A Plain Malice: An Appleseed Creek Mystery (Appleseed Creek Mystery Series Book 4)

by Amanda Flower

  Wheat smacking?

  Charles and I stepped into the dim barn with the rest of the bus passengers.

  Aaron’s brother-in-law Amos stood in the middle of the room, holding shafts of wheat bound together by twine. A white sheet lay on the barn’s dirt floor. “We do almost all of our threshing with a steam-powered thresher out in the field, but for this demonstration, we’ll show you how it is done by hand.” Amos hit the wheat over and over again onto the sheet, and the wheat fell away from the shaft.

  Across the barn, I studied Aaron’s face as he watched his brother-in-law. His lips compressed into a thin line. How much did he wish he was the one giving the demonstration? How much did he wish he wasn’t confined to his wheelchair and could do the heavy labor expected of an Amish man?

  Aaron caught me staring. His jaw twitched, and he turned away.

  Amos collected the wheat from the ground and passed around a handful of the freshly threshed wheat. “At this point,” Amos said, “We take it to the local mill to be ground into flour, but we have a small hand crank mill to show you as well.” He walked over to a table with the small metal mill clamped to it. A cylinder comprised the third of the mill. He dropped the grain into the cylinder and began to crank. A light tan-colored flour fell into a waiting bowl on the table. The tourists asked dozens of questions. The stop at the Sutter farm went better than I ever suspected it would. I felt myself relax against the barn’s door frame.

  I let my guard down a moment too soon. A shadow passed over my shoulder, blocking the light from the doorway. I turned and found myself face to face with the deacon. I took a big step back into the barn.

  “Deacon.” I nodded. The bishop stood a few paces behind the deacon. “Bishop Hooley,” I added.

  The bishop gave me a half smile. “T-thank you again for what you have done to keep the tour going.”

  I smiled. “You’re welcome.” I glanced at the deacon. “Do you still plan to cancel any other tours coming into the district?”

  He nodded. “I have realized my error in bring tourists into our community.”

  With the deacon’s help, I thought.

  “I c-can’t say that I will be sorry to them go.” The bishop thanked me again and joined the English tourists in the barn.

  The deacon did not join him. Instead Deacon Sutter took a step closer to me. “Whatever the bishop may say, you are still unwelcome in our district.”

  I stared him in the eye. “Duly noted.”

  “Daed, don’t you want to show the guests the drying barn next?” Aaron asked from behind me inside the barn.

  “Ya,” the deacons said, but didn’t take his eyes off of me.

  “You had better tell them as soon as Amos is finished or they might wander off.”

  The deacon nodded and pushed his way into the barn.

  “Thanks,” I said to Aaron.

  “Don’t mention it.” He rolled down the slight ramp onto the lawn. “I saw you give one of the Englischers his camera back. I hope you weren’t taking photographs of our farm. That’s not the way to get my daed’s good side.”

  “I wasn’t taking photographs. I was looking at photographs Charles took on Saturday to see if he caught something with his camera, which may hint to what happened to those people.”

  Over the Southern-twanged chatter of the travelers, the deacon said, “We will go to the drying barn next. That’s where we hand our fruits and vegetables to be dried for the winter. Please follow Amos out the back door.”

  Aaron rolled backwards onto the ramp. “His can’t be the only camera on the trip. Maybe someone else snapped an incriminating picture.”

  True. But hadn’t Chief Rose told Officer Riley to check all the tourists’ cameras for clues? It was worth a shot. I was running out of ideas.

  “Aaron, you are a genius.” I leaned over and hugged him.

  He grinned, and I saw some of the old Aaron sparkle back. Just as quickly, his face grew somber again. “I wish Becky thought that too.”

  Timothy appeared in the barn door. “Hey, Aaron.”

  They did a complicated guy handshake.

  I arched an eyebrow. “Is a fist pump part of the Amish repertoire?”

  Aaron laughed. “Danny taught it to us.”

  “I’m glad to see you out here with Chloe, buddy.” He met my eyes. “You’ve been gone for a while. I was starting to worry.”

  Aaron sat straighter in his chair. “Nothing to worry about. I’ve been keeping an eye on her, but Timothy, I have to tell you, she is a handful.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Timothy mumbled.

  “Funny,” I muttered. “I’m relieved the stop here has gone so well. I’ve been dreading this one the most. No offense, Aaron.”

  He smiled. “Where are you off to next?”

  “The Zuggs’ sheep farm and then a fruit farm,” I said.

  Timothy gave a sigh of relief. “Two more stops, and then the tour is over.”

  Timothy was right. The next morning, the group would move on to Indiana where they would meet their new permanent tour guide. Their troubles in Ohio would be forgotten, and someone would get away with murder.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  In the middle of the Zuggs’ sheep barn, big and tough Jimbo patted the head on the newborn lamb in his lap. “He’s so soft.”

  “Jimbo, who knew you were such a softy,” Fred said.

  The lamb nestled closer to Jimbo’s round tummy.

  “We have two more baby lambs. Would anyone like to hold them?” Abby Zugg, a seventeen-year-old Amish girl, asked.

  Two thirds of the group raised their hands. The Zugg Sheep Farm was an official hit. After watching Abby’s mother card and spin wool, which she let the tourists try as well, Abby brought out more lambs for the tourists to pet. The Mississippians cooed over the baby lambs like they were newborn infants.

  All-the-while, I thought about who, other than Charles, had brought a camera on the trip. My eyes felt on Raellen and LeeAnne who patted yearlings’ heads through the feed opening in their pen. The yearlings baaed. “Aren’t they sweet?” LeeAnne asked in her soft Southern drawl.

  I stared. I had heard her ask that question before about Naomi and Thomas because she wanted to take a picture of them in the Troyer barn.

  Earl sat in a wooden folding chair next to Jimbo, and Abby settled the lamb with a bottle on Jimbo’s lap. “You can feed her if you like.”

  He smiled as the lamb ate hungrily from the bottle.

  I crossed the barn to the yearling pen and LeeAnne and Raellen. “LeeAnne, do you have your camera with you?”

  She blinked. “My camera?”

  “You had a digital camera with you on Saturday.”

  Her dark cheeks deepened just a shade. “I did, but I haven’t carried it since that older Amish man told me not to take pictures. I’m respectful of the Amish.”

  “’Course you are, LeeAnne,” Raellen said soothingly.

  “You took photographs on Saturday though,” I said.

  “Yes.” She frowned. “Do you want me to delete them?”

  “No,” I said too quickly. “No. I need to see those pictures. You may have captured what happened to Ruby and Dudley.”

  She straightened. “You think so?”

  Raellen grabbed her friend’s arm with her bejeweled hand. “LeeAnne, that would make you a hero.”

  A lamb bumped his head into the back of my knee. “What did the police say about them?”

  She licked her lips. “The police?”

  “Didn’t the officer ask to see your camera on Saturday?”

  LeeAnne’s upper lip began to sweat. “He did.”

  My brow furrowed. “So what did he say?”

  “Nothing. I may have fibbed and said I didn’t have a camera.” Her cheeks darkened.

  “LeeAnne, how could you?” Raellen yelped.

  “I couldn’t give it to him, Raellen. My husband once gave the police his video camera after recording a traffic accident in Las Vegas. The police s
aid they would give it back, but we never saw it again.”

  “The police didn’t keep Charles camera,” I said.

  “I know, but by that time, I realized that it was too late. I didn’t want to look bad by admitting to the police that I lied.” She twirled her wedding band around her finger.

  So these were pictures even Chief Rose hadn’t seen. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Chloe. This could lead to another dead end. My excitement grew. “Where’s your camera?”

  She thought a moment. “Well, it’s tucked away in my roll bag on the bus.”

  “Can I go look for it?”

  “I suppose,” LeeAnne said.

  “We can go with you,” Raellen said.

  I shook my head. “No, no, don’t trouble yourself. I can be there and back in two seconds. You enjoy petting the sheep.”

  “If you’re sure…” Raellen trailed off.

  “Absolutely,” I said, giving her a bright smile.

  “Okay. My bags are under the seat in front of me. Do you remember where we sat?”

  “Yep,” I said over my shoulder because I was already halfway out of the barn. Outside of the sheep barn, I fast-walked through the crowd and then broke into a run toward the bus. To my relief, Hudson wasn’t hanging around the bus. I raced up the bus’s steps. In the middle of the blue aisle I paused and visualized where LeeAnne and Raellen sat. The left side near the back. LeeAnne sat by the window.

  I hurried down the aisle, sliding into the seat and tugging the roll bag out of its spot in one motion. I pulled out three cardigans, slippers, a knitting magazine, socks, granola bar, and bottle of water. These bags can hold a lot. Was the camera really in there? I stuck my hand in again and hit a plastic rounded corner. My fingers curled around the camera, and I pulled it out.

  With my heart thumping in my chest, I turned it on and scrolled back to Saturday. There were only ten pictures from that morning, and true to her word, those were that last photographs LeeAnne took on the trip. Two were of her and Raellen on the bus, three were of the scenery of the Troyer farm, but the rest were the inside of the Troyer barn during the milking presentation. I scrolled through the five pictures in disappointment. I didn’t see anything right away that gave me a clue. Determined, I went through them again, slowly and deliberately. Mr. Troyer milking the cow. Jimbo and Bobbi Jo behind Mr. Troyer milking the cow. Fred and Nadine standing poised for a picture in from the milk table. Then, I saw it in the background. Melinda handing Ruby a cup of milk.

  Thoughts flashed through my head. Melinda was a science teacher, Melinda asking Gertie to go on this tour, and Melinda handing me a glass of lemonade the afternoon I was poisoned. But why?

  I heard a release of air, the sound the bus doors made when they closed, followed by a decisive click. My head snapped up.

  Melinda stood in the middle of the aisle with a syringe in her hand. “Found what you were looking for, Chloe?”

  I pushed all of LeeAnne roll bag contents off of me and onto the floor and started clamoring to get out of the seat, but I was too slow. Melinda and her syringe were already at my seat.

  She twirled the syringe in her hand. “What I have here is extract from Canadian yew. It’s much more potent than what I gave Ruby and Dudley and will work more quickly.”

  Someone shook the bus’s door and banged on it. Melinda was unconcerned and slid the needle back and forth along the bare underside of her arm.

  My back was up against the metal siding of the bus’s interior. There was nowhere to go. Was the Blue Suede Tour Bus to be my blue coffin? This is so not my first choice.

  “Melinda, everyone can see what is going on. If you hurt me, you will never get away with it.”

  “This isn’t for you. I’m done hurting others.” She tipped the syringe point in the crook of her arm.

  “No!” I cried. “Don’t do it.”

  She hesitated.

  I licked my lips. “Why did you kill them? You had no reason to—”

  She glared and me. “No reason? Is that what you think? I had more reason than anyone needs. That woman destroyed me.”

  I blinked. “How?”

  “She was my mother, and she abandoned me to an orphanage as a baby. When the orphanage closed, I moved from one family to the next. No one ever wanted to keep me. I’m a problem no one wanted. I will spare your delicate ears the horrors I faced in those homes, but if you imagine the worst then double it. Finally, I ran away when I was thirteen and made my own life. I never forgot what she did to me.

  “When I put myself through college and was a teacher, I poured all my free time into research about who my birth mother was and where she was from. The orphanage kept poor records, and the ones that weren’t destroyed were scattered.” She rolled the needle in her fingers and the tip spun on the top of her skin. “Finally, I found her name. Ruby Carne later to be married and be name Ruby Masters. I moved to Tupelo and watched and waited for my opportunity.”

  In my peripheral vision, I could see people moving around the bus. Someone shouted for Hudson. I thought it might be Timothy.

  “When I discovered Ruby and her cousin signed up for this tour, I knew this was my chance. I was already Gertie’s traveling companion. It was easy to convince her to join me on a quiet little trip to Amish Country.”

  She doesn’t know Pearl is her mother. I swallowed. “And Dudley? What about him?”

  “He was just an aside. I was there, although they didn’t know it, when Earl confessed his gambling problem and the pressure Dudley put on him to gamble again to Ruby. Dudley’s death would distract the police, or so I thought. It wasn’t nearly distracting enough.”

  Outside I could hear Officer Nottingham and Timothy yelling at Hudson to unlock the bus.

  “Melinda, Ruby wasn’t your mother,” I said quietly.

  Confusion and rage twisted her features. “What? What would you know about it?”

  “Pearl told me the story just this morning. She was the one who had the baby. She couldn’t bring herself to sign the release papers to give you up so Ruby did it for her. She claimed to be your birth mother and signed the papers.”

  “I don’t believe you. I saw the document.”

  “All you have is a signature on a document. I heard it from Pearl herself who lived it.”

  Melinda clenched her jaw. “I can’t even have the revenge that I earned?”

  “You think you earned Ruby’s death?” I whispered.

  “Yes,” she screeched. “Because I died a thousand times as a child.”

  I inched away from the wall. “Melinda, put the needle away. Maybe you and Pearl can salvage this somehow.”

  “After I murdered her cousin?” She began to shake. “No. I have to end this.” Her tears fell freely. She tipped the needle straight down.

  I froze.

  The bus door opened and wave of sound of the agitated tourists and Amish outside filled the bus. At the bus steps, an argument broke out.

  “I’m going in,” Timothy said. “Chloe’s in there!”

  “Stay back, Troyer,” Officer Nottingham snapped.

  “Move! Let me through. I will talk to Melinda.” Gertie ordered and she climbed onto the bus. “Stay back!” she shouted at whoever was behind her also trying to climb on. She stamped her cane in the aisle like a lion trainer keeping the wild beasts at bay. Then, the tiny centurion focused all of her attention of Melinda. “Melinda, what are you doing?” She set her cane in the first row of seats.

  Melinda shook her head back and forth like a defiant child. The syringe made an indent crease on the inside of Melinda’s elbow. She pressed down. “There is no reason to be here. I have no one. No family. No one has ever loved me.” A bead of blood appeared where the needle broke her skin.

  I was afraid to jump up and grab the syringe from her, afraid I would push the needle in deeper.

  “I have no family.” Tears coursed down Melinda’s face.

  Gertie stood in the middle of the aisle with her arms outstretched to Melinda
. “What am I, Melinda? What am I?”

  Melinda lifted her head.

  Gertie held her arms aloft. “My child.”

  Melinda’s body quaked. I forgot how to breathe. The syringe clattered to the aisle floor and skittered beneath a seat behind me as Melinda crumbled to ground. Blood trickled down her arm, onto her wrist, and onto the blue aisle.

  Gertie stepped forward and placed her hand on the crown of Melinda’s like a pastor blessing a child.

  Officer Nottingham and Timothy bound onto the bus. “Chloe, are you okay?” Timothy cried.

  I met his clear blue eyes that were so afraid. I nodded because speech was impossible.

  EPILOGUE

  Three weeks later, Timothy held my hand as we walked around an old abandoned farm. Paint peeled from the siding of the house and boards covered the windows where glass had once been. The lawn and grounds weren’t much better. The grass came midway up my calf and groundhogs had made the landscape into a landmine just asking for a broken ankle.

  Mabel barked as she ran around the lawn and stuck her nose in the groundhog holes, searching for the chubby rodents.

  “What do you think of this farm?” Timothy watched me expectantly.

  “It’s lonely,” I said.

  He laughed. “Come on. Let me show you the house.”

  We picked our way through the groundhog burrows to the house. The front porch had seen better days. The floorboards were weather-warped, and one of the pillars hung loosely from its pilings. Its disrepair reminded me of the first home I’d lived in Appleseed Creek. The porch had been even worse off than this. It was also where I’d met Timothy. Becky had called her brother over to fix our broken front door.

  So much had changed since that day I reminded myself as I thought of the events of the last month. The Blue Suede Tour bus was back in Tupelo by now, and for most of the travelers being on a tour bus with a killer would be a good story to entertain the grandchildren with. Over time, the event would move from frightening, to amusing, to a tall tale the grandchildren would doubt. At least that’s what it would become for most of the tourists from Mississippi, not all. It was certainly not that for Pearl, who grieved for her cousin and wondered what to do with her new found daughter, nor would it be for Melinda, who was in the Knox County jail awaiting trial. Pearl went back to Mississippi because she could not contend with who Melinda was, but Melinda wasn’t alone. Gertie remained in Appleseed Creek and had taken up long-term residence at the Dutch Inn. She taught Jane and Ivy how to make her famous fish jerky. Cheetos was a fan.