“Must be the extra lunch.” Jesse lay back down and repositioned his hat over his eyes. “I suppose Ethan would have been happy to die at work, or maybe in the classic Ford he loved so much.”
Hannah squirreled up her nose. “That old truck? I never understood why he cared so much for it.”
“Huh. Must be a man thing. The truck is a work of art.”
“Jesse Miller, you sound like an Englischer.”
Instead of being offended, Jesse grinned at her from beneath the brim of his hat. “Didn’t say I wanted one. I’m happy with my team.”
“Sam and Sadie are just about the most beautiful horses I’ve ever seen.”
Jesse nodded in agreement, but he added, “Still, I wouldn’t mind driving Ethan’s truck.”
Hannah didn’t know what to say to that, so she stared up at the dogwood tree instead. Finally she asked, “How well did you know him?”
“Occasionally we’d leave work at the same time. We talked about his truck. Once he asked me about my horses, asked if I was satisfied getting around without a combustible engine.”
“A what?”
“A car.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him that I wasn’t worried about the price of gas, only the cost of feed. I also reminded him that since we grow our own feed, the cost isn’t much of a problem.”
Hannah thought about that a minute. She sat up and pulled the drawstring on her lunch bag, which still held the hard-boiled egg, apple, and some of the cheese. “I never talked to him much. Now and then to say good morning. I’d watch his place for him once in a while, but he left instructions written out for me instead of explaining things himself. He didn’t seem like a happy man.”
“How so?”
“Several times he’d be out front, sweeping his walk even though you guys on the grounds crew take care of that. Most of the time he’d be muttering about kids and how disrespectful they are.”
“Maybe that’s what got him killed.”
Jesse stood when she did. She thought he might attempt to hold hands with her as they headed back to the Quilting Bee, but he didn’t. They did walk close enough that their shoulders were touching.
“Nothing got him killed. He died of natural causes. Heart attack, that’s what the paramedics said.”
“Ya, but rumor is that whoever did it, whoever peppered his window with BBs—that person knew about his heart condition.”
“They couldn’t have known.”
“That’s not what I heard. I heard that several things had happened in the last week, things that were making him anxious. The old guy was probably on edge wondering what would happen next. When the BBs came sailing through, his heart finally gave out.”
Hannah stopped on the path that circled the pond. They were in sight of A Simple Blend. She could see the plywood board that had been placed over the window. Her back to the pond, she stared up into Jesse’s eyes.
“Who would do that? Why would they do that?”
“It’s a mystery for sure, but since it was a BB rifle—” Jesse stopped midsentence and waved to someone across the pond. “I have to go. Harvey doesn’t abide anyone taking over thirty minutes for lunch.”
“But—”
“I’ll catch up with you later.” Jesse reached for her hand and squeezed it once, then he began whistling as he hurried around the pond toward Harvey Jones.
Hannah had spoken to the man twice in the two years she’d worked at the Village. He was the supervisor of the grounds crew, and he seemed even more strict than her boss.
She walked slowly back to the quilt shop.
It was natural for everyone to talk after what had happened, but she thought they had it all wrong. They had to have it wrong. Ethan had died of natural causes. His old heart had given out, and he’d died. As she walked into the shop, she convinced herself that there was nothing more to it.
Amber didn’t make it back to her office until three in the afternoon. She practically groaned as she sank into her chair. Though she was used to the rigors of running a complex the size of a small community, some days wore her out more than others. Today was one of those days.
There was a small stack of phone messages on her desk. Elizabeth had placed them there in order of importance. Her mail, opened and neatly stacked, sat in the tray on her desk. All she needed was a hot cup of tea. That would be enough to help her push through the last few hours of her day.
Elizabeth appeared at her door, holding a steaming mug. Her usual smile was missing, and her round face with gentle wrinkles was somber, worried even. Amber admired the woman for both her professionalism and her appearance. Her gray hair was cut in a short, contemporary style, falling a little below her ears. Hazel eyes behind half reading glasses seemed to take in everything. She was stout, wise, and grandmotherly.
She was exactly what Amber needed in an office assistant. They’d been together for ten years.
“You are an angel.”
“Hardly, but I figured you could use this after the day you’ve had.”
“First Ethan, then a squirrel loose in the east wing of the inn, toilet overflow in the west, and pie emergencies in the restaurant.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow as Amber gestured toward the chair in front of her desk. “What could constitute a pie emergency?”
“Apparently the girl who makes piecrusts was out. The bakery manager consulted the list of unassigned employees and grabbed a boy who was floating between positions today.”
“Sounds like the right thing to do.”
“Except Seth, the boy she chose, had no idea how to make or roll out a piecrust. He’s only sixteen and is still working through his ninety-day trial period. Seth pretended he knew what he was doing in the kitchen because he was worried he might lose his job if he didn’t.”
Elizabeth removed her glasses, cleaned them on the hem of her blouse, and then allowed them to hang from the designer chain around her neck. “So how did the piecrust fare?”
“Worse than the ones I tried to make when I was—”
“Turning forty. You were turning forty and decided it was time you learned to bake.”
They shared a smile. That and the memory of her baking fiasco did more to ease her stress headache than two aspirins could have done.
“So how did you handle it?”
“I moved Seth to clearing tables and brought in one of the girls from the dining room to work on piecrusts.”
“You’d think Georgia would have thought of that.”
“Georgia follows the procedures book by the letter. And the procedure when short an employee is to . . .” She waved her hand.
“Pull someone from the Unassigned List.”
“Exactly.”
After taking another sip of tea and setting the mug down on a coaster, Amber didn’t hesitate to change gears and talk with Elizabeth about Ethan. She trusted her assistant with everything and anything.
“Gordon called and told me he was attempting to notify Ethan’s family, but he hasn’t been able to reach anyone.”
Elizabeth nodded. “He called here too. Wanted to know what was in his file as far as next of kin.”
“And?”
“A sister somewhere in the area, and a wife here.”
“Any children?”
“I suppose it’s possible, but he never spoke of any. Given his age, they would be grown with kids of their own.”
Amber picked up the tea and inhaled the scent of cinnamon. “If he had children or grandchildren, you’d think he would be showing pictures of them to folks.”
“From what I can gather, Ethan didn’t socialize much with other employees.”
Amber sipped her tea and stared past Elizabeth to the wall of her office facing her desk. She’d painted it a nice warm brown, and she had one thing displayed there—an Amish quilt given to her last Christmas by several of the women who worked at the Village. They’d worked on it together. They called it a Friendship Star quilt. The yellow sta
rs were set against a blue background and bordered with brown, red, and green.
Usually when she looked at the quilt, her mind would relax. Today it wasn’t helping. There was something she was trying to remember. It had happened a few days ago, and it was relevant to the discussion about Ethan. Whatever it was hovered at the very corner of her consciousness. Each time she almost grasped what it was, it would disappear.
“Anything else I can do?” Elizabeth stood and repositioned her reading glasses on the edge of her nose. When she peeped over the top of them, she looked exactly like Amber’s fourth-grade teacher.
“No. I plan to work through this paperwork and then leave by—” Amber felt like slapping her forehead. She’d been so focused on trying to remember the lost thing that she had forgotten what she still needed to do.
“Think of something?”
Amber set down her tea and turned to her computer. “I forgot all about finding someone to take Ethan’s place. We need to open the coffee shop back up tomorrow. It’s one of the reasons visitors stay here . . . they can still buy their espresso while they’re experiencing the simple life.”
“Anyone on the Unassigned List who can do it?”
“I doubt it. At least not right away.” Amber continued to scan through her personnel files. She was remembering something she’d seen on a time sheet. “They could be trained, but—”
“But not in time for tomorrow’s caffeine needs.” Elizabeth sat back down. “I could call the temp agency in town. See if they have anyone. Though the last time we called it didn’t work out so well. We asked for a girl who could care for the indoor plants, and they sent us someone allergic to all forms of vegetation.”
“Wait . . . I’ve got it!” Amber clicked off her computer and hopped up from her desk chair. “We’ll use the person who has been filling in for Ethan when he needed to step away from the shop for a moment. I knew I’d seen it on her time sheet.”
Grabbing her tablet and keys, she rushed out of the office, calling behind her, “Thank you for the tea.”
If she hurried, she might reach the quilt shop before Hannah left.
Her timing couldn’t have been better. Hannah was walking away from the quilt shop, headed toward the parking area. She carried a cloth lunch bag by its drawstring, and she barely glanced around at all. In fact, she looked as if her best friend had died.
Ethan was not her best friend, but he had died, and Amber realized that Hannah probably hadn’t fully digested all that had happened yet. In her experience, it was when you stopped being busy that emotions caught up with you.
“Hannah, would you mind if we talked a minute?”
“Here?” Hannah stopped walking, pushed up on her glasses, and glanced around.
“How about the bench over there by the bakery?”
“Ya. Okay.” Hannah looked uncomfortable.
Amber wanted to put her at ease. Perhaps if they talked about something completely unrelated to Ethan’s death . . .
“Are those new glasses? I don’t remember seeing them on you before.”
Hannah smiled shyly as she sat down and once again pushed up on the brown, blue-flecked frames. “They are. I bought them last week.”
“Well, they complement the shape of your face very well.”
Now Hannah was beaming, but she didn’t agree or disagree. After glancing around, she said, “I think my new glasses are not what you wanted to talk about.”
“True.” Amber sighed. “Honestly, I need your help.”
“My help?”
“Yes. Someone needs to open A Simple Blend tomorrow, and since you’ve worked there before—”
“I’ve barely worked there at all! Only to fill in when Ethan had a doctor’s appointment, which wasn’t very often.”
“Still, you know more about the shop than anyone else does, and you’re good with customers. Carol’s said that about you often.”
“She has?”
“Yes. I know she will hate to lose you, but even if it’s only temporary it would help me a lot.”
“Oh.”
“And your hours can remain the same. It’s no problem if we adjust the hours the coffee shop is open. I know people will understand.”
“They will?”
“Certainly.” Amber reached across and covered Hannah’s hands with her own. “I would be indebted to you for this, Hannah. If you would agree to give it a try, I would be very appreciative.”
“Ya. All right.” She didn’t look certain at all, but maybe she’d feel more confident after she’d had a few hours to think about it.
“And I’ll come by to check on you, see if you need anything. Or maybe we can just chat.” Even as Amber said that last part, she realized how ridiculous it must sound. There was at least twenty years’ difference between their ages. What would they chat about? But circumstances had bound them together, and the storms of life could make for strange friendships.
They said their good-byes, and Hannah continued on her way home. As Amber watched, she walked all the way to the shed, probably to retrieve a bicycle. Amber breathed a sigh of relief. Clouds were rapidly building, and it looked as if it would storm soon, but at least one thing had gone right on this day. She’d found a replacement for Ethan Gray.
Four
Tate adjusted his ball cap as he scanned the threatening sky.
The storm was building in the north, and it promised to be a real soaker.
He was accustomed to Indiana weather; after all, he had been born and raised in Middlebury. But the storm he was watching had moved in especially quick. The weather forecast had shown a mere 20 percent chance of rain. Much had improved in the area of weather prediction, but nature was still able to throw an occasional curveball.
The horses were in their stalls. He’d brought the few cattle he still had into the barn. Probably it wasn’t worth his time for him to continue to keep cattle on the place, but a farm didn’t seem like a farm without a cow or two.
He latched the barn door shut as the wind gained strength. Rain would be next, and he supposed his fields and crops could use it.
What was he forgetting?
His truck was under the carport in case the storm packed hail.
A bray broke through the sound of the wind, followed by another—this one lower pitched.
The donkeys.
He’d forgotten the donkeys.
The same ones that had caused him to spend his morning on fence repair.
They were at the far side of the field, the south side. He backtracked to the barn, hurried inside, and found the two halters he’d purchased along with the donkeys. As he trudged toward them, he could see they were standing in the very northwest corner of his pasture. On the west side of that fence was the Village, an undeveloped portion of the complex. On the north side the fence separated his property from the Pumpkinvine Trail.
What mess had those two created now?
The storm continued to approach from the north. As he studied the sky, he could see that darkness would fall early. Best to get the donkeys in before they became frightened and broke something else he would have to repair.
He’d bought standard-sized donkeys—two females that were nearly fifty inches measuring from the shoulder. Both had reddish-brown hair and long ears. The one with a white streak between her ears seemed to cause the most trouble. No doubt his granddaughter would insist on naming them. Camille had turned six over the Christmas holidays, and she had strong opinions about most things.
Tate smiled at the thought of his granddaughter. She loved to visit on holidays, and having the chatterbox around lightened his mood.
Unlike the donkeys, which seemed to have a knack for souring his disposition.
As he neared them, he saw that they were tossing their heads. He had no trouble hearing their braying even over the wind. Were they frightened by the storm?
“Whoa, girl.” He slipped the halter over the first and then turned to the second—the one with the white marking. She moved o
ut of his reach. “Whoa. Easy now.”
She was standing against the fence, head down and eyes studying him with distrust. Tate reached out for her, and she jerked away.
He lowered his voice, aiming for confident but calm. “Easy. Easy now. That’s it.” She settled slightly at his touch. As he was slipping on the halter, he happened to look over her back, past the fence, and see the Pumpkinvine Trail.
What he spied there kicked his pulse up a notch.
He moved to the left so he could read the large, sloppy red letters splayed across the concrete trail. Anger mixed with concern, and concern won. He pulled out his phone and called Amber Wright.
Amber had just sat down to an omelet when her phone rang. The display said the caller was Tate Bowman. The man hadn’t spoken to her in over a year, and then it had been to complain about guests crossing over his pasture fence. They’d only wanted to take a close-up photo of a newborn calf, but you would think they intended to steal him blind by his reaction.
“Hello.”
“Amber, this is Tate.”
She could hear the wind blowing against the cell phone he was using. Why would he be outside when the storm was about to unleash its fury?
“I’m at the southwest corner of my property. There’s something here you’re going to want to see.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“But—” She stared down at her plate. It was the first time she’d cooked at home in a week, and she wasn’t going to enjoy even one bite?
“Now. And bring a camera.” Tate clicked off without any further explanation.
Amber stood, eyed her dinner once more, and paused long enough to scoop up one forkful of her omelet. It tasted delicious—exactly the right amount of salt, pepper, garlic, ham, and cheese stirred into the egg mixture. Sighing, she pushed her phone into her back jeans pocket, moved toward her front door, and grabbed the rain poncho hanging on the coatrack. She could drive to his place, but it would take longer to go around by the road versus cutting across the Village’s back acre and walking straight to the pasture.
She had no trouble finding Tate. The Village shared the one fence line with the man. They’d had a few incidents over the years—nothing that couldn’t be handled with cooperation. Unfortunately Tate had become more vocal about his distaste for the Village since his wife had died. Perhaps Peggy had softened him up somewhat, smoothed off the rough edges. Since he had become a widower—was it four years ago?—his personality and expressions increasingly resembled those of the stubborn donkeys she saw him standing beside.
Murder Simply Brewed Page 4