Murder, Simply Stitched: An Amish Quilt Shop Mystery

by Isabella Alan

  Mitchell pulled Gabe to his feet, told him he was under arrest for breaking and entering, and read him his Miranda rights.

  Then he asked, “Why did you break into Wanda’s office?”

  “I—I didn’t.”

  “Come on Gabe. Your fingerprints are all over that place, and I know you weren’t there for tax help,” I said.

  Gabe’s bottom lip quivered. He was just a big scared kid who was in a whole lot deeper than he could handle. “I don’t have to answer that without a lawyer,” Gabe said.

  “That is your right,” the sheriff conceded.

  “If you tell the sheriff what you were doing there,” I said, “he might give you a break.”

  Mitchell pursed his lips. “I can ask for leniency from the court if it helps the case.”

  Gabe licked his lips. “Linus asked me and Zeph to do it. He said he would pay us.”

  “He asked you to trash Wanda’s office?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Is that all?” Mitchell wanted to know.

  The teenager brushed a blade of grass from his face. “He wanted us to look for any papers about the auction. We were to bring them directly to him.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  He shook his head.

  “Where’s Linus now?” the sheriff asked.

  “I don’t know. He took off. He was supposed to meet us here today to pay us for messing up that lady’s office, but he never showed.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Zeph said he must have taken off.”

  The arguments Zeke King had with both Gideon and Linus came back to me. Had they purposely sold the sick calf to him? Had they done it before? “Does this have anything to do with the injured and sick animals sold at the auction?” I asked.

  Mitchell’s aquamarine eyes slid my way, but he didn’t stop me from asking my questions.

  Gabe’s eyes widened. “I—I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Come on Gabe, you were doing so well,” I said.

  “I don’t want to go to jail.”

  “If you talk,” the sheriff said, “we can try to avoid that.”

  Gabe fidgeted. “Sometimes Linus made us hide that an animal was sick during the auction to make sure the animal would sell for a gut price.”

  “How?” Mitchell asked.

  “We had to make sure the animals were clean. If they had a mark, we had to keep it out of sight. If an animal had trouble walking, we would put another healthy animal on the block, but when it was time to pick up the animals we would give them the ill one.”

  “How often did this happen?” Mitchell’s voice was sharp.

  “Once or twice every other auction. Linus was careful that we didn’t overdo it.”

  “Did the farmer selling the lame or ill animal know?”

  Gabe nodded. “Ya. He would give a percentage of the sale to Linus. He still made money because another auction house wouldn’t accept the animal. This was the only way he was going to sell it.”

  “Did Linus involve you from the beginning?” I asked.

  He licked his lips. “Nee, but I got to wondering about it when my cousin had a cow die from a stomach parasite two months after he brought her home from the auction. He said the vet told him that the cow must have been ill when it was on the auction block.” He swallowed. “And a neighbor brought home a chicken with fleas. They infected his entire flock. Three of his chickens died. I asked Linus about it, and he told Zeph and me. He said he would cut us in if we helped.”

  “What about Reed?” I asked.

  “The stupid Englischer didn’t have a clue about it,” he scoffed.

  I narrowed my eyes. “If the auction house auctioned off sick or injured animals, that’s unethical.”

  Gabe shrugged. “If the farmer is dumb enough to buy the animal, it is his fault.”

  “Taking kickbacks is illegal,” Mitchell said.

  The Amish boy’s brow wrinkled. “What are kickbacks?”

  I folded my arms. “The money that Linus received and shared with you to hide the animals’ flaws.”

  “Zeph and I knew it wasn’t a nice thing to do, but we never thought it was against the law. We would not have done it if we did.”

  “What about Wanda? How did she find out?”

  Gabe licked his lips again. “Sh-she didn’t know.”

  “Don’t start lying now,” I ordered. “She knew, blackmailed Linus to keep his secret, and died because of it.”

  Gabe shook his head like a child trying to chase away a frightening dream. “Linus said he didn’t kill her. He promised us.”

  “Then, where is he?” the sheriff asked. “Why else would he have run?”

  Gabe didn’t have an answer for that.

  The Nissleys drove up their driveway in a buggy. Gideon threw his wife the reins and marched toward us.

  I had no idea what became of Anderson and Zeph. They could have run all the way to Berlin by this point.

  “What’s going on here? How dare you be on my property like this, and on the Lord’s Day.”

  Mitchell quickly explained what was going on. “Did you know about Linus’s side business?”

  “Nee, nee.” The plump Amish man insisted. “I did not know. I would never allow that.”

  Tabitha calmly tied the horse to a sapling and walked toward us in time to hear her husband’s denial.

  I wasn’t buying Gideon’s story. “I heard you in your kitchen with an Amish man, who was complaining about an injured calf he bought here at the auction.”

  “Yes, that happened, but we would not knowingly sell a sick or injured animal.”

  The sheriff gave him a level stare. “I’m going to have to search your property for evidence about this.”

  “You can’t do that without a warrant.”

  “I will get a warrant then.”

  Beads of sweat appeared on Gideon’s forehead. “If Linus has done something wrong, I am sorry to hear that, but I did not know.”

  How many times had that happened and the swindled Amish man hadn’t complained because that was not the Amish way?

  A panting and muddy Deputy Anderson brought an even muddier Zeph around the side of the barn. “I caught him, Sheriff.”

  “Well done, Anderson,” the sheriff said. Under his breath he whispered, “I think Anderson needs to work on his sprints.”

  “That wouldn’t be a bad idea,” I agreed.

  Chapter Forty-three

  The search for Linus Raber was on, but I still had unanswered questions. How was Linus able to hide the animals’ flaws so easily from all those savvy Amish farmers? I doubted he accomplished this on his own. He had the boys, Gabe and Zeph, helping him, yes, but more people had to be involved. The most likely person to help him with the scheme was the owner of the auction yard, Gideon Nissley. Over the following days of the foot race across the auction yard, Mitchell interviewed Gideon several times about Linus’s scheme, but somehow the auction owner convinced the sheriff he knew nothing about it. Well, he may not have convinced him, but he at least gave the sheriff enough reason not to arrest him.

  Considering Sunday’s events, I thought for certain that the auction would be canceled on Wednesday, but I was wrong. It appeared the Amish in Holmes County chose to believe that Gideon was innocent of any wrongdoing, and to trust him to auction off their handicrafts and animals. As long as those things being auctioned were described fairly, the sheriff had no reason to close down the operation.

  I, however, was not invited to take part in the auction. In fact, it was safe to say that my quilts would not be welcome at the Nissleys’ auction ever again. I would have to find other ways to spread the word about my quilts and shop. Martha and her quilts easily slipped into the place on the auction block I vacated. I tried not to let it bother me, but it did . . . a lot.

  Despite that fact, I felt compelled to go to the auction on the next Wednesday, and was grateful to have Rachel accompany me. She didn’t question me when I said that I wanted t
o go.

  We walked across the grounds. “It is strange to be here again,” my dear friend said. “This is the first time I have been back since Wanda died.”

  “Do you think you will have a bakery table here again?” I asked after we passed an Amish mother carrying a baby.

  “I don’t know. Aaron is so upset over the entire episode and rightly so, but we do need all the money we can collect while the factory is under construction. Thank you again for—”

  I held up a hand. “Don’t you thank me again for it. By the way, I am officially a township trustee. I was sworn into office yesterday morning at Running Stitch.”

  Rachel smiled. “I am glad. You will do much gut for the township and the Amish.”

  “I hope so,” I murmured.

  “I know so.”

  As we walked I told her how the quilting circle had helped me cram for the trustee’s meeting, and she chuckled. I enjoyed hearing the sound. It had been a week since I had heard my friend’s laughter.

  I glanced behind me to see Petunia and Oliver following us. “I see Petunia is out and about. I’ll leave it up to Gideon this time to return her to her pen.”

  “That’s wise,” Rachel agreed.

  As if Petunia understood what we said, she took off at full speed across the grounds. I would have let the goat go if my dog hadn’t taken off right after her. “Oliver!” I cried.

  He looked over his shoulder with a grin. His tongue hung out of his mouth like a flag. He thought we were playing tag.

  I groaned. “Rachel, I am going to have to go get him.”

  She smiled. “Go ahead.”

  I took off at a run.

  The goat and dog disappeared into the crowd. I caught my breath beside the shed Linus used for his office. The building was empty now except for the desk. I gripped the side of the shed and panted. Deputy Anderson wasn’t the only one who needed to work on sprints.

  I sighed. This was the last time Oliver came to the auction grounds with me. Usually, he stayed by my side wherever I went, but not here. Petunia the goat was a bad influence.

  I squatted and peered under a bush near the shed. No Oliver.

  “What are you doing?” a voice behind me asked.

  I toppled over from my squat and rolled onto my back like a marooned turtle.

  Jonah’s ten-year-old daughter, Emma, cocked her head. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said as I struggled to right myself.

  “What were you doing in the bushes?”

  I knocked grass from the palms of my hands. “I’m looking for Oliver.”

  “He’s missing again?” She adjusted her glasses and reminded me so much of her grandmother. “Can’t you keep him under control?”

  I shrugged. “I guess not.”

  She shook her head. “Your dog runs away all the time.”

  “Not usually.”

  “He ran off the last time I saw you at the auction.”

  She had a point.

  “I will help you look for him. Do you want me to get my brothers to help too?”

  I shook my head. “Let’s leave the twins out of this.”

  “We have to hurry. Daed will be mad if I don’t meet him at the buggy to go home like I promised.”

  “Maybe you should go. I will be all right on my own.”

  “Nee. It will be faster if we do it together,” she said, sounding so much like her father.

  “All right.”

  We moved through the auction grounds, which were twice as crowded as they had been just a week before. People were making their way back to their buggies and cars. Emma’s shoulders dropped. “I don’t know if we will find him.”

  My stomach clenched. “We will.” I said this more for myself than for her. We had to find Oliver. I wasn’t leaving without him.

  We reached the back of the property near the woods, the Nissleys’ house, and the canning shed.

  “Do you hear barking?” Emma asked.

  I listened for a moment and heard nothing. Then, I heard it very faint. “Yes, I think I do.”

  “It’s coming from the canning shed.” She broke out into a run.

  I followed right behind her. I caught my breath as I reached the shed. I needed to take Oliver on more walks. Petunia skipped around the canning shed and looked worried. I patted her head. “Don’t worry. We will get him out.”

  I threw the door open and put my hand on my hips. “Oliver, how did you trap yourself in here?”

  I surveyed the room. Oliver must have gotten in through the one small window near the corner. There were several broken jars on the floor of the shed. I suspected Oliver knocked them down in his desperation to escape.

  Emma tugged on my arm. “Angie, I need to go. Daed will be waiting.”

  I smiled at her. “Go ahead. Thank you for your help.”

  “The twins will be jealous I was the one to help you find him.”

  I laughed, but then in the next second, my face fell. The place was a sticky mess. “Maybe I should clean this up before I leave. I will have to tell Tabitha too and pay for anything that was lost.”

  “I will help you.”

  “No, you’ve done enough already. Your father will be angry with me if I keep you much longer.”

  Emma gave a huge sigh and hugged Oliver before running across the field in the direction of the buggies.

  “We need to find something to clean up this mess.”

  Oliver barked.

  “I know you didn’t mean it, but it’s better if we don’t tell the Nissleys until after we clean it up. They aren’t that fond of me at the moment.”

  There was a water pump outside of the shed. I pumped water into the bucket. I would do the best I could to put the place back to normal before I told Tabitha because I knew she would hit the roof. She really loved her canning shed.

  I carried the bucket back into the shed and knelt by a broken jar of orange marmalade. The sticky mess oozed under the shelving. “Yuck, Oliver,” I complained.

  He whimpered as I set my bucket on the floor.

  Clearly, it would take more than water for this mess. I started to open cupboard doors, looking for a cleaning solution. Where was a bottle of Mr. Clean when you needed it? The first cupboard I opened was filled with empty Mason jars. The second was spices. As I opened the third cupboard, a book fell out and onto the floor. I scooped it up, afraid that it landed in the jam. It was Tabitha’s canning cookbook. There was only a dab of jam on the back. I wiped it with my cloth. The cover was in such bad shape I didn’t think a little jam would do it any real harm.

  When I’d knocked the book off the shelf, several loose pieces of paper floated to the floor. I shoved them back into the book. One had slipped under the shelving, and I kneeled on the floor to reach it.

  I pulled out the piece of handwritten paper. Across the top it read FRY PIE DOUGH. A fry pie recipe shouldn’t be in a canning book. My hand shook as my finger slid down the list of ingredients, and there it was: “crushed peanuts.”

  Dread ran through my body as I stared at the recipe. “It’s Tabitha. She made the fry pie that killed Wanda,” I whispered. I jumped to my feet, but I wasn’t fast enough.

  “You’ve made a mess of things, haven’t you?” a woman’s voice said.

  I turned and came face-to-face with the barrel of a shotgun.

  Chapter Forty-four

  I stuck the recipe behind my back and crumbled it as I forced it into the back pocket of my jeans. “Tabitha, what are you doing?” I yelped.

  She raised the gun higher. “Give me your cell phone.”

  “I—I don’t have it with me.”

  “Lying is a sin. You Englischers always have your phones with you.”

  Considering she was the one holding me at gunpoint, I didn’t think she should be the one calling me out for sinning.

  “I really don’t. I forgot it at the shop.”

  She narrowed her eyes and aimed the barrel at Oliver. “Maybe he has it.”

 
; “Wait! I have it.” I reached into my jacket pocket.

  “Toss it into the water bucket.”

  I hesitated.

  She pointed the shotgun at Oliver again.

  I dropped the phone into the bucket. Forlornly, I watched as it sunk to the bottom. No amount of rice was going to save that sucker. I pushed Oliver behind me, shielding him with my body. The little dog wriggled underneath one of the pantry shelves.

  Good idea, Oliver. Stay out of sight. I hoped that Tabitha would forget he was there.

  “So you were the one who helped Linus with his scheme.”

  She laughed. “You think he came up with that idea? It was me from the start.”

  “And Wanda found out.” I shivered. “So you gave Wanda a second fry pie. One with peanuts maybe?”

  She smiled. “Wanda was such a glutton. She had already eaten Rachel’s fry pie by the time I gave her mine. Rachel Miller is not the only woman in this community who can make a fry pie.”

  I shivered. Tabitha had a malicious side I had never noticed in her before. “Did you take her EpiPen away from her, so she couldn’t save herself?”

  Tabitha’s face was blank.

  “Her syringe with medicine,” I explained.

  She adjusted her grip on the shotgun. “That does not matter.”

  I would take that as a yes.

  “When I saw you here today, I knew it was because you thought my husband was behind everything. I knew I had to do something because you would just keep coming back. You could ruin us.”

  “I never suspected you, Tabitha,” I admitted.

  She sneered. “That doesn’t mean that you weren’t suspecting my husband though. You just never thought I’d do anything wrong because I was a meek and mild Amish woman.”

  “I don’t believe that anymore.”

  “Gut. Because you shouldn’t.”

  “It was your idea to sell the injured and sick animals. Why?” My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands.

  She nodded. “Several Amish farmers had approached my husband asking if he could help them in this way. He was shortsighted and said no. He felt it was wrong. He has always been shortsighted. We would still be running a worthless goat farm if it were up to him. It was my idea to turn our land into an auction. I knew how profitable it could be. I knew that we could get even more money selling sick animals and that Linus would agree with me. So I told him to talk to these men and strike a deal. I would keep my husband out of it if Linus gave me some of the profits.” She took a breath. “When Wanda found out about it, she said that she would give us one month to make it up to all the farmers we swindled, which meant giving them back their money. I couldn’t do that. I needed the money. She was such a self-righteous Englischer and wouldn’t listen to reason. She left me no choice.”