He arched his brow. “My Christian name?”
“My mother was concerned. She thinks it’s odd I don’t call you James.”
“Ahh.” His aquamarine eyes sparkled.
I search his face. “Does it bother you?”
He wrapped me in a hug and whispered in my ear. “I like it.”
I shivered.
Mitchell released me. “Tell your mother I like you calling me all sorts of names.”
My face heated up and I pushed him away. “Go find those mailbox bandits.”
Laughing, he climbed into his car.
Chapter Sixteen
After leaving Mattie alone in Running Stitch the entire day before, I was at the shop bright and early on Thursday morning. Before Mattie arrived, I had the shop set up for the class with the chairs in the circle, and the fabric packets Mattie made the day before for each pumpkin on each chair.
Oliver and Dodger curled up together snoozing in Oliver’s dog bed by my aenti’s rocking chair.
The fabric’s autumnal colors made me crave a pumpkin spice latte, but there was no Starbucks in Rolling Brook. The closest thing to it was the Dutchman’s Tea Shop, and I didn’t want it that badly. I was afraid of the surprise ingredients my cotrustee would throw in, like a ghost chili pepper.
Mattie stepped into the shop just as I was about to open. “Angie, I’m impressed.” She placed the huge tray of Amish cookies from her family’s bakery on the long table next to the percolating coffeepot. “You have everything ready.”
I smiled. “All I did was move the chairs together and put on the coffee. You’re the one who cut all the pieces. That’s the hard work.”
“I wasn’t going to say that.” She laughed and hung her cloak and bonnet on one of the pegs on the wall.
The shop was open for business, and the class was set to start at eleven. It wouldn’t be long before class members would begin arriving. Our regulars liked to arrive early to share township gossip and the treats the Millers’ bakery provided for the classes.
The bell on the door jangled, and I looked up from counting money in the cash drawer to find Willow Moon standing in the doorway. Willow wasn’t your typical Amish Country resident. She was about sixty and had close-cropped hair that was dyed lavender. She hung a crystal around her neck and wore her signature gauzy blouse that seemed to float midair around her.
Willow clapped her hands in front of her chest, and her blouse fluttered. “Angie, thank goodness you’re here. I’ve been dying to talk to you about the book sale. Your mother and I have been on the phone this morning, already hammering out all the details.”
Mattie shot me a look. She understood how a conversation between those two women could be dangerous.
Willow removed the short crocheted cape from her shoulders and tossed it on one of the pegs.
“Mom mentioned she asked you to help out, Willow. We really appreciate it—”
“It’s no trouble at all.” The crystal hanging from Willow’s neck sparkled as she moved. “I thrive on township events like this, and there is no better cause than the library. What a wonderful way for the trustees to partner with the English and Amish communities in Rolling Brook.”
I had to agree with her. “Yes, but I’m not sure there will be a book sale, because of the murder. I doubt the library will let Austina be involved. They have put her on unpaid leave,” I said.
“Murder? Bah.” Willow waved away this concern. “The library won’t let that stop them. I spoke with the library director this morning, and she was thrilled we still wanted to host the book sale.”
“She was?” I asked.
“Certainly. The library doesn’t want what happened to cloud their services to the county.” She paced around the room, touching all the fabric lining the wall as she went. “It is unfortunate that we no longer have the bookmobile, but the library has a delivery truck they use to move books between the branches. The director said we could use that to transfer the book sale books out to the pie factory.”
Mattie held the edge of her black apron. “It’s still going to be held in the parking lot of my brother’s factory? Does my brother know this?”
“Not yet, but he will,” Willow promised. “I’m headed straight to the bakery after I leave here.”
I closed the cash drawer. “I had planned to go to the library today to talk to them about the book sale, but it sounds like you handled everything.”
“Oh, no,” Willow said. “You should. In fact, we should go together. When do you plan to go to the library?” she asked.
“After my quilting class this morning. It will be finished by one.”
“Oh dear, I have a hair appointment at one I can’t reschedule.” She patted her short pixie cut. “I’m thinking of going a dark purple for autumn. Maybe plum.”
“Really, it’s okay. I can go by myself if you think it’s necessary,” I said. Thank goodness for that hair appointment. “I think plum will bring out your eyes.”
She beamed. “Really?” She fussed with her hair. It didn’t move.
I wondered how much mousse held it in place.
“And yes, I do think it is necessary for you to go. You can snoop about the murder. Do you think Austina murdered that bishop?” Willow asked.
I blinked at her rapid change of subject. “No, of course not,” I said, but even I recognized the doubt in my voice. “Her motive is too ridiculous. Murder over library books? That’s pretty far-fetched, don’t you think?”
“You of all people should know that people in this township have been murdered over less.”
Willow was right. I did know that, but I still couldn’t believe Austina was responsible. Why would she put her career and her very life in jeopardy for library books?
The bell on the door jangled and the first of our students arrived. Lois, one of our regulars, who was wearing her signature green plastic-framed glasses, beamed. “Look at those cookies. You always have the best spread, Angie.”
I laughed. “That’s thanks to the Millers’ bakery across the street.”
“Are you joining our class today, Willow?” asked Shirley, who came in next and who wanted to make a quilt for her daughter’s wedding—even though her daughter was about to celebrate her first anniversary with her husband.
Willow shook her head and sent her blouse flying into her face. “No, I’m afraid I have to return to the tea shop.” She pointed at me. “Angie, I want a full report about your visit to the library. I will be at the Prim and Curl until four.”
“Four? I thought your appointment was at one?” I asked.
She waved her hand. “Beauty takes time, my dear.”
“There’s something else my mom and you have in common,” I muttered.
“Oh, I know, didn’t I tell you? Your mother and I have an appointment at the Prim and Curl together. Daphne said that she’s been looking for a new salon since she moved here, so I invited her. We thought it might be a good time for us to plan more of the book sale.”
Heaven help me. With Mom’s and Willow’s powers combined, I was in deep trouble.
“In that case, I will stop by the Prim and Curl before your appointment ends.”
She beamed. “I’ll tell Daphne.”
If she tells my mother that there is a far-off chance I will be there, I had better show up, because Mom will expect it.
After Willow left, Mattie stood in the middle of the circle of quilters. “Ladies.” Her voice quavered.
The rest of the ladies had arrived for the class. Anna usually led the classes, but she was helping Jonah on the farm that morning. I hoped she wasn’t stuck turkey wrangling. Thankfully, Mattie agreed to step in.
Mattie opened her mouth again, but no words came out, and her hands shook.
Mattie was a star at helping customers one-on-one, but my shy assistant didn’t enjoy being the center of atten
tion. In fact, when she volunteered to substitute teach the class for Anna, I had been surprised. I’d been proud too. She had changed a lot since she started working for me the year before. She was more confident and self-assured. Both are qualities valued in the Englisch world, but less so in the Amish, and I often wondered what Aaron, her older brother and Rachel’s husband, thought of his younger sister’s transformation.
I was about to step in and get the class’s attention, when Mattie straightened her shoulders. “Ladies, are you ready to begin?” This time, her voice was strong and commanding. I wondered whether she was channeling a little bit of Anna’s persona for inspiration.
The chattering settled down and the ladies still at the cookie table quickly found their seats. Mattie beamed at them. “Let’s start with the filling.” Mattie held up the pumpkin she’d made the week before as an example.
I beamed too.
As class progressed around me, the students chattered. Midway through, Mattie gave the students a break to replenish their cookies and coffee. The pumpkins came along nicely. I thought this might be our cutest project yet for the class.
I grinned to myself, but that grin was soon wiped off my face when I saw Martha Yoder walk by my main window and peer in. She caught me watching her and pivoted around, heading straight for Authentic Amish Quilts next door. Would there ever be peace between the two of us?
I returned to the refreshment table in time to catch the tail end of what Lois was saying. “I can’t help but wonder if the killer was really trying to get back at Austina. She’s prickly for a librarian. Shouldn’t librarians be friendlier?”
“I’ve never thought of Austina as prickly,” Shirley countered as she filled her plate with cookies. She selected two peanut butter ones. “Though she is no-nonsense.”
Lois adjusted her glasses on her nose. “Maybe that’s why the staff at the library disliked her so much.”
I filled my mug with hot water from the carafe. “They don’t like her?”
“Can’t stand her,” Lois said. “In fact, I’ve heard them grumble about it in public.”
Shirley clicked her tongue. “That’s shameful.”
“What’s the complaint?” I asked.
“Much of what Lois said, I suppose,” Shirley answered. “Austina ruffles feathers.”
I picked up a snickerdoodle—my favorite—and munched on it thoughtfully. Maybe the ladies were right. What if the killer was some irate employee, such as crazy Bunny, who offed the bishop to frame the librarian. But then again, that seemed like a long way to go. As far as I knew, Austina was alone in the bookmobile almost every day since she’d fired Bunny, so she spent very little time with the rest of the library staff. In any case, it was a lead worth checking out, and I was happy to have this extra nugget of information before I visited the library that afternoon.
Break was over and the ladies returned to their seats.
Two ladies to my right were sewing the tops of their pumpkins. I took a seat on the edge of the circle and worked on piecing a quilt that my quilting circle would quilt later that month for a client. Christmas orders for quilts were coming in fast and furious. Of all the business ventures I had undertaken to promote the store, the custom-made Amish quilts were the most profitable.
“If you ask me, another Amish person bonked the bishop over the head.”
“Why?” Shirley asked around a bite of peanut butter cookie.
Lois lowered her voice. “It had to be an Amish killer. My guess is one from his very own district. No one else cared enough to kill him.”
I leaned closer to hear whether they had any suspicions as to who the actual Amish killer could be, when my needle dug under my fingernail. I yelped, sticking my finger into my mouth.
“Angie? Are you all right?” Mattie asked.
The entire class stared at me, and I felt my complexion flush. “Sorry. I guess I was distracted while I was doing the last touches on this quilt piece.” I held it up to show the shades of purple.
“It’s lovely,” one of the class members said.
“Take care not to get blood on it,” another advised.
“Right.” I stood up hastily and headed to the small bathroom in the back of the shop.
In the tiny restroom, I let the cold water from the tap run over my bleeding finger.
Was Lois right? I couldn’t get her last statement out of my head. “It had to be an Amish killer. My guess is one from his very own district. No one else cared enough to kill him.”
Chapter Seventeen
After the quilting class ended and the last few members had left with quilted pumpkins and Rachel’s cookies in hand, I told Mattie I was going out for a bit.
My assistant pointed at Dodger, who was now awake and scaling the wall of fabric bolts. “Don’t leave him here with me.”
I plucked the cat from the wall and nuzzled him under my chin. “He’s not so bad.”
Dodger purred.
“Ya, he is.” Mattie pressed her lips into a thin line. “The last time you left him here, he shredded two pincushions.”
“He thought they were cat toys,” I said in my cat’s defense. “They were shaped like little birds.”
Mattie threw up her arms. “Okay, fine, but if he eats anything, it won’t be my fault.”
“I never said it would be.”
I gave Dodger one more snuggle and set him on my aunt’s rocker by the picture window. From there, he had a clear view of all the happenings up and down the street. I hoped he would have more interest in that than in terrorizing Mattie and destroying my shop.
Over his gray shoulder, he gave Mattie a smug smile that only a cat could master.
Mattie scowled in return.
Two more buggies went down the street toward the pie factory.
“There seems to be a lot of traffic headed to your brother’s factory,” I said.
Mattie came to stand next to me in front of the window. “The grand opening is tomorrow. Aaron asked some families in our district if they would like to sell their produce there.”
“Like a little farmers’ market?” I asked. “That’s a great idea.”
Mattie nodded. “He hopes it’ll be successful enough to do once a week.”
“Why haven’t I heard about this before?”
“It wasn’t actually his idea. Willow suggested it after the bookmobile was driven away from the factory.”
“You mean after the bishop was killed.”
She nodded.
A wagon full of pumpkins moved down the street. Jeremiah Leham was in the driver seat.
“It is a good idea,” I said.
“Aaron hopes it will help people forget about what happened there in the bookmobile.”
I plucked my jacket and Oliver’s leash from the peg on the wall. “I’ll check it out when I get back from the library.”
Oliver licked Dodger’s cheek and waddled over to me.
“The devil cat and I will take care of things here,” Mattie grumbled.
I grinned. “I knew I could count on you.”
Oliver and I headed out the door.
From Austina’s description, I had a good idea of where Bunny’s apartment was since it was near the Holmes County Courthouse and the Double Dime Diner, but to be sure, I punched the address into my GPS. The automated woman’s voice chirped at me to go right.
Oliver growled at the device suction-cupped to my windshield. He hated the GPS woman, especially when she was recalculating.
The woman’s voice led me right to my destination. Bunny’s apartment building was in a flat-faced, nondescript structure I had never taken any notice of before. Austina had said it had been a hardware store in another life, but I couldn’t see that. Now it was divided into apartments. I parallel-parked on the street and got out of the car. I looked up at the window, and a curtain
moved.
“Angie!” Jessica waved to me from across the street.
One of my closest friends, Jessica Nicolson owned an antiques shop called Out of Time that was directly across the street. I removed Oliver’s leash from my hobo bag and clipped it on his collar before crossing the street. His made an irritated snuffling sound. He was not a fan of the leash unless we were going on a real walk.
Jessica leaned her broom against her shop window and knelt in front of Oliver. “I’ve missed you, old guy.”
Oliver snuffled again. He didn’t like being called old. Maybe we were both going through a little midlife crisis?
Jessica chuckled as if she understood. “Angie, I haven’t seen you in a while. Is the sheriff keeping you busy?” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“Please,” I muttered.
That only made Jessica laugh.
“Are you here to pick up your mother’s candlesticks? The UPS man just dropped them off. I gave her a call, but she said she had a hair appointment and would come later in the week.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t know about the candlesticks, but I can take them for her if you want. I’ll be seeing her later this afternoon.”
Jessica shook her head, sending her shoulder-length strawberry blond hair waving back and forth. “No, that’s all right. I’d much rather lure her into the shop. I received a gorgeous Edwardian platter that I plan to tempt her with.”
“You’re terrible.”
“You know she loves it.”
It was true. There were few things my mother loved more than interior design. Beauty pageants would be one. And I supposed Dad and me, but I suspect we tied for third.
“And I’ve been having a blast helping her find pieces to furnish the new house. It’s refreshing how she wants to use antiques instead of put together pieces from Ikea.” She gave a mock shiver.
I didn’t say anything. My entire house was outfitted in Ikea. It fit my budget. Most of the money I earned I put back into the shop.
“So if you’re not here for the candlesticks, why are you here? Not that I don’t love a visit from you and Oliver, but you have on your Mission Impossible Angie face. I’m thinking this isn’t a social call.”
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