Murder Freshly Baked

by Vannetta Chapman

  “The rumor I heard is that she’d always wanted your job, Amber. She thought you would move on after a few years, but you never did. So she came up with the poison idea. Georgia received extra attention from Ryan because of it.” Zoey stepped closer to Preston. “In the beginning, Ryan told her how courageous she was, continuing to work in the face of such danger.”

  “Hogwash!” Pam placed her hands on her hips. “Where I come from, if you want to poison someone you do it, you don’t just talk about it.”

  Amber couldn’t help but smile at Pam’s offended tone. “You’re not saying that you wish—”

  “No. I liked Ryan, even if he was a little immature for his age. Sort of like a high school boy in grown-up clothes.”

  The conversation stalled as Amber thought of Ryan, someone she barely knew, but now gone. Which was another reminder that they should not take a single day for granted. She wanted to draw her friends closer and protect them from any harm. She couldn’t do that, though.

  Only God had that sort of ability.

  Tate nodded at Preston. “Ryan’s parents told me they were relieved you were able to help him. I had a chance to speak with them after the funeral. They said the only way they could bear such a terrible loss was knowing that their last words to each other had been kind, knowing that their relationship had been repaired. They credit you with that.”

  Preston looked at each of them but didn’t speak. So often it seemed to Amber that Preston kept his thoughts to himself, perhaps a residual effect of spending time living on the streets, being disconnected from others. Looking at him now, it was difficult to believe he was the same man. Preston had healed, that much was certain—with the help of Zoey, his friends, their prayers, and one very special dog.

  Zoey snuggled closer in the shelter of his arm. “We also visited with Ryan’s parents. I know they are hurting. In fact, they seemed to be in shock.”

  “Who wouldn’t be?” Pam ran her fingers down her scarf, adjusting the knot she’d tied to keep it from blowing back and forth in the breeze. “There have been too many murders around here, if you ask me. Even Shipshewana only had the three—I know because I read up on it. Three is enough. We need to focus on weddings and children and improving business at the Village. Normal things that normal people do!”

  Amber noticed that Preston colored slightly at the mention of weddings, but he didn’t say anything.

  Then Andrew and Mary joined them, and the discussion moved to their plans for the future, how the new rooms had turned out, and what they would be planting once the spring crops were harvested. Amber tuned out when they started talking crops, though she noticed that Tate was quite interested in the discussion. He’d been leasing his fields for a few years, but he still remained active in the farming community as a whole. It was one of the many things she loved about him. He didn’t retire and sit home doing crossword puzzles—speaking of which, she had one by her chair that she hadn’t managed to finish. As far as she was concerned, three across in the local paper was the only type of mystery she was interested in solving. Word games. Maybe a detective novel. That was it. She was hanging up her sleuth apron.

  As Pam had said, it was time to focus on family.

  Preston and Zoey said their good-byes.

  The four newlyweds made their way back to the center of the festivities.

  And Pam went in search of a recipe for the creamed celery they had served. She’d apparently decided to give cooking a try, or maybe she was going to e-mail the recipe back home.

  Amber and Tate stopped to speak with the parents of the happy couples. Both thanked Amber for keeping their children safe. As if she was their protector, their mom away from home, which was often how she felt. But Amber knew God had kept them safe.

  He’d sent the federal investigators, Gordon, even Preston and Tate at the moment they had needed help.

  He’d allowed her and Pam to figure out enough of the mystery to be on alert the day they needed to be.

  He’d protected them the entire time.

  And although Ryan was gone, Amber trusted that God would have his eye on Ryan’s parents, providing comfort to them in their time of need.

  Tate snagged her hand as they walked toward her car. “I noticed you didn’t mention Georgia’s tracking program, the one you and Pam discovered on the Village computers.”

  “Gives me the creeps every time I think of it.”

  “Because . . .”

  “Because it’s an invasion of privacy, and it shouldn’t be allowed. We’re not animals or cars or things to be tracked. We’re people, and we deserve a certain amount of respect from each other.”

  “There are always a few—like Georgia—who don’t understand that.”

  “The worst part is that we didn’t put the clues together right. Hannah had mentioned that computer incident with Georgia to Pam and me, too, not just Preston. We believed what Georgia told Hannah, that she had been tracking her lost cat. None of us remembered that she hated Buttons. And we didn’t connect her hatred of cats to Leo’s poisoning, either.”

  “She was a good liar. And who knew your Village baker could do so much with computers, tracking devices, guns—even paintball guns?”

  “But Preston had told us earlier in the day that Ryan thought he was being followed. He told us about the texts. We should have figured it out then. If we had, maybe we could have—”

  “Saved Ryan?”

  They’d reached Amber’s red car. Tate stopped and turned her to face him. “Is that what you’re chewing on? Regret? Because you can’t solve every mystery, Amber. No one can. You can’t protect every person you come in contact with.”

  She shook her head, but didn’t trust her voice. It hurt to realize that her abilities were limited. It hurt to let go of the illusion that she could intervene in every instance and keep her friends and family out of harm’s way.

  Once in the car and buckled up, Amber put her hand on Tate’s arm. She wasn’t ready to leave yet. She liked looking out the front of the car at the buggies, which stretched as far as she could see, intermixed with a few cars. Both were a clear indication of how their community pulled together, not just during times of sorrow but also during times of celebration.

  “Today was a good day.”

  “It was.”

  “Reminds me of our wedding.”

  “Hasn’t been that long.”

  “Completely different events.”

  “Do you think so?” He cornered himself in the car and studied her.

  “Yes. We didn’t have cupcakes and there was no congregational singing.”

  “True, but the important thing—the vows and the blessings—they were nearly identical. The rest is window dressing.”

  It was a funny phrase, as if you could dress a window. She understood what Tate was saying, though. As they pulled out of the parking area, she realized that in many ways they were alike—the Englisch and the Amish. Their appearance was different, their window dressing, as Tate would say.

  But their faith? It was based on the same Good Book.

  Their families? Both committed to one another.

  And their friendships—well, there was the proof that where it mattered they were quite similar. And friendship was the one thing Amber knew would see them through—both tragedy and celebration.

  Friendship was a gift God had given them, and she planned to nurture every one she had.

  Epilogue

  The rain fell in a curtain, turning the June afternoon to near darkness. Thunder crashed and lightning slashed the afternoon sky. The temperatures had dropped as the storm rolled in. Preston had been so focused on Zoey, on trying to find the right words, that he hadn’t paid attention. He hadn’t noticed the telltale signs. Now they were both wet and cold.

  They bundled up the picnic, stuffing the tablecloth into their basket, and ran for the car.

  Even as he was running, Preston couldn’t take his eyes off Zoey. He didn’t want to. She was laughing and shivering an
d soaked clear through to the bone. She was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

  He helped her into the Beetle, then ran around the front of the car and opened the driver’s door. Mocha hopped into the backseat before Preston could even move his front seat forward. She sat there, panting, a big sloppy grin on her face.

  Preston set the picnic basket in the back, on the seat next to the dog, and then he climbed into the car, pulling the door shut behind him, blocking out the storm.

  “Great picnic,” Zoey said. She leaned over, planted a kiss on his cheek, and then moved to buckle her seat belt. There was enough daylight remaining for him to make out her smile.

  “How about if we just sit here awhile?” he asked.

  “Here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Here in the storm?”

  “Yeah.”

  So they did just that. He started the car and cranked up the heater, thankful that he’d managed to fix it. The air began to warm even as the storm continued to rage around them. They could barely see the park grounds out the front window. The rain was falling in buckets now. A real Indiana downpour. Against the roof of the Volkswagen, it sounded like a hundred drums, beating in harmony with one another.

  It sounded to Preston like the beat of his heart, amplified and multiplied until it created a music all its own.

  The smell of wet dog permeated the air, and then Mocha did what Preston should have expected. She stood and shook the water from her coat, spraying droplets over the front seat—over both him and Zoey.

  “Not exactly a flawless afternoon,” Preston said.

  “I have loved every minute of it.” Zoey squeezed his hand as she accepted the cotton tablecloth he pulled from the picnic basket. “And this works just fine as a towel.”

  Preston studied her as she blotted her hair. The blonde strands were darker now that they were wet. She proceeded to swipe at her arms and legs. She was wearing blue jeans and a yellow cotton blouse. He thought he could watch her all day, every day, for as long as he lived.

  So he turned and fumbled in the picnic basket until he found the small velvet box.

  “If you’re rummaging around for food, I think we might as well eat at your house. This storm looks as if it’s going to last—”

  “I’m not rummaging for food. I’d like to ask you something, Zoey.” He reached for her hand, turned it over, and placed the box in her palm. Then he reached out to touch her face and nearly laughed at the way her blue eyes widened in astonishment.

  How could she be surprised?

  How could she not know?

  “I spoke with your father last week, on Tuesday.”

  “You did?”

  “I wanted to do this that evening—”

  “The night I called you and canceled.”

  “Because you had to work late.” Preston took the tablecloth from her and wiped at drops of rain that still shimmered on her neck. “Then I planned a special afternoon out on the boat.”

  “On Goose Pond. You couldn’t have known I get seasick if I step one foot off dry ground.” She ran a finger over the top of the black velvet box, but she didn’t open it.

  She did reach up and cup her hand around his jaw.

  Zoey’s fingers on his skin.

  Zoey’s eyes, wide with surprise and understanding.

  Zoey’s love filling his heart.

  Preston didn’t have any doubts, not a single one, that his entire life had led him to this moment.

  “I wanted it to be a flawless date that you’d tell our grandchildren about.” His voice cracked with emotion, at the tears he refused to shed. “But I’m not going to wait any longer for that. What’s important is you and me—together. Not a perfect proposal.”

  Zoey bit her bottom lip, but still she didn’t open the box.

  He opened it for her at the same moment he whispered, “Zoey Quinn, will you marry me?”

  She didn’t answer right away.

  Instead she threw herself into his arms, which was no easy feat in the Beetle.

  She was laughing and kissing him, and then pulling back when Mocha pushed her way in between them.

  “Yes, Preston Johnstone.” Tears slipped down her cheeks as she pulled the ring from the box. “I will.”

  He put it on her finger, and it fit perfectly—of course it did. Her dad had known her ring size. He’d given Preston his blessing and then told him that she had a special preference for white and yellow gold together. The engagement ring held three small diamonds, in a white gold setting, placed atop a yellow gold band. It was modest, but the most he could afford. From the look on her face, he’d chosen well.

  “I wanted everything to be just so. I thought a picnic—nothing could go wrong at a picnic.” He glanced out the window. The rain was creating large puddles here and there. Mocha lay on the backseat, uttering a contented sigh.

  “But those things don’t matter. What matters is that you—” He touched the first diamond.

  “Me—” He touched the second.

  “And Mocha”—he touched the third—“are together.”

  He closed the box and placed it back into the basket, then clasped her hands in his. “You’ve changed my life, Zoey. I . . . I still can’t believe God brought us together, but he has. And I want to honor that. I want to love you and care for you.”

  She swiped at her cheeks, glanced at the dog and then at him. “You’re good now. Aren’t you, Preston?”

  “I am, but that doesn’t mean things will be—”

  “Perfect,” she whispered.

  “Exactly. Things are better, much better, with Mocha. For so long I was afraid to ask you to share my life, afraid that I would be putting you in danger if I had one of my flashbacks.”

  “But you’re better.”

  “I am better, thanks to you and Mocha. More than that, I trust that God will continue healing those places in me that are broken.”

  “You’ve never told me—”

  So he did. He told her about signing up when he was only nineteen, about excelling at everything he was asked to do, and about deploying to Afghanistan. As the heavy rain turned to a light shower, he told her about Wanat, the beauty and harshness of the land. He described the people—men, women, and children he could still see if he closed his eyes. And then he told her about the day of the attack and about how his friends had suffered.

  About Frank Cannopy, who lost his leg, and about his commander, Toby Bogar, who didn’t make it back at all. He described the blood and carnage. He confessed to the guilt he felt because he had come back whole, but not whole. A part of his heart, maybe a part of his mind broken by what they’d endured.

  When he’d finished, when he had no more memories to share, she reached over and wiped the tears from his cheeks.

  “I’m grateful God brought you here, brought you to me, Preston.”

  He turned toward her then, turned away from those nightmares that had haunted him for so long. He leaned toward her, in the little Beetle with a sleeping dog in the back and a storm easing outside their windows. He kissed her, and then she kissed him, and then they pressed their foreheads to one another.

  “I love you, Zoey Quinn, with all my heart.”

  “I love you, Preston.” Her voice cracked a little.

  He reached up and wiped away the tears slipping down her cheeks, then he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and finally her mouth. He allowed himself, for the very first time, to melt into the love of this amazing woman God had placed in his life. He allowed himself to believe in what had seemed impossible.

  Mocha had rolled over on her back so that her four legs were sticking straight up in the air by the time he started the car and drove them back toward the Village.

  They hadn’t discussed any of the details—the when or where. But he knew that whatever they decided, Zoey’s parents would be there, his father would be there, and their friends would be there—Amber and Tate and Pam. Even Hannah and Jesse. They had become a family, with bonds forge
d from terrible times and heartbreaking events.

  “Let’s celebrate with a dinner at the restaurant. Our picnic food is soaked.”

  “You’re spoiling me already.”

  “Better get used to that.”

  A hot meal, some coffee, and a piece of freshly baked pie sounded wonderful to Preston. He hadn’t been able to eat much for days, since he’d picked up the ring at the jeweler in Goshen. His stomach had been on an aerobics gig until the moment she had said yes. Now he couldn’t remember what he had been so nervous about.

  As they pulled into the Village parking lot, the last of the day’s light broke through the western clouds, scattering the darkness and blazing a rainbow across the sky.

  They walked toward the bakery hand in hand—Preston and Zoey with Mocha following at their side, the sound of horses clip-clopping down the road. Somehow Preston knew that even if things weren’t perfect, they were as they should be. And that was really all he’d ever wanted.

  Author’s Note

  Cancer statistics included in this story are accurate as of the date this book was written and were taken from the National Cancer Institute. More information can be found at http://seer.cancer.gov.

  Nine US soldiers were killed and another twenty-seven wounded during the Battle of Wanat (Nuristan Province, Afghanistan), which took place on July 13, 2008. Preston’s participation in this battle is entirely fictional. Soldiers involved in the battle were part of 2nd Battalion, 503rd Airborne Infantry Regiment, 173rd Airborne Brigade Combat Team, Vicenza, Italy.

  Service dogs are currently used to treat PTSD. More information can be found at http://www.vetshelpingheroes.org. Donations can be made to ICAN through http://www.icandog.org.

  Discussion Questions

  1. In chapter 2 Amber remembers the previous trouble they have endured at the Village. She reminds herself of the familiar words spoken by Joseph in Genesis 50:20: “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good.” Discuss a time in your life—or your community’s life—when God brought good things out of an evil situation.