“Who wanted access to the bookmobile? I want the names.” My eyes bore into her. I was shooting for Mitchell’s deadly cop stare.
Austina bent the corners of the tea bag. “There’s only one name.”
“Here you go.” Linda set an enormous bowl of chicken and dumpling soup in front of me. It was so large I thought it might double as a mixing bowl. In front of Linda, she set a full roast beef dinner. Looking at Austina’s plate, I was starting to question my meal choice. “Eat up before it gets cold,” Linda ordered, and went to the next table.
I blew on my soup. It would take some time to cool off. “Name, Austina.” I picked up my soup spoon.
She set the unopened tea bag aside and poked at her green beans with her fork. “Faith Beiler.”
The spoon landed in my bowl with a splat, sending hot soup all over my paper place mat. I grabbed napkins from the dispenser to wipe it up. “The bishop’s daughter?”
Chapter Thirty-four
“Shhh,” Austina hissed, looking around the room, but the only other customers were three old men in the back drinking coffee and arguing over the highlights of Millersburg High School’s football season.
Still, I lowered my voice. “The bishop’s daughter wanted to get into the bookmobile when you weren’t there?”
She nodded. “She had been to the bookmobile before, but it was months ago, before her father started cracking down on all the young women from his district who were reading. I don’t believe he knew his daughter also checked books out from the library. Faith wanted to keep it that way.”
I dipped my spoon into my soup and stirred. “So she asked you to leave the keys where?”
“I set them on top of the bookmobile’s rear right tire.”
“When did she ask you to do this?” I stirred some more.
Her face turned red. “She didn’t ask me in person. At the end of the day after I had already parked the bookmobile behind the factory and had gone home, I found a note asking me to leave the key for her outside the bookmobile, so that she could get in and read.”
“You were willing to leave the keys near the bookmobile because of a note?” It sounded even more ridiculous when I said it aloud.
Austina blushed. “I know it was stupid, and I almost didn’t do it. I thought about it all night. Finally—I guess it was a little after eleven—I decided to take the key over.”
I set my spoon on the side of the bowl. The soup was still very hot. “In the middle of the night?”
She gazed out the window. “I couldn’t sleep because I was so furious with the bishop that I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was trying to prove my point that his church members would defy him if he took away their right to read. I was especially happy it was his daughter who wanted inside the bookmobile.” She pushed away her plate. “I realize now how irresponsible I was.”
“Austina, this is important. Since the bookmobile was unlocked, that explains how the bishop got in there.” I sipped my tea.
She nodded.
“Do you know why he was there? Do you think he followed his daughter there?”
“Maybe, but I don’t know for certain.”
I heard the door of the diner open, but I was too distracted by Austina’s story to give it much attention.
Austina stared over my shoulder with her mouth hanging open.
Oliver barked a sharp greeting from his spot by the breakfast counter, and I turned to see Mitchell and Deputy Anderson walking toward us. Mitchell frowned at me.
Oliver seemed to sense that the sheriff was on the job, because he backpedaled behind the revolving pie case.
Mitchell wouldn’t look at me. “Austina, why don’t you come outside with Deputy Anderson and me?”
I tossed my napkin on the table. “What’s going on?”
Austina’s face was drawn. “It’s okay, Angie.” She pushed herself out of the booth. “I’ve been expecting this.”
Deputy Anderson started to remove his handcuffs from his belt.
The sheriff put a hand on the deputy’s wrist and whispered, “Outside.”
My heart started to beat faster. Mitchell was going to arrest Austina.
She gave me a small smile. “I’ll be all right. Thank you for trying to help me.”
“B-but—” I stammered.
Mitchell met my gaze with his startling blue-green eyes. “Angie, don’t cause a scene.”
I gritted my teeth and watched the two police officers march Austina out of the diner. I waited approximately three seconds before I ran after them.
I rushed out onto the sidewalk. Mitchell and Deputy Anderson took Austina to the corner, where a police cruiser waited. Deputy Anderson slapped handcuffs on her wrists and recited her rights.
I ran over to them. “Wait!”
Deputy Anderson opened the back cruiser door and placed a hand on Austina’s head as she ducked into the car.
“Austina!” I cried.
Mitchell ignored me. “Anderson, take Ms. Shaker to the station.”
The young deputy nodded and walked around the car.
“Austina?” I shouted and tapped on her window.
She wouldn’t look at me. Her head was bent down and focused on her handcuffed hands.
Mitchell gently grabbed my forearm. “Please step back from the vehicle.”
I jerked my arm away. “How can you arrest her?”
“Please, Angie,” Mitchell said in a low voice. “People are watching.”
I looked up the street back at the Double Dime Diner and saw it was true. Linda, the cook, and the three old men stood on the sidewalk watching our exchange. I wasn’t helping Austina this way. I stepped away from the car.
“Thank you,” Mitchell breathed in my ear.
Deputy Anderson started the cruiser and was about to pull away when Austina beat on her window. Mitchell signaled Deputy Anderson to lower the window. “Yes, Ms. Shaker.”
“I need to tell Angie something.” She was breathless.
“I don’t think you should be talking to Ms. Braddock about your situation,” Mitchell said.
Ms. Braddock? That’s what I was to him now?
“It’s not about my situation.” Tears streamed down her face. “It’s about my mother.”
Mitchell nodded, and I stepped up to the side of the car. Mitchell made no move to step away. Our arms brushed each other as I leaned in to hear what Austina had to say.
“Can you tell my mother what has happened? I don’t want her to hear about it from anyone else.” She wiped at the tears on her cheek with her bound hands. “I know it won’t be long before the news reaches those working at the nursing home. I don’t want Mom to be taken off guard.”
“Of course,” I said.
Her tears came faster, and she leaned back in her seat. “Thank you.”
Mitchell tapped the top of the cruiser, telling Deputy Anderson that it was all right to drive. The cruiser silently pulled away from the curb.
I watched until the taillights disappeared around the corner. Then I turned to Mitchell. “What’s going on? Do you have enough evidence to arrest Austina?”
He frowned. “You know I wouldn’t have arrested her otherwise.”
“What is it?” I demanded.
His eyes narrowed. “Angie, this is police business.”
“I know that, but you can’t possibly think that she killed Bartholomew over library books.” I threw my hands in the air. “That’s the most ridiculous motive I’ve ever heard!”
“She mostly likely will be charged with manslaughter. That’s the prosecutor’s decision.”
“Well, if it’s only manslaughter, then I guess it’s okay.” I folded my arms. “What about Bunny Gallagher? What about Gil Kauffman? Are you arresting them too?”
“Angie,” he said, and somehow broke my name into five syllables.
“Please.” He stared at me with those swoon-worthy eyes, but now they didn’t hold their usual charm over me. “I know Austina is your friend, but it doesn’t change the facts. I have to do my job.”
“I know, but—”
“It’s awful to see when an Englischer is arrested,” a gravelly voice behind me said.
I spun around and found Nahum Shetler standing behind us with his hands in the pockets of his black wool coat. His Rip Van Winkle beard had a leaf sticking to it. He didn’t seem to notice.
“I can’t understand why you are surprised.” Nahum pointed at me. “Didn’t I tell you yesterday I saw the librarian leaving the bookmobile late at night just before Bartholomew died? I thought when I mentioned it to your sheriff, you would have already told him. Imagine my surprise when I found out he had never heard a word of it.”
“Is this true?” Mitchell’s eyes were like laser beams. “Is this true?” he repeated his question, this time much more slowly.
“Yes, but—”
He clenched his jaw. “How can there possibly be a but?”
“I tried to tell you.”
“You tried, but you didn’t.” Mitchell’s voice was clipped. “You would have made a point to tell me if you really wanted to. I know you, Angie. You’re the most persistent person I have ever met.”
I didn’t think he meant that as a compliment. At least not right then. My cheeks grew hot. “I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to Austina first.”
He scowled. “To tip her off?”
“No—I wanted to hear her side, and before I even asked her about it, she told me that she was there to leave the key so the bishop’s daughter had access to the bookmobile.”
“You have been busy,” Mitchell said darkly. He took a step toward me and my breath caught. “It is not your job to hear anyone’s side. Go back to the shop and make a quilt.” He spun around and marched to his SUV.
I stood on the sidewalk with Nahum Shetler, of all people, in disbelief.
Nahum tsked. “Lovers’ spat?”
“Be quiet,” I snapped, and I stomped away.
“What, no good-bye?” he called after me.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Good-bye, Nahum.”
The sound of his laughter followed me down the sidewalk.
Chapter Thirty-five
When I returned to the Double Dime Diner to collect Oliver, Linda insisted on packing my soup in a to-go container. “Let’s roll, Ollie.”
He accepted one last piece of bacon from Linda and followed me out of the diner.
We drove to the Heavenly Gardens nursing home, which was on top of a hill overlooking downtown Millersburg, after a quick stop at a grocery store to buy flowers. From the parking lot, I could see the courthouse, the Double Dime Diner, and even Out of Time, Jessica’s antiques shop.
I pressed the buzzer to be let inside. I held Oliver’s leash in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.
I stopped at the receptionist’s desk and asked for Lorna Shaker’s room.
A pleasant woman smiled at me. “Room 104.” She peered over the desk at Oliver. “Is that a therapy dog?”
I looked down at Oliver. “He provides me therapy every day.”
She smiled. “He seems well behaved. I’ll pretend I didn’t see him.”
I thanked her and walked by red-beaked finches twittering in a floor-to-ceiling enclosure. Oliver quivered beside me.
“They’re behind glass, Ollie,” I whispered. “They can’t get you.”
He didn’t stop shaking until we were around the corner in another hallway, and even then he looked over his shoulder every few steps.
The door to room 104 was open. Austina’s mother’s name was on the door.
Lorna Shaker sat up in a plastic-covered recliner. The quilt my quilting circle had made her covered her legs. The television, set to a morning talk show, was turned up to the sound barrier.
I knocked on the doorframe. “Mrs. Shaker?” I had to shout to be heard over the blaring screen.
She turned her head toward me with sharp eyes. “Who are you?”
I opened my mouth to answer.
She picked up her remote and pointed it at the television. “I can’t hear a word you’re saying. Let me turn this off.”
The room was suddenly silent. The only noise was the sound coming from the hallway. A light beeping of medical equipment and two aides chatting about their plans for the weekend. My ears rang.
“Who did you say you were?” she asked.
I stepped into the room and closed the door halfway to lessen the sound of the chatter going on in the hall. “I’m Angie Braddock, ” I said, and set the flowers on a dresser.
“Oh.” She clapped her hands when Oliver peeked out around my legs. “You brought a therapy dog. He’s a beauty. French bulldog, am I right? I always had boxers. I’m a sucker for that pushed-in face. Can you bring him closer?”
I pulled a chair across the room and sat on it near her left hand. I patted my lap and Oliver jumped into it.
“Can I pet him?” Austina’s mother asked.
I nodded.
She fondled Oliver’s ears. “Oh, he feels just like my old Bruno. Bruno was always my favorite. I know you’re not supposed to have favorites, but sometimes you connect with an animal on a spiritual level. You know what I mean?”
I stroked Oliver’s back. I did know.
“How long has he been a therapy dog?” She scratched Oliver under the chin. “I’ve seen most of them in the county in the time I’ve lived here, but never a black-and-white Frenchie.”
I rested my hand on Oliver’s back. “He’s not actually a therapy dog. At least, he’s not certified.”
“Oh?” Lorna asked but continued to pet Oliver. She couldn’t keep her hands off him. “Then what are you doing here?”
“I’m Austina’s friend. She asked me to come.” I scooted my chair a little bit closer so that she wouldn’t have to reach so far to pet Oliver.
She looked at the flowers on the dresser. “Aren’t those pretty?” Lorna placed a gnarled hand to her chest. I suspected her knuckles were bent and swollen from rheumatism. “I think I know the name Angie, but I can’t place where from. If Austina was here, she’d be able to remind me. She has a very good memory.”
“I own the quilt shop. My quilt circle made the quilt on your lap,” I said.
She rested her hands on the quilt top. “Oh, yes, that’s right. It’s lovely, so lovely.” She ran her hands over the fine stitching. “I’ve never seen one so lovely.”
Tears sprang to my eyes. It was the best compliment one of my quilting circle’s quilts had ever received.
“It’s an Ohio Star, isn’t it?” she asked.
I nodded.
She seemed pleased that she remembered the pattern’s name. “I dabbled in quilting when I was younger. It was a lifetime ago now. I wasn’t very good at it. I always envied the quilts the Amish ladies made. I never seemed to have the patience that came to them so naturally.”
I understood that completely. I never seemed to have the patience my Amish friends had either. “This one is Amish made. It’s from my Amish quilt shop in Rolling Brook called Running Stitch.”
“I think I’ve been in the store, but it’s been many, many years. The woman who worked there was always so pleasant. She had a kind face. Sometimes you just know you are talking to a good person from their face. That woman had one of those faces.”
I felt a pang of grief in my chest as she described my aunt perfectly. “That was my aunt Eleanor. She passed away over a year ago and left the shop to me.”
“Seems like yesterday that I was in there.” She touched her chin thoughtfully. “Time begins to run together when you’re my age.”
I chuckled. “When you’re my age too.”
She smiled. “I’m glad Austina asked you to come. My Austina is a good girl. I always knew she would be a librarian. You never see that girl without a book. She used to even sneak and read them at church when she thought I didn’t notice. I did. I just never said anything. I thought God couldn’t say anything bad about reading since the most we know about him comes from the Bible, and that’s a book too.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “There’s another reason she asked me to come. She wants me to tell you something.”
“It is about the bishop dying in her bookmobile. It was highly inconvenient of him to do that, if you ask me. I’d even say it was downright disrespectful of all those lovely books.”
It was inconvenient for Bartholomew too, considering he was the one who was dead.
“I spoke to Austina on the telephone yesterday and told her not to worry so much about it. The police would sort it out.”
I wondered whether I should tell her about Austina’s arrest. Austina wanted me to, so I took a deep breath. “The police arrested Austina.”
A hand flew to her forehead. “Oh my, oh my—are you sure? How could the police believe my little girl did anything wrong? She always was a passionate child, especially about her books, but she would never hurt anyone.”
“I know that,” I said.
She blinked at me through tears. “You do?”
I nodded. “And the sheriff will too.”
Weakly, she squeezed my hand. “Good. Thank you. People need to know. If I were able, I would be out there fighting for my girl.” Tears were in her eyes. “But I cannot. This body won’t let me. I need people like you to do it for me.”
I felt a lump in my throat. “I will do my best.”
“Good. Good. That’s all I ask for.” She patted my knee.
Oliver and I sat a little while until Lorna dozed off, holding a corner of the quilt in her hand. Before we left, I squeezed her hand one more time, more determined than ever to find the real killer so that Austina could be free and see her mother again. The best way I could do that would be to track down Faith Beiler and question her about the bookmobile key.
I drove into Charm, a quaint Holmes County town that reminded me of Rolling Brook. The biggest business there was a German restaurant that sold fondue and soft pretzels the size of Oliver. Oliver stuck his head out the window when I drove past the restaurant and its cuckoo clock with wooden characters dressed in lederhosen striking the hour. Outside the restaurant, a Swartzentruber Amish family sold handmade baskets and cornhusk dolls to tourists who were staring up at the clock.
Murder, Plainly Read Page 21