Murder, Simply Stitched: An Amish Quilt Shop Mystery

by Isabella Alan

  “She had an allergic reaction. She choked on the pie because her throat closed up and she went into anaphylactic shock. Wanda was deathly allergic to peanuts. The coroner requested her medical records from her family doctor and she was hospitalized twice for the reactions before.”

  “If she had been hospitalized before, wouldn’t she know what to do if she had a reaction? Wouldn’t she have medicine with her?”

  He knew what I meant. “You mean an EpiPen? She did have a prescription for one and we found several in her medicine cabinet in her home, but she didn’t have any with her. According to the coroner, her doctor was surprised to hear that. He said Wanda carried her pen everywhere. Her allergy was that extreme.”

  Did Wanda forget and leave her medicine at home? Or did someone take it from her at her moment of need?

  “Were there peanuts in the fry pie?”

  There was still hope if the answer was no.

  He nodded. “There were small traces of crushed peanut baked into the pie. For someone with an allergy like Wanda’s it would be enough.”

  “You took all the fry pies from Rachel’s table at the auction. Did you find any peanuts in any of those? It could just be a part of the Millers’ recipe and an honest accident.”

  “None of the ones that have been tested so far, and the peanuts are not part of the Millers’ recipe. I asked everyone who works in that bakery if peanuts were part of the fry pie dough, and every single person said no. I couldn’t help but notice the NUT FREE sign on Rachel’s table too. . . .”

  No wonder the sheriff treated this case like a homicide. This was bad for the Millers. If the peanuts were only in Wanda’s pie that was intentional. I swallowed a lump in my throat. Like premeditated murder baked up by my best friend or her husband.

  “I see you have come to the same conclusion. The peanuts were only in one pie, a pie given to Wanda, who was allergic to peanuts.” He paused. “Given to Wanda by Rachel.”

  “Are you sure it was Rachel’s fry pie? She wasn’t the only baker there. Maybe Wanda picked up another made by someone who loved peanuts.”

  “That’s not likely. You saw her give Wanda the pie yourself.”

  I couldn’t deny that.

  “What about the Millers’ bakery? Mattie said that a deputy was there yesterday afternoon.”

  “Deputy Anderson went over to the bakery to collect samples. I can’t tell you anything more, Angie. This is an open case.”

  I wasn’t so easily deterred. “The Millers bake with peanuts all the time. It could just be a case of cross contamination.”

  “Angie, the peanuts were baked into the pie. They were baked into one pie that was given to Wanda on a silver platter. The coroner is sure they were put there on purpose. If they were, that was premeditated murder.”

  “I don’t remember the silver platter.”

  He groaned.

  “It could still be an accident,” I said.

  “Even so. It’s still a crime. Manslaughter at best.”

  How can anyone ever say “manslaughter at best”?

  “They have a motive, Angie. A good motive.” He pushed off the doorframe with his shoulder and stood straight.

  “If it is murder, it would be someone who knew about her allergy. It must be someone she knows,” I mused.

  “That doesn’t exclude the Millers.”

  “But . . .”

  The sheriff frowned as if he regretted telling me this bit of news.

  Tux and Oliver rolled in the leaf-covered lawn. Pouncing and chasing each other around the yard.

  Mitchell’s expression softened. “They’ve missed each other. We need to set up a play date with those two.”

  His sudden change of topic left me blinking. “A play date?”

  “Yes.” He nodded as if he hadn’t just taken a right turn in the conversation.

  I smiled as I watched the dogs. “They would love that.”

  “And maybe a real date for us at the same time.” His voice was low.

  I opened my mouth, but as I did, a bright red sports car zoomed up the sheriff’s street and pulled into his driveway. Mitchell swore under his breath. It was the first time I’d heard him say anything worse than “aww shucks” in all the time I’ve known him and that included when he stood over a dead body.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  I turned to see Hillary Mitchell jump out of the sports car. Her high cheeks bones glowed red against her creamy white skin. “Where is Zander?”

  “Hillary,” the sheriff began.

  She placed her hands on her hips. “I know you have a delinquent staying in your home, James. I won’t have my son sleeping in the same house with him.”

  “Hillary. There’s nothing to worry about,” the sheriff tried to keep his voice level.

  “Nothing to worry about?” Her voice caught. “Wanda is dead. Dead. You should know that. You were there at the scene, but did you tell me that? No. I deserved a call. Instead I have to hear it from a friend who was shocked that you didn’t bother to call me.” She took a breath.

  Mitchell seemed to consider his words. He had better hurry up because Hillary looked as if she was ready to go another round.

  Vroom! The sound of a weak engine came up the street. Reed rode up the pavement on a moped. He parked the bike in the middle of the sidewalk. The teenager wore black combat boots, black jeans, and a black T-shirt with a silver skull in the middle of it under a leather jacket. The outfit and attitude would not go a long way to soothe an angry mama bear. Reed had bad timing. Really bad timing.

  Hillary spun around. “I knew it. I knew he was staying here.”

  “Hillary, he needed a place to stay,” Mitchell said finally.

  “And your house was the only choice? I know what trouble he gave Wanda. She opened her home to him, and he treated her terribly. I will not have my son sleeping in the same house with a felon.”

  The sheriff’s jaw twitched. “Reed is not a felon.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “He has a record. Wanda told me herself. That’s why he came here in the first place. Anderson said it was a carjacking.”

  I winced. I wasn’t a cop, but I suspected that telling a citizen about another person’s record was a no-no.

  A tic began in the sheriff’s right cheek. Anderson was in for an earful later. “When did you talk to Anderson?”

  “Just now. I went to the station first to see if you were there. I know you take Zander there when he stays with you. He’s told me.” She stepped forward and jabbed her index finger into her ex-husband’s chest. “You will not turn my son into a cop. I won’t have it.”

  Mitchell stood there and took the finger jabs without flinching. Considering Hillary’s manicure, they had to hurt.

  Zander appeared in the doorway. “Mom, what you shouting about? I can hear you over my Spider-Man movie.” The child was seriously put out by this.

  Hillary forced her way past Mitchell. “Start packing your things. We are going home.”

  “But Mom, it’s Dad’s week.”

  “It was your week at dad’s before he brought a potential convict home.”

  “Hillary,” Mitchell’s voice was level but lethal.

  “Don’t even start with me, James. I can’t believe you would put Zander at such a risk.”

  Zander stood there watching his angry parents.

  “I said pack up your stuff,” Hillary ordered.

  I could be wrong, but I might have detected an eye twitch in the corner of the sheriff’s right eye. Pretty soon his entire face would be twitching and ticking from his ex-wife’s jabs. It was time to make my exit. Quietly and hoping to go unnoticed, I made my way to my car parked on the street. Oliver and Tux were still romping in the front yard.

  “Oliver,” I hissed.

  She pointed at me. “On top of that, you have a date here? How could you do that? How can I trust you to take care of our son? Another broken promise to go with the dozens of others.”

  So much for slipping away unn
oticed.

  “Oh, no,” I waved my hands. “I’m not a date. I’m just here to see Reed.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not stupid.”

  “No one said you were,” Mitchell said.

  She shook her finger at Mitchell. “We promised each other before we brought someone new into our son’s life we would tell each other about it.”

  “I’m not in your son’s life. Really,” I said. “I just stopped by to talk about the Millers.”

  “Angie, you’re not helping,” Mitchell said.

  I bit my lip. “I’ll just go then.” I turned to my dog. “Oliver, let’s go.”

  Oliver looked at me and frowned. I hesitated; he was having so much fun. It did look like the two would love an official play date. However, Hillary’s reaction to my presence at Mitchell’s home was making that seem very unlikely.

  Mitchell frowned. “It probably would be best if you left, Angie.”

  His monotone statement was far worse than Hillary screeching at me.

  Hillary stormed into the house. Mitchell closed the door after her, but not before giving me a look I could not read.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  I strode to my car. “Oliver, it’s time to go home!”

  Oliver and Tux rolled in the grass. Reed sulked on the tree lawn, kicking leaves into the air and onto the sidewalk. The dogs barked while the leaves floated back to the ground. Surely, Mitchell had carefully raked them there for leaf pickup day.

  Mitchell had forgotten Tux was still in the yard. I couldn’t leave him in the yard alone, but I didn’t want to knock on the door or feel Hillary’s wrath either. I peeked around the house. The backyard was fenced. That seems like the best option.

  “Come one, Tux. We’re going to the backyard.”

  The black-and-white tuxedo dog lowered his front legs as if I asked him to play a game of tag.

  “Tux. Backyard.”

  Reed kicked more leaves into the air. That only excited the two dogs more. Maybe I should wait until Hillary and Zander left to decide what to do about Tux. Or knock on the door and remind the sheriff he left his dog outside? I wavered.

  “Who was that lady?” Reed asked.

  “The sheriff’s ex-wife.”

  He curled his lip. “She was a friend of my aunt’s. I saw her at the house a couple of times.”

  “They must have been close friends then.”

  He kicked more leaves. “I guess so. I can see why he divorced her.”

  I came to Hillary’s defense. “She’s worried about her son.”

  “She’s a rattlesnake. What did she think I was going to do with the kid?”

  I shrugged. “Why did you agree to stay with the sheriff?”

  “I didn’t have a choice. It was this or be put with a foster family. My mom is not coming to my rescue.” His face pinched as if holding back tears. “I don’t know if she even knows Aunt Wanda is dead. I tried to call her a couple of times, but she didn’t answer. That wasn’t a huge surprise.” His voice caught, and he kicked more leaves.

  I threw a stick for the dogs to give him a minute to recover. “I met Gabe and Zeph on the auction grounds today. They’re your friends, right?”

  “They are guys to talk to. I wouldn’t say they were BFFs or anything. If you haven’t noticed, they’re Amish. There aren’t that many good options for friends in this town. It’s either them or all the tools at school.”

  “Every last student at the high school is a tool?”

  “They’ve known each other since they were in pre-K. They don’t have any use for me, which is a mutual thing.”

  “Is that why you’ve been skipping school to work at the auction house?”

  “Who said I skipped school?” He shoved his hands into his pockets.

  “Wednesday was a school day and you were at the auction.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I told my aunt I wasn’t going to set foot back in that high school. She said I could homeschool.” He looked down. “Sometimes she could be cool about stuff. Not most of the time, but sometimes.”

  “Wanda was homeschooling you?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief from my voice.

  “No. I enrolled in a special online school. I play on the computer for a couple hours a day doing lame multiple choice assignments, and they give me a diploma at the end of two years. It’s a good deal and I don’t have to go to any pep rallies.”

  No pep rallies was a bonus.

  Obviously, Reed was a smart kid and should be more challenged. Not my call. I wasn’t his guardian. Wanda had enrolled him in the school, and that’s where he would stay until his mother flew in from California to fetch him. Not that I thought the teenager would pay much attention to his schooling.

  “Oh. How was the online school going?” I asked.

  “It’s stupid. Who cares about school anyway? I only pretend to do the work because it was my aunt’s condition for letting me live with her. Without her, I’d be on the street.”

  There’s a ringing endorsement for alternative schooling.

  “Now that she’s gone, I’ll drop out. There’s no reason for me to stay. I guess you do that with an e-mail for a school like that.”

  I pulled my jacket closer around me. It was dark now, and the only significant lights came from the streetlamps. “Reed, you can’t drop out of school. You’re a minor.”

  “Those two Amish kids are the same age as me and can do whatever they want. I think everyone should get to quit school at the eighth grade if they want to. Not everyone is meant to be a doctor.”

  I laughed. “They can’t do whatever they want. They can’t have a telephone or drive a car. Is that what you want? To be Amish?”

  He scowled. “I want to make my own choices.”

  “Believe me, those Amish boys are not making all of their own choices.”

  He snorted. “You don’t know anything. I could tell you stories about their parties.”

  “You’re only fifteen years old.”

  “I’ll be sixteen in a year and then I can drop out of school. It’s legal.”

  “You don’t want to do that.” I didn’t know why I was even bothering to argue with him.

  “Why not? Those teachers can’t tell me anything I don’t already know. When am I ever going to use geometry?”

  “Actually I use geometry all the time when I work on quilts. It helps me get the angles right.”

  “Yeah, because I quilt all the time.” He rolled his eyes. “Those Amish guys are considered adults. They don’t have to go to high school, why should I?”

  “Dropping out of school isn’t the answer.”

  “I don’t know why you even care. I don’t even know you.”

  “I knew your aunt.”

  “You and everyone else in this county. Big deal. I’m ready to go back to California anyway. This middle American stuff cramps my style.”

  “You do look like LA is a better fit for you,” I admitted.

  “Glad you noticed.” His eyes narrowed. “You don’t look like you are from around here either.”

  “I’m from Dallas.”

  “A Texan? How did you end up here?”

  “Long story.”

  “It’s always a long story,” he said like someone way beyond his years.

  “Do you want to go back to LA to see your horse too?”

  His face closed off. “I don’t have a horse anymore.”

  “Gideon said you worked at some stables out there to pay for your horse’s board.”

  He gave another swift kick at the leaf pile, and dozens went flying. “Did you talk to everyone about me?”

  “Pretty much.” I squinted at him in the dim light. “What happened to your horse?”

  He frowned. “My mom sold it after I got arrested. She used the money to buy her boyfriend a car.”

  I winced. “It’s nice of the sheriff to let you stay at his house until everything is sorted out.”

  He stopped kicking leaves and eyed me. “Are yo
u hot for the sheriff or something?”

  Against my will, I felt my cheeks flush.

  “I knew it.” He grunted. “What is it with women and cops? My mom’s boyfriend is LAPD and always ragging on me about something. It was his idea to ship me out to Buggy World. The guy’s a jerk. I hope my mom dropped him by now. She should have. She can never stick with one guy long.”

  “How long does she usually keep a boyfriend?”

  “Three weeks. A month max.”

  “And she bought this guy a car?”

  He shrugged.

  “How long has she been with the cop?” I asked.

  “Three months.”

  That didn’t sound good for Reed. “Have you seen your mom since you moved here?”

  He snorted. “No. I’ve only spoken with her once—not that I really wanted to. My aunt forced me to take the call and tell her happy birthday. Happy Birthday, Mom, thanks for giving me an extra pair of socks when you kicked me out of the house. Oh, and thanks for selling my only friend. I don’t even care if she comes. I can take care of myself. Why can’t I stay at my aunt’s house until I can leave this place for good? Mom and I are her only relatives. We will get it and I can live in it until I save up enough money to go back to LA.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  He folded his arms. “I’m her nephew. That’s blood or whatever. She would want me to have it.”

  “I’m not going to get into the ins and outs of last wills and testaments with you.” I paused. “So life here with your aunt was better than at home?”

  He resumed kicking leaves. “It was all right. Other than being stuck in Ohio. She helped me get that job at the auction house, which I really like. I want to be a horse trainer like my dad. At least I get to be around horses there.”

  “Where’s your dad?”

  He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “I don’t know. I’ve never met him.”

  My heart ached for the teen. Underneath the black clothing and leather jacket, he was just a hurting kid. I knew the best thing to do was not show him that I felt sorry for him. What motive did he have to hurt his aunt? With her gone, he would be shipped back to California to his mom and her boyfriend the cop.

  “Was your aunt allergic to anything?” I asked.