Dead Broke
Amish Cozy Mystery
By
Vannetta Chapman
Book 2 in the Agatha’s Amish B&B Series
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dead Broke (Agatha's Amish B&B, #2)
Glossary
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Dedication
Also by Vannetta Chapman
Author’s Note:
Further Reading: Fading Into the Night
Also By Vannetta Chapman
DEAD BROKE
Copyright © 2020 by Vannetta Chapman. This title is also available as an e-book and print book. Visit www.vannettachapman.com.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Requests for information should be addressed to:
VannettaChapman (at) gmail (dot) com
Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by the author, nor does the author vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.
Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Cover design: Seedlingsonline
Interior design: Teresa Lynn, Henscratches.com
First printing 2020
ASIN: B08GF6JGDW
“There is a way that appears to be right,
but in the end it leads to death.”
Proverbs 14:12
“I have learned that to be with those I like is enough.”
Walt Whitman
Glossary
Boppli—baby
Bruder—brother
Dat—father
Danki—thank you
Englischer—non-Amish person
Fraa—wife
Freinden—friends
Grandkinner—grandchildren
Gudemariye—good morning
Gut—good
Kapp—prayer covering
Kind—child
Mamm—mom
Narrisch—crazy
Nein—no
Onkel—uncle
Ordnung—unwritten rules of the community
Schweschder—sister
Wunderbaar—wonderful
Ya—yes
Youngie—young adult or teenager
Chapter One
Agatha Lapp sat at the patio table with her new guests, Henry and Emma. The couple looked to be in their sixties, were celebrating their second anniversary, and hailed from Colorado.
“Not many Amish there, I imagine.”
“Indeed. Monte Vista and Westcliffe are the two largest communities—and they’re small by anyone’s standard.” Henry smiled mischievously. “Not everyone agrees with our liberal ways.”
“Henry is teasing,” Emma clarified.
Emma was round and motherly, and Agatha had taken an immediate liking to her. Henry, on the other hand, was slim with a white beard and hair more gray than brown that curled at his collar. He was the bishop of his community. Emma had confessed that she’d never envisioned herself being a bishop’s wife. They’d both laughed at that.
“We’re not actually liberal, but we do have solar power.” Emma tucked a stray hair into her kapp. She wore the traditional Amish dress and apron, but the dress was a pretty russet color and the apron ivory. “Many Amish communities do these days—even traditional communities.”
“Ya, it’s so.” Agatha glanced back at her house, which sported a good-sized solar panel on the roof. “We’ve always had it here in Hunt—solar energy was approved by our bishop and deacons when the community first was formed a few years ago. But I also had some Plain guests last week from Shipshewana, and they tell me nearly every house there has a solar panel now.”
Henry picked up his glass of iced tea and ran his fingers along the top edge. “You probably know more about the Amish than I do, Agatha.”
“Doubtful.” The wind momentarily picked up, causing her to pull her sweater more tightly around her shoulders and temporarily snatching her attention away from the conversation. She turned back to Henry and Emma, picking up the threads of the conversation. “We do have guests from all over—both Englisch and Amish, but I only know what they want me to know. You’re a bishop. You know secrets.”
“But you’re a kind woman with a listening ear. I would imagine that as a bed and breakfast owner, folks confide in you on a regular basis.”
“I’ll admit that some days I feel like an Amish Dear Abby.”
They all laughed, and Agatha had the passing thought that rarely was an afternoon so perfect. She did enjoy being a B&B owner, though guests weren’t always as affable as Henry and Emma. Some were picky, others were exhausted, and a few simply couldn’t be pleased. Agatha sometimes wondered if that last category had their visit paid for by relatives who needed a week without them. It was an uncharitable thought, but eighteen months running a B&B forced you to see the world through realistic glasses.
Still, this day was like something from a storybook. The river sparkled below them. The temperature had risen to a pleasant seventy-four, though it was cooling now. Agatha was grateful for the sweater she’d brought outside with her. Storm clouds had rolled in and rain was predicted for early evening. It had misted earlier in the day, but hardly enough to make a difference in area water levels. They could always use rain in the Texas Hill Country.
“Oh, here comes Tony.” Agatha stood and waved, then felt ridiculous doing so. Of course he knew she’d be in the garden. She loved spending the last hour of the day watching the birds and deer and assorted wildlife. An old chicken coop had marigold flowers and monkey grass spilling from it. Brick pavers, a birdbath, a bench, and a special bronze plate dedicating the place to her brother decorated the space. She’d recently added a small wrought iron table with four chairs.
Tony arrived, smiling and apologizing for his clothes—his pants had water stains up to the knees though they looked as if they’d dried at least. Agatha thought her neighbor grew more handsome every day—black hair tinged with gray, a trim build, and brown eyes and skin.
After she’d introduced everyone, Agatha asked, “Did you have a good day on the river?”
“Wonderful, actually. We lucked into some largemouth bass. I believe the Hochstetlers enjoyed their time fishing the Guadalupe.”
“The Hochstetlers are also staying here for the week,” Agatha explained. “Tony acts as a fishing guide when anyone needs him.”
Tony laughed. “It’s a tough life, but someone has to do it. Beats my old job, that’s for certain.”
“What did you do before?” Henry seemed genuinely interested. “If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”
“Not at all. I was a detective with the Hunt Police Department for thirty years.”
“Detective and sergeant
,” Agatha added.
Henry and Emma exchanged a look, her eyes widening. He reached for her hand and covered it with his own. Now what was that about?
“Interesting work, I imagine.”
“Yes. While you see the worst of people, you also see occasional acts of kindness and charity that you wouldn’t expect. I enjoyed the work.”
“But you enjoy fishing more?” Emma cocked her head and studied him. “Or do you miss the work?”
“Some days I miss solving cases, chasing bad guys, puzzling through the clues. Most days I enjoy the fishing more.”
“Does this mean we’re having fresh fish for dinner?” Henry asked.
“Nein. We encourage catch and release, which ensures a healthy population for the next fisherman.” When Emma looked at her with a raised eyebrow, Agatha added, “It’s strange the things you learn when you live on a river.”
Suddenly the pleasantness of the afternoon was broken by the sound of a car backfiring. Agatha wondered if the new neighbor next door was working on his late model cars again. Tony glanced up sharply at the sound and looked out toward the road. His eyes met hers, and then he shrugged. As the car noise faded, it was replaced with that of frantically bleating goats.
Agatha turned to Tony. “Are Nathan’s goats still clearing across the river?”
“They were when I paddled past them early this morning.”
“Goats? Clearing? You lost me.” Henry twisted in his chair to stare at the river, then turned back toward them. “Which is another reason I love to travel. I always learn something new.”
“Nathan King is a member of our community who hires out his goats.” Now that Agatha was paying attention to the sound, those goats sounded like they were in quite a panic. “Since they’ll eat nearly anything, it turns out they’re good for clearing areas, especially slopes with poison ivy.”
“The land across from Agatha is owned by a youth camp,” Tony explained. “They’ve been intending to clean up their river frontage for some time, but it’s difficult to do when campers are there running down the slope and jumping into the river. November’s the perfect time.”
“The goats certainly sound upset.” Emma craned her head in the direction of the river. “Sounds almost like babies crying.”
“That they do.” Agatha scowled. Crying babies were not conducive to relaxing afternoons for vacationers. “Do you think something’s wrong?”
“Let’s walk down and check.” Tony stood, then held out an arm for Agatha.
She looped her hand through the crook of his arm, marveling at how natural it felt. She wasn’t exactly sure of her feelings for Tony Vargas. They could probably best be described as complicated. He’d suffered the death of a spouse, the same as she had. But he was also a retired detective—a very Englisch thing to be. That had come in handy when a guest turned up dead on her property a little over a year ago. She ran straight to Tony’s house next door, though she’d barely known him then.
A close friendship had blossomed from those difficult times, and maybe something more.
Amish folk didn’t marry outside their faith, not that Tony had proposed. But if he did, he would have to convert. She couldn’t imagine him being Amish. He drove a large truck, carried the newest cell phone, and was a practicing Catholic.
A romantic relationship would be problematic.
She did know that she was grateful for his friendship. He’d helped her out of more than one difficult situation. He was the reason she wasn’t sitting in a Texas jail at the moment. Never mind that, he was the reason she was still alive. She shook her head.
“Problem?” he asked in a low voice.
“Just remembering all we’ve been through together.”
“Yup.”
Which pretty much summed it up.
The little group made their way down to the river frontage. Henry walked with a cane, though he didn’t seem to depend on it too heavily. Emma had mentioned that he’d had a knee surgery a year or so ago. They walked a few paces ahead, oohing and awing at the beauty of the Guadalupe River that bordered the back of Agatha’s property.
Instead of ceasing their commotion, the goats were bleating more loudly than ever. By squinting her eyes, Agatha could just make them out across the river. They were all bunched up on the side of the hill.
“Something’s definitely wrong.” Tony glanced at Agatha, then added, “I’ll paddle over and check it out.”
“Let’s all go.” When he looked at her in surprise, she nodded toward her guests. “Emma and Henry both said they enjoy time in a kayak.”
Henry nodded and Emma clapped her hands. “I love a good adventure before a soaking rain,” she said. “At least those clouds look like rain.”
“We could use it too after the dry summer we’ve had.” Agatha stared up at the clouds. “We should be back before the first drops hit the ground.”
Tony began turning over kayaks.
Henry helped fetch the paddles and life jackets, and within five minutes they were paddling across to the opposite side of the river.
Agatha’s weather prediction skills were terrible. Big fat drops of rain began to hit the water before they’d even pulled up to the far bank, and the sky had turned noticeably darker. A northerly wind whipped Agatha’s kapp strings back and forth, so she pulled them to the front and tied them together with a loose knot. It felt as if the temperature had dropped a good ten degrees since they were sitting in the garden.
“This way.” Tony led them up a deer trail.
It was only a moderate slope, but with the raindrops increasing and the wind picking up, Agatha felt as if she were struggling to climb a mountain.
The goats continued to bleat—their voices sounding like the impatient cry of a dozen children. Agatha again caught a glimpse of them through the trees, all bunched up. They weren’t grazing. They weren’t doing anything but crowding one another this way and that. What had scared them?
Agatha was directly behind Tony, so she noticed the moment his back stiffened. He stopped and held up a hand like a traffic cop. Behind her Henry and Emma skidded to a stop. It was only when she peeked around Tony that she saw a shoe, then a pants leg.
Her mind began to spin, telling her she couldn’t be looking at what she was plainly looking at.
“Is that a man?” Emma asked.
And then Henry was saying, “Stay with Agatha. Tony and I will check it out.”
Agatha and Emma shared one look, then followed the men. Agatha liked that about her guest. Emma wasn’t one to sit back and wait, and God himself knew that Agatha didn’t tend to either.
But she wasn’t prepared for the scene spread out before her when they drew closer.
Goats bunched up, heads raised high, bleating in a chorus of cries.
Tony rushing forward to kneel beside the body.
Henry looking left, then right, then joining Tony to offer his help.
And Nathan King?
Nathan King was lying on his back, eyes wide open, arms spread wide, staring up at the sky, and not seeing a single thing.
Nathan King was dead.
Chapter Two
Once they’d determined that Nathan was long past any first aid assistance, Tony pointed to a spot twenty feet away. “Stay under those trees. They’ll provide some protection from the rain.”
He used his cell phone to call the police while Henry, Emma, and Agatha huddled together.
Trying to stay dry.
Trying to calm the goats.
Hoping they hadn’t stomped over any and all clues from the crime scene—and it was a crime scene. The hole in Nathan’s chest confirmed that. But she hadn’t heard a gunshot.
Had she?
Agatha nearly slapped her forehead when she remembered the car backfiring. Of course it hadn’t been a car. Why had she thought that? Why had she assumed that? And would Nathan still be alive if she’d acted more quickly?
Agatha blinked her eyes rapidly and ran her fingertips up and down her arms.
She was suddenly cold, much colder than five minutes ago. Her teeth had begun to chatter, and she clamped her mouth shut.
It was shock. That’s what it was.
Nathan King was dead.
She’d said hello to him at their last church meeting. He’d stopped to share a funny story about his goats.
Why would someone kill him?
Who would do such a thing?
The light rain had turned into a downpour by the time the police arrived and took control of the crime scene. Tony said something to the officer in charge, pointed across the river, and then nodded toward Agatha. The officer stared at the ground a moment, hands on his hips, shook his head in disbelief and then nodded once.
It was all Tony needed.
He hurried over to where they stood waiting. “We can go. Officer Barella will send someone to come and take our statement when they’re done here.”
The group turned to stare at the officer in charge. Barella was rather short and stocky with a buzz haircut. He didn’t wear a hat or a raincoat. In fact, he seemed oblivious to the fact that the Texas skies had opened up and unleashed a real gully-washer of a storm.
“Are we to paddle back...in this?” Agatha could barely see her place across the river, the rain was falling so hard.
“Nope. I’ll fetch the kayaks for you tomorrow. Officer Griffin has offered to give us a ride back.”
Agatha thought it more likely that Tami Griffin would escort them into the back seat of her police cruiser, lock the doors, and cart them off to the Hunt Police Department. They had a shared history, Agatha and Officer Griffin, and it wasn’t a good one.
The group picked their way up the hill to the police cruiser and climbed inside. They’d barely started down the road which led to the bridge that crossed the Guadalupe before Griffin started interrogating them.
“Seems like people die around your place quite often, Agatha.”
“That’s not fair, Officer Griffin.” Tony was sitting up front next to her.
Agatha, Emma, and Henry were in the back. Agatha couldn’t help wondering when the back of the cruiser had last been cleaned. Was that a speck of vomit on the seat back? Surely not.
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