are. Someone is always trying to beat or better the next person coming up. It’s a constant battle to stay on top.”

  “And was Eve like that?” I asked as I inched Mattie and myself toward the back door.

  “Oh no. She was different.” Tears sprang into his eyes. “She was a good girl, treated me like a person. Unlike the ungrateful others. What right do they have to be all hoity-toity with me? Newsflash, you are in a stage production in Holmes County, Ohio. It’s not exactly Broadway, if you know what I’m saying. But Eve was different. It may have been because she was raised Amish. She was a sweet girl.” He reached into his back pocket and removed a handkerchief to wipe his eyes. The sledgehammer fell limply from his left hand.

  My shoulders relaxed. “If you think an actor is behind this, is there one actor in particular that you suspect?”

  His jaw twitched. “I’d put my money on Lena. She’s made it no secret that she wanted and thought she deserved Eve’s part in the play. Then again, her boyfriend, the Brit, is just as likely.”

  “You mean Ruben?”

  “Is there another Brit in the play?” he snapped.

  None that I knew of. I swallowed. “He and Lena are a couple?”

  “Oh yeah, from what I hear, he flew across the pond for her. They were going to be the next Broadway power couple by way of Holmes County.” He snorted.

  “Angie, we need to get back to the quilt show,” Mattie said. “The judging starts in five minutes.”

  “Be on your way then.” Jasper gripped his sledgehammer with both hands again. He marched across the stage to where the swing lay. Before I could even fathom what he was about to do, the sledgehammer came down on the swing with a crack. Wood splintered and flew across the stage.

  I dodged a flying wood chip. “What are you doing?”

  The sledgehammer came down again. “No one will be hurt by something I created ever again.” Tears coursed down his weathered cheeks.

  “Okay then. We’ll see you later.” Pulling Mattie by the wrist, I fled through the back door to the stage.

  Mattie caught her breath as we clomped up the steps to the entrance to the hotel. “That man is a lunatic.”

  “Go inside and help Martha get the quilt judging under way. I need to make a quick call to the sheriff before I go in.”

  She nodded and ran into the hotel.

  Before the door closed, I had my cell phone out and dialed.

  “Mitchell speaking,” the sheriff’s rich official voice came over the line.

  I tried to catch my breath from the sprint across the hotel grounds in the icy air. “Hey, Sheriff—”

  “Good morning, Angie.”

  “So I’m at the Swiss Valley Hotel, and um, I just witnessed Jasper Clump destroy the swing from the play with a sledgehammer right on the barn stage.”

  There was a pause. “What were you doing in the barn?”

  “Let’s not focus on such a silly detail like that.”

  “Angie . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “Anyway, I’m sorry to say the swing is toast. I hope you got your fingerprints off it when you could. Oh, and Jasper is crazy. So I’m sorry to report you have two crazies in this case, Jasper and nutso Nahum Shetler. At least one is English and one is Amish. It’s always good to be evenhanded with the two groups in this county.”

  “Angie, take a breath,” the sheriff ordered.

  “Okay,” I said, exhaling.

  “That’s not the swing,” he said.

  “Yes, it is. I was there. Mattie too. We saw him go all gladiator on it. All that’s left are splinters, maybe a few larger pieces of wood, but mostly splinters. He’s got a wicked arm for such a small guy. I guess the last name Clump fits after all.”

  “It’s the backup swing. The swing Eve fell from is in my evidence room. Do you really think I would have left evidence there? The stagehands and actors will be in and out of the area all day. I can’t have them tampering with things.”

  “They will be in and out all day. Does that mean the play will go on?” I asked, shoving my cold hands into the pockets of my coat.

  “Yes. Farley made it very clear that show must go on. A lot of revenue both for the hotel and for Rolling Brook is at stake. We got everything that we can from the scene. Now it’s down to the interviews and legwork. That’s what’s going to crack this case.”

  “I would still talk to Jasper. The man has a lot of rage and was broken up over Eve’s death. There’s more to the story there.”

  “Angie, I’m talking to everyone involved. It’s my job. It is not your job. Your job is to sell quilts.”

  I felt myself bristle at his tone. “Is there something wrong with selling quilts?”

  “Of course not. I wish you’d stick to it though.” He sighed. “I’ll send Anderson over there to check out the damage.”

  “A lot of good that will do.”

  “Please go back to your quilts and stop getting involved in my investigations.” He hung up.

  Ryan may have been preoccupied at times when we were together, but he never told me what to do, not like Mitchell had just done—and had done on many other occasions. I pointedly ignored the fact he had said please. Ryan Dickinson was looking better and better.

  Chapter Ten

  Of course, Mitchell was right. I had no business asking people about Eve’s death. I had helped Mitchell with his investigation in the past but never with his blessing. I just couldn’t get Eve’s face out of my head. I knew that we had on
ly met a few hours before her death, but she was a bright and beautiful girl with so much talent and so much promise. How could I not wonder about what happened to her?

  I sighed and stepped into the hotel.

  In the sitting room, Martha glared at me. She was going to hold it against me that I wasn’t there when the judging began. I knew it.

  I sidled up to Mattie. “How is it going?”

  “Okay,” she whispered. “The judges had already begun when I got here. Martha hasn’t said two words to me.”

  No surprise there.

  The five judges moved around the room as a group. They were each holding a clipboard with a scoring sheet attached to it. One of my closest friends in Holmes County, Jessica Nicolson, smiled at me. She owned an antiques shop in Millersburg called Out of Time. She wasn’t much of a quilter herself. She was learning and taking classes at Running Stitch, but after years of working with antiques, including quilts, she could recognize good craftsmanship when she saw it. Plus, I needed another judge, so I played the friend card and made her do it.

  One of the judges walked over to me. It was Austina Shaker. She was a librarian who ran the bookmobile throughout the county. Most of the patrons she serviced were Amish. She knew every back road in Holmes County and could maneuver the bulky bookmobile on every last one of them. I had seen the woman parallel park that monster on Sugartree Street between a buggy and a station wagon. She got it on the first try. It was a demonstration of beauty.

  She pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Angie, I was surprised that you weren’t here when I arrived.”

  Martha stepped up behind me. “Ya, where were you?”

  I glanced back at Martha. “I’m so sorry about that. I was over in the barn.”

  “Whatever for? Are there more quilts over there?” Austina asked.

  “No,” I said, hoping to leave it at that.

  The other judges gravitated toward us.

  She clicked her tongue. “Wasn’t it terrible what happened to that poor Eve Shetler? She was such a sweet girl. I always thought so.”

  “You knew her?” I asked.