“Nothing. Why would I do anything about it?” I straightened a stack of one-dollar bills on the counter.
“I think that’s a good idea, Angie.” Mattie swept dirt tracked into the shop the day before into a plastic dustpan. “You shouldn’t get involved. It’s been quiet these last few months. Don’t let what happened ruin that.”
Anna clicked her tongue as if she didn’t agree. “Austina has a mouth on her. There is no doubt about that, but I can’t believe she could kill anyone any more than Rachel Miller could have.”
Mattie grimaced. The year before, her sister-in-law, sweet Rachel, had indeed been a murder suspect.
My cell phone rang, and I slipped it out of the back pocket of my cords. Austina’s name was on the screen. “It’s Austina.”
“Answer it,” Anna ordered, using the same commanding voice that told me when I was child that Jonah and I were in big trouble.
Just like then, I obeyed. “Hi, Austina. How are you?”
“Terrible. I’m terrible, Angie. I need your help.” I could hear the tears in her voice. “I know the sheriff thinks I did it. I could tell by the questions he asked me and how he made the boy cop follow me home to make sure I didn’t leave the area. The boy cop is parked outside my house right now.”
“Officer Anderson?” I asked.
“Yes. Who else looks like he should be getting his braces off?”
She had a point.
“I need to talk to you. Can you come to my house?” Her voice was pleading.
I turned around so that my friends couldn’t watch my expression. “Austina, I don’t know if that’s such a great idea. I—”
Anna plucked the phone from my hand. She could move pretty fast for an older woman. Her troublemaking twin grandsons, Ethan and Ezra, Jonah’s boys, kept her on her toes. “Hello, Austina, this is Anna Graber. Angie has told us what has happened. I’m so sorry you’re going through this.” She stopped until Austina’s sobs subsided. “Certainly, Angie and I will be there within the hour.” Anna handed the phone back to me.
“Hello, Austina?” I said into the phone, but the librarian had already hung up. “Anna,” I said, stretching her name out into three syllables.
She wagged her finger at me. “Don’t give me that look, Angela Braddock. Austina is in trouble, and we have to help her if we can. It’s the Christian thing to do.”
I propped my elbows on the counter. “I don’t think Mitchell would approve.”
She smoothed the sleeve of her plain navy dress over her arm. “When have you ever been concerned about what the sheriff thinks?”
“I care what Mitchell thinks,” I said a tad defensively.
She adjusted her glasses. “I know you do. You haven’t been involved in a murder in nearly a year. The sheriff should appreciate that.”
Mattie leaned her broom against the wall. “I agree with Angie. I think this is a very bad idea. We should leave it to the police to sort out.”
Anna ignored her and focused all her attention on me. “I can’t sit by when an innocent woman is accused of murder.”
“No one has been accused of anything,” Mattie argued.
“You heard what the librarian said. The sheriff’s deputy is parked outside her house. Sheriff Mitchell wouldn’t do that unless he had a pretty gut idea she was guilty,” Anna said.”
My shoulders sagged. I don’t know why I even bothered to argue. Maybe because when Mitchell found out later, I could tell him I tried and that it was all Anna’s fault. But in my heart of hearts, I knew I would become involved. I had known it the moment I found Austina standing over Bartholomew Beiler’s dead body.
“All right, we can hear what she has to say,” I finally conceded. Turning to Mattie, I said, “Can you watch the shop while I’m gone?”
Mattie picked up the broom again. I didn’t know what she planned to sweep. The floor was spotless. She ran the broom’s bristles over the wide maple planks. “I don’t like it, but ya, I will watch the shop, and I will start cutting the pieces for the quilted pumpkin class.”
I slapped my forehead. “I totally forgot about the class.”
Anna patted my hand. “Finding a dead body will do that to a person.”
How well I knew.
“Thanks, Mattie,” I said. “What would I do without you?”
She smiled for the first time that morning. “Honestly, I have no idea.”
I removed Anna’s shawl and Oliver’s leash from the pegs on the wall, handing her the shawl and clipping the leash on Oliver’s collar. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Seven
Austina Shaker’s house was in Millersburg, just a mile from the house I shared with Dodger and Oliver. The home was a light blue two-story colonial. The large garden was turned over for the coming winter, but orange and yellow mums spilled over hanging baskets dangling from the wide front porch.
Deputy Anderson jumped out of his cruiser as soon as I turned my car into Austina’s driveway.
He waited for Anna and me to exit the car before he spoke.
“Angie, what are you doing here?” He rested his hand on the hilt of his gun.
I pointedly glared at his hand. “Stand down, Anderson. Anna and I are here to visit Austina and make sure she’s okay after this morning.” I opened the back door of the SUV, and Oliver hopped out onto the pavement. He immediately waddled into Austina’s front yard and began inspecting her flowerbeds. With his nose to the ground, he resembled a canine Watson on the trail of a clue. All he needed was a magnifying glass.
Deputy Anderson dropped his hand from his duty belt. “Angie, the sheriff isn’t going to like this.” There was a whine in his voice. The last thing in the world the deputy wanted was to disappoint his supervisor, even though he did it on a regular basis. Mitchell was too kindhearted to fire him.
“Then don’t tell him.” I reached into the car for my ever-present hobo bag and slammed the door shut.
He gasped. “I can’t keep a secret from the sheriff.”
I rolled my eyes. “Then give me a chance to tell him. That’s not really keeping a secret, is it?”
He frowned. “When are you going to do that?”
I smiled. “I’ll call him right after I leave here.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you. You’ve lied to me before.”
“That hurts.” I placed a hand to my chest as if wounded. “Deputy, it really hurts that you don’t trust me.”
Deputy Anderson opened his mouth as if to argue, but Anna beat him to it. “Young man,” Anna said in that commanding voice again. “We’re here to visit our friend, who is distraught by this morning’s events. Were you given instructions not to let any of Austina’s friends visit and console her?” She glared at him over her wire-rimmed glasses and gripped her quilting basket, which she took everywhere she went, in her hands.
“N-no,” he stammered.
She loosened the grip on the basket’s handle. “Then you may return to your car, and we will walk ourselves to Austina’s door.” With chin high, Anna marched up the walk to Austina’s front porch.
I scurried after Anna. “Can you give me some of that Amish mojo?” I whispered out the side of my mouth as I knocked on Austina’s front door.
“Angie, I have no idea what you are talking about.” She chuckled.
Sure she didn’t.
I whistled for Oliver, and he abandoned the bush he was surveying and galloped up the steps onto the porch. When he reached my feet, I scooped him up into my arms.
Austina flung open the door. “You came. Thank God.” She said this not like a curse, but as if we really were answer to prayer. I hoped that proved to be true. Austina yanked on my arm and pulled me into the house. She had about fifty pounds on me, so I flew forward like a rag doll. Anna leapt over the threshold just before the librarian slammed the door shut.
Austina caught her breath. “I’m sorry. Anna, are you all right?”
Anna smoothed her apron over her skirt. “I am.”
Austina let go of me. “I didn’t want that sheriff’s department spy to hear one word of our conversation. I know he will report everything he hears back to the sheriff.”
Her comment gave me pause. She knew the sheriff and I were dating. How did she know I wouldn’t repeat what I heard to Mitchell?
“It’s okay. No limbs were lost. Right, Anna?” I hoped to lighten the mood and set Oliver on the floor.
Anna wiggled her fingers. “Everything is still in working order.”
Austina rubbed her bloodshot eyes. “I have tea all ready for us in the living room.”
Anna, Oliver, and I followed Austina down a short hallway into a small living room. Now that I was inside the house, I noted that it must have been a historic home. The woodwork was ornate and expertly restored. Austina had put a lot of love into her home. However, the love of the house itself could not be compared with her obvious love of books, which, from what I could tell, went way beyond her occupation.
In Austina’s living room, more striking than the high-polished floors and sparkling wood paneling was the sheer number of books. There were books on every flat surface, even on the sofa. Some had scraps of paper or bookmarks sticking out of them. Austina moved a stack to the floor at the end of the couch. “Please sit down.” She gestured for Anna and me to sit in the place she had just cleared off.
Oliver sat at Anna’s feet—he knew she was his best shot at procuring a butter cookie from the tea tray.
Amid the books on the coffee table, there was just enough room for the tray. The teapot and cups were decorated with books. I sensed a theme.
“Since you’re here, am I right in thinking that you plan to help me?” Austina asked as she sat in an armchair across from us.
“We’re here to hear you out,” I hedged, ignoring Anna’s scowl as I spoke. My Amish friend was all ready to start snooping. I couldn’t help but feel responsible for how much she’d come to enjoy investigating. Before I moved to Holmes County, Running Stitch’s quilt circle had led a much quieter life, free of dead bodies.
Austina poured three cups of tea. “You have to help me. My mother isn’t well. She’s at Heavenly Gardens, the nursing home downtown.”
“I didn’t know that about your mother,” Anna said.
Austina flinched at Anna’s surprise. “I would have taken care of her if I could. I even tried for a little while, but it was impossible with my work schedule, and I need my job. Her condition needs twenty-four-hour care. I can’t give her that at home.”
Anna leaned forward and patted Austina’s knee. “No one is judging you,” she said as she settled back into her seat and picked up a cup of tea. “We all have to make tough choices when someone we love is unwell.”
Tears welled in Austina’s eyes, and she swiped them away with the back of her hand. “I hate being like this. I’m not a weak, weepy woman, but whenever I think of my mother learning of what happened and what people will be saying about me to her, it breaks my heart.”
“Then we will do whatever we can to make sure she doesn’t find out,” Anna said.
I shot a look at Anna. She had to know that was a promise we couldn’t keep.
Apparently, Austina agreed. “You can’t stop the aides at the nursing home from talking,” she said.
Anna sipped her tea. “You’d be surprised. Most of the aides at Heavenly Gardens are nice Mennonite girls. They will respect your wishes.”
Austina didn’t seem as sure.
Anna examined the teacup in her hands. “I love your tea set. I do love books.”
Austina smiled. “Books are my life, as if you couldn’t tell. I work with them all day and read them all night.” Austina picked up the teapot. “Would you like some more tea? It’s Lady Gray. That’s my favorite. I knew after this morning I would need some Lady Gray to keep me going.”
Anna set the empty cup back onto the tray and nodded.
I noticed Austina didn’t have a television—at least, as far as I could tell. There might have been one in another room, but I was willing to bet Austina spent a lot more time reading than doing anything else.
“I’d like to have such a tea set,” Anna commented as she watched Austina expertly pour the tea from the book-covered pot.
I glanced at Anna in surprise. To have a decorative tea set was so un-Amish of her. “You would?”
Her eyes slid to me. “Angie, don’t be scandalized. There are many nice Englisch things that I would like to have. I can recognize the convenience and pleasure that they bring. That being said, I won’t have them. The point of being Amish is wanting something but choosing not to have it in a show of obedience to your church district and to Gott.”
Austina handed me a cup of tea. “Then you must have amazing willpower.”
Anna shook her head. “Our obedience comes from Gott and is for Gott.”
The librarian frowned. “Even obedience to someone like Bartholomew Beiler? Who makes ridiculous rules that only make his church members miserable?”
Anna cupped her teacup in her large wrinkled hands. “Bartholomew Beiler was an unhappy man who spent most of his life making sure that the people living in his district were as unhappy. This is true, but his way was not the Amish way. Gott wants us to find joy in the simple pleasures of life and in our work. Bartholomew never understood that.”
I picked up a teacup and blew on my hot tea. “Why was he so unhappy?”
Anna shook her head. “Since I am not a member of his district, I don’t know. Bartholomew’s district is very tightly knit and quiet about their ways. Few know what happens there.”
I cleared my throat. “Austina, can you tell us about what you found when you went inside the bookmobile this morning?”
She examined me. “By asking that, does it mean that you will help me find out the truth?”
I felt Anna watching me from her side of the couch. “If I can help, I will. If there are Amish involved in this, the quilting circle ladies and I will have a better chance of getting answers than the sheriff’s department will, no matter how well liked Sheriff Mitchell is among the Amish. He is still a police officer, and it’s hard for them to trust him.”
Austina chewed on her lip. “And you don’t mind upsetting the sheriff, or how uncomfortable it might be for you?”
I do mind, I thought, but I said, “You have enough on your mind. Let me worry about Mitchell.”
Chapter Eight
“Now, can you answer the question?” I asked.
Austina cleared her throat. “I stepped into the bookmobile. I placed my bag on the desk right by the door as I always do and turned on the light. Then—” She closed her eyes as if to block out the image. “Then I saw him. At first I thought he was sleeping in the middle of the bookmobile. I remember thinking, ‘What crazy Amish guy is taking a nap in my bookmobile?’ It wasn’t until I was right above him that I realized it was Bartholomew Beiler, and that he was dead.” She rubbed her forehead as if remembering the gash on the bishop’s head in the same place.
“Was the door to the bookmobile locked?” Anna asked.
I leaned back. I might as well let her ask the questions.
Austina thought for a moment. “I suppose it was. I used my key to unlock the door, but I didn’t try the doorknob before turning the key. I assumed that it was locked because I very clearly remember locking it last night before I left.”
I bit the inside of my lip. That wasn’t good news for Austina. If there was no sign of forced entry, it made her and anyone else who might have access to the key a suspect.
“Who had keys to the bookmobile?” I asked.
“I always carry mine with me, but there are two spares in the workroom back at the main library. We keep the library
workroom locked at night, so if someone took one of those keys, it would have had to be during the day.”
“Could a non–library worker slip into the workroom and swipe the key without a staff member noticing?” Anna adjusted her glasses on the tip of her nose and leaned forward.
I looked heavenward. I was pretty sure a year before Anna hadn’t used the word “swipe” as part of her working vocabulary. I was to blame for this, and for pulling the quilting circle into these murder investigations. However, it seemed the roles were reversed this time around. This time, it was Anna who was the most gung-ho about the investigation.
The librarian shook her head. “Not likely, but I refuse to believe any of my coworkers could do this. They’ve never even interacted with Bartholomew. He refused to set foot in the library building because he was convinced it was the home of the devil, or some such thing.”
I frowned. “Okay, so not everyone liked the bishop, but what about you?”
“What do you mean?” Austina asked.
“Who didn’t like you?”
She bent her head over the teacup in her lap. “I don’t know why it matters.”
“It matters,” Anna said, catching on. “Because maybe someone killed the bishop to frame you.”
Austina’s mouth fell open. “Isn’t there an easier way to get back at me rather than killing someone?”
“I would hope so,” I said. “But in my experience most killers think they have no other choice, even if there are many options they can’t or refuse to see. Who doesn’t like you, Austina?”
Austina shifted in her seat. “I—I don’t have many friends. I mean, close friends. I know I’m loud and opinionated and rub most people the wrong way, especially at work. I know that’s not good news for me.”
It wasn’t. I wouldn’t lie to her and tell her anything different. “What about that woman who yelled at you at the bookmobile yesterday. She seemed pretty upset.”
Anna raised her eyebrows in surprise. Rachel and I hadn’t told the other ladies about this development.
“Pretty upset” was putting it mildly. That woman had been positively unhinged.
Murder, Plainly Read Page 5