“Mitchell won’t let anyone influence him.” I said this from experience. When I was a murder suspect, Mitchell hadn’t let the fact that he had a crush on me influence his decision to make me the number one suspect in that case. Would Austina face the same nonpreferential treatment? I had to admit it looked bad for her.
She either was the killer or had been framed by someone who’d spent a good amount of time planning it. I shivered. Could Austina be a killer?
She grabbed my forearm and squeezed so tightly I would be surprised if I didn’t find a bruise in the spot later. “You have to help me, Angie. Please.”
The wail of sirens coming up Sugartree Street saved me from giving her my answer. An ambulance pulled into the parking lot first, followed by a police cruiser and Mitchell’s department SUV. Mitchell climbed out of his car, and I wiggled my fingers in greeting. Sheriff Mitchell’s startling blue-green eyes zeroed in on me, and it wasn’t with a cheerful expression.
Mom reached the sheriff first. “James, there is a dead Amish man in there.” She pointed at the bookmobile.
“I heard,” Mitchell said, not taking his eyes off me. Usually, when Mitchell stared at me like that, I felt a thrill. This time, a chill ran down my spine. I was toast.
The EMTs ran into the bookmobile, and Mitchell’s bumbling deputy, Anderson, went in after them carrying a camera. I hoped he didn’t knock any books off the shelves and onto the crime scene.
I straightened my shoulders. “Mitchell, thanks for coming so quickly. I’m sure this isn’t how you wanted your day to start.”
“No, it wasn’t,” he said, barely moving his lips.
I ignored his cold shoulder and pressed on. “Like Mom said, there is a body in the bookmobile. I’m not an expert, but by the gash on his forehead, I would guess the wound is what killed him.”
“Dispatch told me.” His voice was clipped.
I scowled in return. “Is that a problem?”
“I would have preferred to hear it from you directly, so I knew you were okay. Instead I had to drive here, afraid a killer might still be there with you. Did you ever think of that? I swear you give me more gray hairs than Zander does.”
“Oh,” was all I could say in return.
“How did you find him?” Mitchell went on, all business.
I picked up Oliver and held him close to my chest. With so many men stomping about, I was afraid he might get trampled. “Mom’s helping me organize the library book sale, and we agreed to meet Austina here this morning to talk more about it.”
Mitchell quirked his eyebrows, and I felt myself relax with that small movement of his face. He wasn’t angry with me. At least he wasn’t as angry with me as he had been when he’d arrived. He’d been scared then. Now he was in cop mode. “Book sale?”
“The person who was originally going to head it up fell and broke her hip,” I said. “Caroline Cramer thought I would be the perfect substitute for the job.”
“I bet.” The quirk morphed into a full smile, but it quickly faded. “Dispatch said that the victim was Bishop Bartholomew Beiler. Is that right?”
I rocked back on my heels. “Yep.”
“I was hoping you could tell me that was a mistake.” He patted Oliver on the head.
“I can’t. I wish I could. It’s definitely Bartholomew Beiler. I met him yesterday, and he’s the dead guy,” I said.
“How did you happen to meet him yesterday?”
I went on to explain how Rachel and I had been delivering a quilt and ended up having Austina rope me into heading up the book sale.
Mitchell looked around. “Why is the bookmobile parked outside of the Millers’ factory?”
“The factory’s grand opening is this weekend. The book sale is the same weekend. I told Austina that I couldn’t organize the book sale if it meant I’d miss the factory opening. I need to be there for Rachel. Austina suggested we have the book sale here. It’s something we were planning to talk about more this morning.”
“Do you know anything about Austina’s relationship with the bishop?”
I chewed on my lip.
“Angie,” he began.
I sighed, knowing it would come out eventually. I hadn’t been the only one to witness Austina’s argument with Bartholomew. Rachel had seen it, and it was impossible for her to even tell an innocent fib. And the teacher from the one-room schoolhouse had seen it too, plus all the children. “I don’t really know,” I said honestly. “When Rachel and I met the bishop yesterday, he wasn’t visiting the bookmobile on a social call.” I went on to describe the argument. “But surely Austina wouldn’t kill anyone over books.”
He frowned. “She’s a librarian—who knows what she is capable of?”
I frowned in return.
His quirky smile was back. “Kidding. I agree—a book motive is far-fetched.” He sighed. “But I have seen people kill over much less.”
Unfortunately, so had I. I snapped my fingers. “One more thing,” I said, and went on to tell him about the crazy woman who had driven up to the bookmobile as Rachel and I were about to leave. “I don’t know her name or anything, but you should probably ask Austina about her.”
“I will.” He gave Oliver one last pat on the head. “Wait here. I need to check out the scene. I will need to talk to you, Austina, and your mom.”
I nodded. “Understood.”
He squeezed my arm, then walked toward the bookmobile. I blew out a breath. I was certain this wasn’t the end of his frustration at me for not calling him directly about the murder, but at least he wasn’t angry anymore.
Chapter Five
Mom joined me after Mitchell went inside the bookmobile. “What did James have to say to you during all that time?”
I was saved from answering because Deputy Anderson came out of the bookmobile and stood a few feet from Austina. He didn’t question her, but just stood there like a Roman centurion making sure she wouldn’t run away. Things didn’t look good for my librarian friend.
Mom held her briefcase to her chest. “Can we go home now?”
I shook my head. “Mitchell wants to talk to us.”
She frowned. “Maybe he can talk to us at dinner. I need to call your father to tell him what happened, but I’m afraid he’ll rush over here to make sure we are all right.”
Yeah, that wouldn’t be good. “Mom, Mitchell will have to cancel on dinner,” I said, speaking from experience. Many times, I contended with canceled dates with the sheriff because of police work, and a murder was the biggest case of all. I did my best not to let it bother me because I knew Mitchell’s absence was one of the key factors that broke up his marriage to Zander’s mom, and I refused to resent a job that was so important to not only him but also to the entire county.
Mom patted her hair. The cold wind was still going strong and blowing her hair in her face. I was relieved that I tied my crazy curls back in a knot that morning, mostly because it was way too early for me to fuss with my coif. I refused to pick up a hairbrush before nine.
Mom sniffed. “But what about our dinner? The caterer is already booked.”
I fluffed my scarf around my neck, trying to thwart any draft. “You hired a caterer?”
She pursed her lips. “I wanted it to be nice, and the kitchen is such a mess with the remodel, you can’t expect me to cook a gourmet meal, can you?”
“I’m sure it will be. Oliver and I will still come, won’t we, boy?”
The Frenchie cocked his head as if in a nod. He was getting heavy in my arms, but I was reluctant to put him down, with so much activity going on in the parking lot.
“I don’t like this, Angie,” Mom huffed.
“It’s just one dinner. It’s not the end of the world.”
“It’s not about the dinner.” She sighed as if I were too dense to understand. “Are you sure you want your life to be so in
definite? What if you make plans? Do you want everything in your life to hang on whether or not the sheriff has to leave for a callout?”
“A callout? Have you been watching Cops again?”
She adjusted her grip on her briefcase handle. “I’m serious.”
A knot tightened my stomach. “It’s not like that. Mitchell has to do his job and keep the community safe. I understand that. He’s a cop—the top cop in the county. It’s the way it is.”
But Mom wasn’t finished yet. “What about your wedding? What if you have to cancel your honeymoon?”
I nearly choked. “Wedding? Who said anything about a wedding?”
My mother squinted at me. “Angie, you’ve been dating the sheriff for nearly a year. Are you telling me the two of you haven’t discussed marriage? You will be thirty-six on your next birthday, and he has to be over forty. What are you waiting for?”
First, talk about babies in the quilt shop and now this? I wasn’t in a rush. I had been with my former fiancé, Ryan, for nearly six years before he popped the question, and see how that worked out. My mother seemed to conveniently forget that part of my life history. “No—” I choked. “No, we haven’t spoken about marriage.”
She pulled at her coat sleeves. “It’s the boy, isn’t it? I was worried about you becoming involved with a man who has a child.”
I clenched my jaw. “It’s not about Zander. Zander is fine with our relationship, and he’s a great kid.”
My mother must have sensed the change in my mood. “I know that, dear. I think Zander is a very nice boy too, but you can’t expect me not to worry about you. You’re my only child.” Her voice rose with every word.
“I know you worry, Mom,” I murmured as I caught Deputy Anderson staring at us with his mouth hanging open. Great. Just what I needed: Barney Fife to spread around the sheriff’s station that my mother and I were talking about my marrying Mitchell.
“Let’s not talk about it here,” I said. “A man was murdered a few feet away from us.”
That shut her up.
“Angie!” Rachel called. She and Aaron ran into the parking lot from the street.
I hurried over to them after handing Oliver to my mother. She juggled him with her briefcase.
Rachel held her bonnet in her hands. I suspected that she’d grabbed it from the bakery before running out but hadn’t had enough time to put it on. I noticed that she had left the bakery without her cloak. She would freeze in only her dress and apron.
Rachel’s eyes were huge. “What’s going on? Why are the police here?”
Aaron, Rachel’s stoic blond husband, stood beside her. “We saw the flashing lights and heard the sirens. It took a moment to realize that they were headed to the pie factory. What has happened?” Aaron, who was characteristically calm, gripped a rolling pin in his hand.
So Rachel had grabbed her bonnet, and Aaron a rolling pin. Despite the circumstances, that made me smile.
“The pie factory is fine,” I said. “The problem is with the bookmobile.” I went on to explain what had happened.
Rachel’s hand flew to her mouth.
Aaron looked to his wife. “You said that the bookmobile wouldn’t be a concern. You said it would bring more customers to the grand opening.”
Rachel blinked back tears. “That poor man.”
Aaron scowled.
I came to Rachel’s defense. “There’s no way we could have known this would happen.”
Mitchell came out of the bookmobile and joined us. “Is something wrong?”
“Wrong?” I squeaked. “Nothing is wrong.”
His mouth twisted in a way that told me he knew I was lying.
“Sheriff, will what has happened impact my factory opening this weekend?” Aaron asked, holding up his rolling pin.
Mitchell frowned at the rolling pin in Aaron’s fist.
Rachel placed a hand on Aaron’s arm, and he lowered the pin. I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.
“I don’t see why this would impact the opening,” Mitchell said. “The murder occurred in the bookmobile, which we are impounding to gather more evidence. We’ll have to check the grounds, but one of my deputies checked all the doors.”
“Is the book sale off then?” I asked.
“Looks that way. Unless the library can think of another way to hold it,” Mitchell said.
“Is it all right to go into the factory and make sure nothing was disturbed?” Aaron asked.
Mitchell nodded. “Anderson.” He waved his hand at his officer. “Please go in the factory with the Millers.”
Before Rachel and Aaron walked away to inspect the condition of the pie factory, Rachel squeezed my arm. That was so like my best friend to offer me comfort when something had more of an impact on her.
After Anderson led my Amish friends to the main factory entrance, Mitchell dragged a hand down the side of his face. “We haven’t had a murder here in months. I was hoping we’d at least last out the year without a homicide.”
“I’m sorry,” I said as if I was somehow responsible.
He gave me a half smile. “Not your fault.”
“Was there any sign of forced entry into the bookmobile?”
Mitchell dropped his hand from the side of his face and stared at me blankly.
“I’m asking as a concerned citizen. If this was a break-in, all the businesses on Sugartree Street need to be on guard, including Running Stitch,” I said, wondering whether he would buy that.
“There was no forced entry,” he said in a resigned tone, as if he knew that I would keep asking until he relented. He was a smart man that way.
I winced, and my eyes immediately fell on Austina. She stood with a different deputy now that Deputy Anderson had been called away to help the Millers. Her hair was disheveled and the buttons on her coat were askew. “This is bad news for Austina, isn’t it?”
His smile faltered. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
Chapter Six
After Mom and I were questioned, I took her home. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t have a chance to speak to Austina again. That was Mitchell’s doing. He wanted me to stay out of this case and had surrounded Austina by police. There was no opportunity for me to speak to her alone or otherwise.
When we reached my parents’ house, I didn’t get out of the car and told her I needed to return to the shop to relieve Mattie. Mattie would have opened it by now, and I knew she would want all the details of what had happened, especially since the murder had occurred on her family’s land. I sighed. I hated the idea of the Millers being associated with a murder again. They’d been working hard for the pie factory opening. They should be able to enjoy it. Instead, it would be clouded by Bartholomew’s murder.
Mom stood in the middle of her driveway and held my car door open. “What about the book sale?”
I sighed. “I’ll find out if it’s still going to happen. Mitchell doesn’t think it will, unless the library finds another way to hold it.”
“There has to be a way,” she said. “I will make some phone calls to the library.”
“Knock yourself out,” I said without enthusiasm.
Mom sniffed. “Clearly, whoever did this targeted the library. We can’t let them win.”
“I would say they targeted Bartholomew Beiler.”
She shook her head. “The library is involved somehow. Bartholomew could have been killed in a whole host of places in the county. Killing him in the bookmobile was a message.”
I stared at my mother openmouthed.
She lifted her chin. “You’re not the only one who can decipher a murder in this county.”
The idea of my primly dressed mother as a sleuth shook me to my very core.
She smiled. “We will see you at seven for dinner.”
I sighed. “Okay.” I hoped it would
n’t be a grill-Angie-about-a-fictitious-wedding dinner. Maybe we should talk about murder instead. That would make much more pleasant dinner conversation.
As I expected, Mattie had already heard the news about the murder when I arrived. She held the shop’s cordless phone in her hand when Oliver and I stepped inside. She set the phone on the counter. “There you are. I was just about to call your cell phone. Where have you been? I expected you over an hour ago.”
“I found a dead body,” I said as I unbuttoned my coat.
The bell jangled behind me, and Anna stepped in. “Did I hear something about a dead body?”
I grimaced. “I’m afraid you did.”
“How on earth did you find another dead body?” Anna asked as she removed her shawl and hung it on the peg on the wall. “I thought you were meeting with Austina this morning.”
I wondered whether I should be concerned that my Amish friends were more curious than alarmed. Clearly finding dead people was a far too common occurrence in my life.
“Austina was with the dead guy.” I removed my coat.
Anna blinked at me, and I started at the beginning. Mattie jumped in when she could with what she had heard from Rachel and Aaron, both of whom were back in the bakery by now. I was happy to hear that everything in the pie factory had been left untouched. It appeared that my mother could be right, and Bartholomew’s murder might have a connection to the library.
Anna settled into my aunt’s rocking chair with her quilting basket. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Me?” I squeaked as I stepped around the counter. I opened the cash drawer, preparing to count out the money for the day.
Anna arched an eyebrow at me over her wire-rimmed glasses. Her gray hair was pulled back into a perfect bun. Her prayer cap was in the exact position. She rested her wrinkled and callused hands from a lifetime of farm work on her dark-skirted lap. She looked like an Amish Whistler’s Mother about to bring down a judgment. “Ya, you.”
Murder, Plainly Read Page 4