Deputy Anderson turned to the sheriff, but Mitchell was in deep conversation with the coroner.
“He won’t go unless I go with him.” I lowered my voice as if I were trying not to alarm the dog. “He’s very skittish.”
The deputy’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he thought. “I guess that would be all right if you come straight back.”
“Okay,” I said, already leaving.
Jonah raised his eyebrows as I strode by with Oliver tucked under my arm.
I was halfway to the merchants’ tent when I heard the sheriff’s voice behind me. “Are you on your way to Rachel Miller?”
My heart leaped into my throat.
The sheriff came up alongside me.
“N-no. I’m just taking Oliver back to my setup in the merchants’ tent. All the commotion makes him nervous.”
His mouth twitched as if he were trying to fight a smile. “I’ll walk with you.”
I gritted my teeth. “Shouldn’t you be here? What if the coroner needs you?”
“I’ll just be in his way.”
I didn’t say anything more. Inside the tent, Mattie’s eyes widened when she saw the sheriff with me. I set Oliver on the ground, and he belly crawled under my table as the sheriff made a beeline for Rachel. I was on his heels.
Rachel smiled. “Good afternoon, Sheriff. Would you care for a fry pie?” She held one up to him.
I winced. That was the wrong question to ask, and Rachel did it so innocently. Clearly, she was unaware of anything going on outside.
“Rachel, there’s—”
Mitchell stepped in front of me and blocked my view of her. Although he wasn’t as tall as Linus the auctioneer, he was over six feet and could block my line of sight. “Did you give one of these to Wanda Hunt?”
“Ya,” Rachel said. Confusion laced her voice. “Did she complain to you about it?”
I sidestepped the sheriff. “Rachel, something has happened.”
“Miss Braddock, I will ask you to go back to your table now,” Mitchell’s voice was ice-cold.
“No.”
His jaw twitched. “Fine, but don’t talk.”
I gave him my best withering glare.
Mitchell turned his attention back to Rachel. “Rachel, Wanda Hunt is dead. Her body was found behind the canning shed here at the auction.”
The sheriff didn’t tell Rachel that I was the person who found her.
Rachel gasped. “What? How? Was she sick?”
He picked up one of the fry pies in his hand as if testing the weight of it. “We don’t know yet, but a blueberry fry pie was found with her. Did you give it to her?”
“Y-ya, I gave it to her. I hoped she would accept it as a gift.”
“A gift for what?” Mitchell asked.
“Rachel, Wanda probably had a heart attack. I’m sure that’s what the coroner will say.” My eyes flicked to the sheriff. “But I don’t think you should say much more.”
Mitchell dropped the pie back on the table.
My Amish friend’s smooth brow wrinkled. “Why not, Angie?” She took a breath. “Wanda and I had had a small disagreement. I hope it didn’t make her so upset that she had a heart attack because of it. She was upset when she left, but I wouldn’t think enough to cause such a trauma.”
I inwardly groaned. There was no way I would be able to stop this runaway train.
“Over what?” Mitchell asked.
Rachel’s eye flitted to me. Did she finally realize she shouldn’t be volunteering all this information to Mitchell? Now retired, my father had done hundreds of high-powered negotiations over the course of his career as an executive. One of his trade secrets he told me was “Don’t offer more information than is asked.” I wished Rachel had learned that lesson. She might learn it the hard way.
“She wanted me to talk to my husband on her behalf. I told her that I couldn’t do that.”
“What did she want you to talk to him about?”
Rachel began to shake. “You don’t think our argument caused her to fall ill, do you?”
I stepped around the table and put my arm around her. “Sheriff, can’t you see she’s upset?”
“Please, answer the question, Rachel,” he said with a softer tone.
Rachel gripped my hand. “Aaron bought property on Sugartree Street and wanted to build a pie factory there. Wanda thought it was a bad idea.”
The sheriff’s face remained neutral. “Did she plan to do anything about it?”
“She said she’d stop it.”
I could almost see the glowing lightbulb shining above Mitchell’s head. Bing! Motive! I felt sick to my stomach. Rachel Miller was the last person on the planet who would hurt anyone. I stared the sheriff straight in the eye. “Does Rachel need a lawyer?”
He frowned. “Why would you ask that?”
“I’m just trying to be proactive, Sheriff. Just like you are being proactive about Wanda’s death when you don’t know it’s anything more than a heart attack or stroke.”
“Please return to your table. I would like to talk to Rachel alone.”
“Fat chance,” I snapped.
Mitchell frowned. “My questions are merely a precaution while I wait to talk to the coroner, but I still need to ask them.”
Rachel gripped the side of her apron. “It is okay, Angie. I will be able to see you across the way there.”
I frowned but did as I was asked. As soon as I walked to my table, Mattie was beside me, “What’s going on? A paramedic passed by the tent.”
“Wanda Hunt is dead, and I think the sheriff thinks Rachel had something to do with it.”
“What? How—”
I didn’t wait to hear what she was going to ask next because I saw Aaron, Rachel’s husband, coming toward the merchants’ tent at a fast, purposeful gait.
Aaron didn’t even glance at Mattie. He went straight to his wife’s side. Mattie and I followed him across the aisle.
Aaron put a hand on Rachel’s arm, but the couple did not embrace. It was not the Amish way to show public displays of affection. “What is going on here?”
Rachel shook her head, unable to speak.
Aaron turned to me. “What has happened? I was told someone died near the merchants’ tent. I’m happy to see you are all safe.” He included his sister in his announcement.
“It’s Wanda Hunt,” I said.
Aaron’s jaw twitched. “What has that Englisch woman done now?”
“She’s dead, Aaron.” I lowered my voice. “The sheriff has been talking to Rachel about it.”
Aaron jerked back as if I slapped him in the face. “What would she know about Wanda?”
“She was holding one of the bakery’s fry pies when she died,” Mitchell said.
Aaron dropped his hand from his wife’s arm. “That means nothing.”
“There is the disagreement that you are having with the township trustees,” the sheriff added.
Aaron glared. “That means nothing.”
Rachel touched her husband’s arm. “Aaron, please, we must control our anger.”
His features softened as he gazed down at his wife. “You are right.” He swallowed. “But I don’t care what you might say. My wife knows nothing.” He glared at the sheriff.
I guess this wasn’t the right time to tell him that if Wanda was murdered—and I prayed it was a heart attack—he was a likely suspect too. Perhaps even more likely than Rachel. Aaron did most of the baking in the bakery, and he had the most to lose if the township ordinances were enforced.
“Can you tell me about your relationship with Ms. Hunt?” the sheriff asked.
Aaron scowled. “I know her as well as I do all of the township trustees. They leave me alone for the most part, until recently.”
“Until you wanted to build this new factory.”
Aaron bristled. “I bought that land and I have the right to build on it.”
Mitchell’s expression was neutral. “Wanda disagreed.”
“She wasn’t the only one. None o
f the trustees were happy.”
The sheriff frowned. “I need to get back to the scene. I would appreciate it if you all would stay here until I return.”
I opened my mouth to protest.
“Even you, Angie.”
My mouth snapped shut.
He removed his department’s ball cap and bent the bill. “Like you, I hope that the coroner tells me that Wanda died from a heart attack. As horrible as that is, it is better than the alternative. I need you to stay here until the coroner makes at least a preliminary determination.”
He didn’t say it, but I knew the alternative was murder. I chewed on the inside of my lip.
Chapter Six
After Mitchell left the tent, Rachel, Mattie, and Aaron spoke to one another in hushed whispers. I returned to my table to give the family some time together and looped Oliver’s leash around the table leg so that he would stay put. Then I waited another five minutes before I slipped out of the tent and wandered back toward the canning shed. I needed to learn what the sheriff knew.
The coroner had driven his station wagon right up to the side of the shed. I supposed it was easier that way for him to access his equipment and, gulp, load the body when it was time to go. Happily, the large car also provided cover between me and the sheriff. This was a very good thing. If Mitchell caught me, he would be livid.
The coroner flexed his knees and they cracked. “Can’t give you an official verdict, but I wager she suffocated from an allergic reaction. She has hives on the inside of her mouth and on the palms of her hands. We’ll know for certain soon enough.”
“The cause?” Mitchell asked.
The coroner stuck out his lower lip as he thought. “Bee sting, maybe.”
“It’s October. Where would the bee come from?”
“There may still be a bee or two around, but, yes, it’s less likely than it would be in the summer. My money is on a food allergy.”
“Would it cause a reaction this severe?”
The coroner nodded. “Oh, yes, food allergies kill people every day. I have a cousin who blows up like a balloon every time he eats shellfish.”
The sheriff rocked back on his heels. “Why does he keep eating shellfish if he has such a terrible reaction?”
“Because he likes it,” the coroner said with a shrug. “He doesn’t do it often, only on his birthday. He always has lobster on his birthday as a special treat. He jabs an EpiPen in his leg and calls it a day after each time.”
I shuddered. Apparently, Mitchell agreed with me because he said, “Your cousin is an idiot and has a death wish.”
“Don’t I know it. I tell him that I’m not any good to have around if he went into anaphylactic shock. I am a dead man’s doctor, so I would only be able to make sure his toe tag is appropriately cataloged.”
Mitchell grunted. “You think Wanda died from a shellfish allergy, then?”
“Naw, if we lived on the coast or even closer to Lake Erie maybe, but the closest seafood restaurant is Arthur Treacher’s in Canton. My money is on peanuts. It’s common and deadly. I should know soon. I will take a simple test back in my lab, but you might know even more quickly. Ask her family. Someone who would have an allergy this extreme would know about it. I wager she’s been avoiding peanuts since she was a child.”
Wearing gloves, the sheriff gingerly looked through Wanda’s large floral purse. “Where’s her EpiPen then, if she knew she had such a severe allergy, wouldn’t she have one?”
“I would think so,” the coroner said.
Mitchell frowned. “And do you think her allergic reaction was the result of foul play?”
My legs started to ache from the squatting beside the station wagon, but I didn’t want to move now. We were just getting to the good part.
“That’s the harder part to determine. Peanuts and peanut oil are in a lot of foods that people eat every day. It doesn’t have to be Skippy peanut butter to have peanuts in it. For some people it only takes a few drops of peanut oil for them to have a reaction like this. She was holding the fry pie from the bakery. I bet that’s your culprit.”
“But it was blueberry.”
“The Millers’ bakery makes peanut butter cookies and pies too. This could be a case of accidental cross contamination.”
What a terrible way to die. I hadn’t particularly cared for Wanda, but no one deserved that. After the horror of the situation fell away, I felt my hopes rise. Then it wasn’t murder, just a horrible accident.
“If it was an accident, then maybe the Millers won’t be held accountable for her death, but that will be up to the D.A. You head back to the morgue to first prove the allergy originated from the fry pie.”
I chewed on the inside of my lip as I remembered the nut-free sign on Rachel’s table, which she had made a point of showing Wanda. Wanda must have been allergic to nuts. Why would she have asked Rachel if there were any in the fry pie otherwise? In that case, it would look like murder.
I heard a crack like a knee or an elbow. “Ooph!” the coroner said. “I’m getting too old for this line of work, Mitchell.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Art. You’re a spring chicken.”
The coroner snorted. “One in a rotisserie oven. I should know about the allergy this afternoon, but I will have a full report for you by Friday.”
Today was Wednesday. There wouldn’t be an official verdict on Wanda’s death for two days. I suspected Mitchell would treat this like a murder until he heard otherwise from the coroner, and after overhearing this conversation, I knew his suspicions were squarely on the Millers.
As if he read my mind, the sheriff said, “I need to talk to the Millers again.”
I ducked and shuffled backward away from the station wagon and scurried back to the tent.
I just made it back when I saw Mitchell walking across the grounds from the canning shed.
Mattie, who was helping Rachel and Aaron pack up their booth, examined my face. “Angie, what is wrong? You are out of breath.”
I just shook my head as the sheriff appeared at the tent’s opening.
“Stop,” Mitchell said as he strode into the tent.
Mattie dropped the plate of cookies that she held. Several maple sugar cookies bounced onto the ground.
“Please leave all of your treats here.”
“B-but why?” Rachel asked.
“We need them for evidence,” the sheriff said.
“Wanda didn’t die anywhere close to Rachel’s table,” I argued.
“This is not a mere suggestion. We are taking all of this into evidence,” the sheriff said as a deputy stepped inside the tent.
Rachel’s face crumbled. “Ya, of course, we will do whatever you ask of us. We are so sorry about Wanda. Her poor family . . .” Her voice broke.
The sheriff’s expression softened. “I only want the crime lab to test your baked goods.” He waved his deputy over. “Deputy Mack will assist you in packing your personal belongings.”
Deputy Mack was built like the truck for which I suspected he was named.
“That is not necessary,” Aaron said. “But we will still leave everything except our money box here for you to examine.”
Mitchell sighed. “Very well.” He paused. “Please open the box so that we can see it before we go.”
“Don’t you need a warrant for that?” I asked.
The sheriff clenched his jaw. “Not if the Millers agree to cooperate.”
Rachel’s brow knit together. “Open the box, Aaron, so that we can leave. I want to go home and see the children.”
Aaron lifted the lid. The only items inside were small bills and change.
Mitchell’s jaw twitched. “I need you to bring Rachel to the sheriff’s office tomorrow morning to record her statement about her last encounter with Wanda.”
The Amish man braced his fist on the tabletop. “I can’t bring Rachel there. It is not the place for any Amish woman to be.”
Mitchell sighed. “Fine. Then I will send one of my depu
ties to your home first thing tomorrow to record it.”
“We will be in the bakery at that time in the morning. I am sorry. Your request is most inconvenient.”
Mitchell’s jaw twitched again. “Then I will send him to the bakery. A woman is dead, Mr. Miller, and I intend to find out why.”
Aaron opened and closed his mouth like a fish but said nothing more.
“You are free to go.” Mitchell stepped to the side.
The Millers shuffled together to the exit. “Do you need me to do anything?” I asked, keeping pace with them.
Aaron frowned as he stepped into the autumn sunlight. “We do not need your help, Angie, but danki for being here for my wife and sister.”
Rachel grabbed my hand and squeezed it for a second. She gave me a pleading look. “I will see you tomorrow.”
Questions popped into my head, but I felt Aaron watching us. I simply nodded. “Tomorrow.” I watched them huddle together as they passed the crowd of onlookers who appeared outside of the merchants’ tent as news of Wanda’s death spread.
Mitchell came up and stood beside me just outside of the tent. “You will need to go to the station tomorrow to sign your statement too.”
My shoulders drooped. “All right.”
“Look on the bright side. You don’t have to be fingerprinted. We got you last time.” He strolled off in the direction of the canning shed.
The last time, the murder suspect was me.
Sheriff Mitchell had left Deputy Mack to search through Rachel’s table of goods. I turned back to the merchants’ tent, until a hand reached around the side of the shed Gideon used as an office, and grabbed my hand, yanking me backward.
Chapter Seven
Tabitha Nissley, Gideon’s wife, released my arm, and I recovered from cardiac arrest. Tabitha was round like her husband with a cute ski-jump nose and wide eyes, which gave people who didn’t know her the impression she lived in a constant state of surprise. Having gone through the rigorous process of auction vendor approval, I doubted anything that happened on the auction yard surprised her. Well, that is until Wanda’s body was discovered.
Tabitha placed a hand to her face. “Did I scare you?”
Uh, yeah. Instead I said, “I’m okay.”
Murder, Simply Stitched: An Amish Quilt Shop Mystery Page 4