Oliver let go of my pant leg, indicating the person must have disappeared. I grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen cupboard and stepped into the yard. Oliver slunk behind me, fierce guard dog that he was. I crept to the back fence. “Anyone there?” I asked.
No answer.
I didn’t want to yell too loud and make the neighbors think I was crazy. They still kept their distance from me as a result of the fire in my backyard last year.
I clicked on the flashlight. “Come out if you’re there.”
Nothing.
I shone the light on the ground under the shrubs where I had seen the figure stand up. There were two footprints there. The shoe size was larger than mine, and I have big feet, so my visitor had definitely been a man. The shoes were pointed directly at my back door. A chill ran down my spine. Someone had been watching the house.
I turned around and bolted back to the house. Oliver beat me there—he could really book it when he was spooked. I slammed the door after us and threw the bolt.
By the time I was on my way to my parents’ house, I almost had myself convinced that I’d imagined the dark figure beside the back fence. I had a more difficult time explaining away Oliver’s strange reaction and those pesky footprints.
Who could the intruder have been? Certainly not my elderly landlord or his wife. My landlords would have had no reason to spy from the bushes when they could just let themselves into my house when they pleased.
Could it have been a kid taking a shortcut through my yard? I had never seen anyone do that before. My rented house was on a Millersburg side street in a quiet neighborhood of modest homes. There were lots of children in the neighborhood, but then, the size of the footprint suggested it was a grown man.
I thought about telling Mitchell when he showed up at my parents’ house, but then he would have wanted to leave dinner right away to check it out. After the day that I’d had, I didn’t think I could stand the fit my mother would have over another canceled meal with Mitchell and me.
Oliver whimpered from the backseat. Dodger meowed in his carrier. If someone was staking out my house, I certainly wasn’t going to leave my cat home alone to face him. Oliver pressed his nose up against the cat crate’s metal door, trying his best to squeeze through the mesh to comfort his young charge.
When I turned into my parents’ driveway, Mitchell stood outside of his SUV, parked in front of my parents’ house under a streetlamp. I shifted the car into park. The sheriff met me at the car and opened my door for me.
I climbed out and smiled. “What a gentleman you are.”
He shrugged. “I try.”
In the dim streetlight, I saw there were dark circles under his eyes. The bishop’s murder was taking a toll on him. There had been too many murders in Holmes County lately, and every last one of them fell on Mitchell’s broad shoulders. It appeared he was beginning to feel their collective weight.
I patted his arm before opening the back door to my little SUV and let Oliver out. He hopped to the concrete and stared impatiently back at the car as I pulled Dodger’s carrier from the backseat. The cat meowed loudly in annoyance. He didn’t like the carrier, but I had to transport him that way. If I let him loose in the car, he would try to climb on my head. I knew this from experience.
Mitchell stared at my hand holding the carrier. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
I cocked my head. “What do you mean?” I asked innocently.
Mitchell’s brow knit together. “Something happened. You wouldn’t bring Dodger to your parents’ house if something didn’t happen. Your mother flips out when he sharpens his claws on her leather sofa.”
That was true.
I balanced the weight of the carrier in my hand and closed the car door. I might as well tell him, I thought. “We had a little issue at home, and I didn’t want to leave Dodger there by himself.”
He took the cat carrier from me and blocked my path to my parents’ front door. “What kind of issue?”
I would have enjoyed his closeness if he weren’t so irritated with me at the moment. I sighed and told him about the Peeping Tom.
Mitchell’s knuckles turned white as his gripped the handle of the cat carrier more tightly. “Angie, why didn’t you call me? And you went out there to look for footprints?” He ran his free hand through his thick dark hair flecked with silver. The silver gave him a distinguished, trustworthy look. There was more of it than when I’d first moved to Holmes County a year before. I assumed that was because of the rise in the murder rate in the rural county and not because of me, but I could have been wrong.
The front door opened. “Angie!” My dad bellowed from the front door. “What are you two lovebirds doing out there? It’s too cold to canoodle outside.”
I felt my face grow hot. Thanks, Dad.
The tiniest hint of a smile curled the right corner of Mitchell’s mouth.
Oliver galloped toward the sound of my father’s voice. “There’s my boy,” Dad cooed as he scratched Oliver between the ears. Dad let him inside and waved us to follow.
“Are you coming?” I asked Mitchell.
“I’ll be there in a minute.” His voice was hard as he unclipped his cell phone from his belt.
I took Dodger’s carrier from his hand and our fingers brushed. He was far too distracted to notice.
Chapter Fifteen
As soon as I stepped through the front door, Mom pointed at the carrier. “Why did you bring your cat?”
“You know I take Dodger to Running Stitch too. Why not bring him here to see his grandparents?” I knelt in the foyer and opened the carrier. Dodger shot out like a silver-and-white bullet.
Mom pursed her lips. “He’d better not scratch my sofa, Angela. Do you remember what he did to the settee the last time he was here? It’s still out for reupholstering.”
Dodger meowed a protest. It could have been a swearword. I wasn’t sure; I wasn’t fluent in Cat.
“He’ll be a perfect gentleman,” I said, and then added, “I hope.”
Mitchell entered the house after he finished his call. Ever the proper hostess, Mom took his coat and hung it in the foyer closest. In the great room, Mitchell sat next to me on my parents’ nine-foot sofa. The sofa was huge, but he sat close enough so that our legs touched.
I relaxed into the seat. He wasn’t mad. Well, that probably wasn’t true—he was still mad, but he wasn’t mad enough to give me the cold shoulder. I’d take it.
Mitchell touched my arm and whispered, “I called Anderson. He’s headed to your house to check out the scene.”
I squeezed his fingers. “Thanks,” I said, although I had my doubts that Deputy Anderson could find the footprints in the trees even if there was a neon sign pointing them out.
“Don’t thank me yet. I still want to know why you didn’t call me right away.” His face darkened.
Uh-oh. I was in trouble.
“Angie, dear.” My mother placed a wineglass in my hand. “You must taste this. Our chef recommended it as the perfect pairing with the mushroom puffs.”
I wasn’t much for drinking, but I took a big gulp to settle my nerves.
Mitchell arched an eyebrow.
“I’m still surprised you hired a chef,” I said, assuming that was a safe topic of conversation. My mother was known to cook a gourmet meal herself.
Mom sniffed. “You can’t expect me to cook after the morning we had.” She started to hand an identical wineglass to Mitchell.
Mitchell shook his head. “Thank you, Daphne. I’m sure it’s delicious, but I still have to work later tonight. I will taste those mushroom puffs, though.”
Mom set the glass back on the silver tray. “I suppose it’s about that awful murder. I’m still reeling from this morning’s grim discovery. I had to take a sleeping pill as soon as I returned home to block the image. A hot bath helped too.”
/>
Dad flopped on his giant leather recliner. It was the one piece of furniture in the room that Mom had allowed Dad to pick. He had one just like it in their house back in Dallas. Dad was a simple guy when it came to his creature comforts. He knew what he liked and stuck with it. “I wasn’t pleased when Daphne told me what she and AngieBear found.”
“Understood, sir,” Mitchell said, looking a tad nervous. He could face down a killer, but he became anxious when talking to my dad. It was adorable.
Dad balanced a small plate of mushroom puffs on his round tummy. “Do you have any leads into who might have done this?”
I was grateful to Dad for asking the question. It saved me the trouble.
“Not yet.” Mitchell popped a mushroom puff into his mouth, maybe to keep himself from saying any more.
“Dinner is served.” A young man in a white chef’s uniform complete with puffy hat stepped into the living room. He looked like he came out of central casting for Top Chef.
“Wonderful,” my mother said.
She hadn’t been joking about the chef.
The chef preceded us to the kitchen.
“Where did you find a chef like that in Amish Country?” I asked my mom.
“He works for one of the larger hotels in Berlin. I happened to hear he had the night off from the hotel, and here he is.”
“You happened to hear?” I shook my head. My mother had the uncanny ability to get what she wanted. She really missed her calling as a party planner.
The dining table was elegantly set. It was so not Amish. White plates with gold rims, silverware polished to a high sheen, and blooming white hydrangea in round glass vases marched down the center of the table. I wondered where my mother found the spring flowers in October. I didn’t bother to ask. Mom had her ways.
Mitchell didn’t react to the fancy table settings. My heart fluttered that he had the ability to move as the sheriff in a rural Amish county and still be one hundred percent comfortable in a setting like this with my parents. That would come in handy if there was ever a wedding. Not that I was counting on a wedding with the sheriff, but I knew if there was one, my mother would hold it to high Texas society standards even in the middle of Amish Country.
“Is this how you grew up?” Mitchell whispered behind me. He was so close to me that his breath tickled the hairs on the back of my neck.
I shook my head. “This is all for show.” I paused. “For you,” I said out of the side of my mouth. “She must like you if she’s gone to all this trouble. The chef is new.”
He brushed the back of my arm with his fingers. “I want her to like me.”
“I thought we would have a harvest-themed dinner tonight. Chef Roy has put together a lovely menu.” She glanced at Mitchell. “I hope you like squash.”
“Love it,” Mitchell said as he stepped around me into the room.
She beamed.
I arched an eyebrow at Mitchell. Since when had he started to love squash?
Mitchell took the seat across from me as if he ate like this every night.
The chef brought out a squash soup for the first course. It was sort of like liquid pumpkin pie. I had to stop myself from inhaling it. Now I knew the chef to talk to if I ever had my mouth wired shut.
Mom set her spoon on the edge of her bowl like a lady. My mother has never been tempted to inhale food. After a few delicate spoonfuls, she was done. On the other hand, my father was using the yeasty dinner roll to soak up every last drop from his dish.
“Angie,” my mother said. “Is there any news about the book sale?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t heard anything. Austina is sort of preoccupied. I’m not sure it will even go on.” I tried hard to keep the relief out of my voice.
“That can’t happen.” Mom pursed her lips “What about all the work we’ve done?”
I stopped my spoon an inch from my mouth. “What work? We’ve only known about the book sale for a day. I haven’t done anything for it.”
“You may not have, but I have. I spoke with Willow Moon from the Dutchman’s Tea Shop this afternoon, and she’s on board.”
“On board? On board for what?” I asked as the chef brought out small salads of lettuce, apples, and cranberries.
“For the book sale.” My mother forked a single cranberry. “She’s ready to work. We have some great ideas we’d like to share with you.”
Mom and Willow Moon had joined forces? Was there a more frightening combination?
Across from me, I caught Mitchell smiling into his salad. The jerk.
“Refreshments are a must,” Mom went on. “And I thought Willow to be the perfect person for the job since her tea shop is so popular, and just down the street from the Millers’ factory.”
It was true that the Dutchman’s Tea Shop was a popular stop for tourists and locals in Rolling Brook, but it wasn’t because of the tea. The tea was awful. Willow prided herself in making her tea concoctions and pawning them off on unsuspecting guests. Each tea flavor was worse than the last. I still shuddered when I thought of her Witch’s Bite tea from last Halloween. She wouldn’t serve that one again, would she? Some customers claimed it had burned off their taste buds.
Mom sipped her wine. “Between her tea shop and the baked treats from the Millers, I believe we will have plenty to serve.”
My salad wasn’t looking nearly as appetizing as it had two minutes earlier. “Mom, Willow will make some type of awful tea that will send everyone to the hospital.”
Mom waved my concern away with her fork. “Her tea isn’t that bad. The strawberry flavor she made this summer was delightful, if a little too sweet.”
It was like drinking hot strawberry preserves.
I shifted in my chair. “Couldn’t you have asked someone else?”
The chef brought out the next course: chicken with a squash risotto and acorn squash. The squash theme was going all the way. Maybe that’s why Mom picked Willow. Willow was big into themes too.
“Not in Rolling Brook,” my mother said, “and this book sale should be a Rolling Brook event.”
Typically, I would agree with her on this point, but not today.
I sighed in defeat. “At least let me make sure the book sale is still on. I planned to stop by the library tomorrow. I will check to see what the plan is now.” I paused. “Now that Austina is out of commission.”
I felt Mitchell watching me. He knew that wasn’t the only reason I wanted to visit the library. I made a point not to look at him. If I happened to question some of Austina’s coworkers while I was there, what harm was that?
Mitchell’s phone rang.
“Excuse me,” he said. “It’s one of my officers.”
Mitchell was gone for a long time. Long enough for the chef to serve dessert, which was a squash cake. By that time I was squashed out. He returned as Dad polished off his piece of cake.
Mitchell stepped into the dining room, but did not sit. “I’m so sorry, Kent and Daphne, but I’m going to have to leave a little early because of police business.”
Dad started to stand.
Mitchell waved him back into his seat. “No, there’s no need for you to get up. I had a lovely evening. Thank you.”
Dad wiped his mouth with his napkin. “We understand, James. We’re happy you could join as long as you could.”
“What about dessert?” my mother asked.
Mitchell looked at the squash cake. “I’m sorry I will have to miss it.” He didn’t look that sorry to me.
“I’ll walk you out,” I said.
Mom set her folded napkin on the table. “I’ll send a piece of squash cake home with Angie for you.”
When we were outside, Mitchell said, “Squash cake? That squash cake is all yours. Please don’t save it for me.”
I smiled. “But I thought you loved squash.”
/> He adjusted the collar of my blouse. “What I love is to be on your mother’s good side. She’s still not sure about me. If she had her way, you’d be married to Ryan Dickinson by now and living in Dallas with your own personal chef.”
I hooked my arm through his, leaning close for the warmth. I should have grabbed my coat before coming outside. “Mom has accepted my decision by now. Besides, last I heard Ryan was engaged to someone else in Texas. He didn’t waste any time.”
Mitchell turned to look at me. “Is the only reason you stayed with me because Ryan has a new lady friend?” His blue-green eyes sparkled in the glow of the streetlight.
I smirked. “You know that’s not the only reason.”
He grunted and unlocked his SUV with his key fob.
“What’s the callout about? Is it about the murder or the Peeping Tom at my place?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
“Neither. Someone has been joyriding through the county and knocking over mailboxes.”
I grimaced. “That’s terrible, but why does it need your attention? Can’t Anderson and other deputies handle it?”
“They can, but all the mailboxes are Amish. I want to make sure that’s not intentional.”
“You think someone is targeting Amish homes?” I rubbed my arms and wondered whether any of my friends had lost their mailboxes to the bandits. “That’s awful.”
He nodded. “And it’s the last thing I need right now with a murderer on the loose. I don’t want us to be distracted by these jokesters—probably teens—and miss something on the bigger case.” He gave me a quick kiss on the lips. “Don’t think I will forget about the peeper either.”
“I wasn’t worried. Take care, Mitchell.”
“Always.” He kissed my cheek.
I grabbed his hand. “Can I ask you a question?”
He laughed. “Like I can stop you?”
I smiled. “Does it bother you that I call you Mitchell instead of your Christian name?”
Murder, Plainly Read Page 10