Praise for Vannetta Chapman
Murder Simply Brewed
“Chapman’s latest is a mix of mystery and romance with vivid characters, a realistic setting, and themes of loss, trust, and love. The puzzle pieces are revealed slowly so readers can piece the clues together themselves up until the shocking conclusion.”
—ROMANTIC TIMES, FOUR-STAR REVIEW
“Vannetta Chapman keeps the action suspenseful . . . as her Amish and English characters work together to solve the mystery. Out of even such dreadful circumstances come moments of grace: between Amber and her Amish employee Hannah and between Amber and Tate, who had each given up on love.”
—BOOKPAGE.COM
“Vannetta Chapman has crafted a tightly woven tale in the best tradition of the cozy mystery. . . . Chapman’s light touch and thoughtful representation of the Amish culture make Murder Simply Brewed a delightful read for an evening by a warm fire, a cup of tea in hand.”
—KELLY IRVIN, AUTHOR OF THE BLISS CREEK AMISH SERIES
“Murder Simply Brewed combines all the coziness of an Amish home with the twists and turns of a great suspense. With a little romance thrown in, you can’t go wrong! Vannetta Chapman has crafted a charming story that shows things aren’t always as they first appear.”
—BETH SHRIVER, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE TOUCH OF GRACE TRILOGY
“Vannetta Chapman’s Murder Simply Brewed is a heartwarming whodunit that is sure to satisfy fans of both Amish romance and cozy mystery.”
—AMANDA FLOWER, AUTHOR OF A PLAIN DISAPPEARANCE
“A wonderful story of first love, second love, and a murder that pulls them all together in a page-turning way. Murder Simply Brewed is a must-read for all Amish fans!”
—RUTH REID, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE HEAVEN ON EARTH SERIES
“Vannetta Chapman has poured us a steaming cup of adventure, mystery, and romance in this enthralling ‘can’t put it down’ yarn. An intriguing blend of piquant Amish, robust Englisch, and ‘dark roast’ characters makes for some tasty hours of reading enjoyment. Top it all off with the whipped cream of one of this genre’s most talented writers and you have yourself a book that is a delightful ‘espresso’ for the mind and heart.”
—PATRICK E. CRAIG, AUTHOR OF A QUILT FOR JENNA AND THE APPLE CREEK DREAMS SERIES
Also by Vannetta Chapman
THE AMISH VILLAGE MYSTERY SERIES
Murder Simply Brewed
Murder Tightly Knit
Murder Freshly Baked (available June 2015)
THE SHIPSHEWANA AMISH MYSTERY SERIES
Falling to Pieces
A Perfect Square
Material Witness
Where Healing Blooms, novella included in An Amish Garden
An Unexpected Blessing, novella included in An Amish Cradle (available February 2015)
ZONDERVAN
Murder Tightly Knit
Copyright © 2014 by Vannetta Chapman
ePub Edition © October 2014: ISBN 978-0-310-32811-7
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Chapman, Vannetta.
Murder tightly knit / Vannetta Chapman.
pages ; cm. -- (Amish village mystery ; book 2)
Summary: "When a local Amish man is found dead, the Middlebury Amish Artisan
Village comes under suspicion. Two amateur sleuths
ISBN 978-0-310-32569-7 (softcover)
1. Amish--Fiction. 2. Murder--Investigation--Fiction. I. Title.
PS3603.H3744M875 2014
813'.6--dc23
2014024074
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com
Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by Zondervan, nor does Zondervan vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Art direction: Kristen Vasgaard
Interior design: James A. Phinney
14 15 16 17 18 19 20 / RRD / 23 22 21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For my friend,
Dorsey Sparks
Contents
Author’s Note
Glossary
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
Forty-Seven
Forty-Eight
Forty-Nine
Fifty
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Discussion Questions
About the Author
Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord his God.
—Psalm 146:5
Author’s Note
While this novel is set against the real backdrop of Middlebury, Indiana, the characters are fictional. There is no intended resemblance between the characters in this book and any real members of the Amish and Mennonite communities. As with any work of fiction, I’ve taken license in some areas of research as a means of creating the necessary circumstances for my characters. My research was thorough; however, it would be impossible to be completely accurate in details and descriptions since every community differs. Therefore, any inaccuracies in the Amish and Mennonite lifestyles portrayed in this book are completely due to fictional license.
Glossary
ach—oh
aenti—aunt
boppli—baby
bruder—brother
danki—thank you
dat—father
dawdy haus—grandfather’s home
Englisch, Englischer—non-Amish, a person who is not Amish
fraa—wife
freind, freinden—friend, friends
gem gschehne—you’re welcome
Gotte—God
Gotte’s wille—God’s will
grossdaddi—grandfat
her
gudemariye—good morning
gut—good
in lieb—in love
kaffi—coffee
kapp—prayer covering
kinner—children
Loblied—praise song
mamm—mom
naerfich—nervous
narrisch—crazy
nein—no
onkel—uncle
Ordnung—set of rules for Amish living
rumspringa—running around; time before an Amish young person officially joins the church; provides a bridge between childhood and adulthood
schweschder, schweschdern—sister, sisters
Was iss letz?—What’s wrong?
wunderbaar—wonderful
ya—yes
Prologue
Middlebury, Indiana
October 2
On the day he died, Owen Esch left home thirty minutes before sunrise.
The morning was cool and crisp, bringing with it a hint of autumn. As he crept quietly toward his neighbor’s deer stand, the eastern sky came alive with color. Ribbons of pink, blue, and yellow peeked through the scattered clouds.
He spent over an hour in the stand, which the neighbor had given him permission to use. He spied three does, a six pointer, and what might have been an eight pointer. The larger buck had lowered his head the moment Owen focused the scope of his rifle on him. Possibly the buck had sensed that he was being watched.
Owen had no plans to harvest a deer that morning. Though his sister and her family could use the meat, he didn’t have time to dress a deer before work. No, the purpose of the trip was to watch and see what was in his neighbor’s fields to the south of their property. If he’d learned anything in the last few months, it was the importance of being prepared.
Hoping the buck would raise his head and give him a better view, he’d actually stayed longer than he intended. He’d have to hurry or he would be late for work in downtown Middlebury. The furniture shop didn’t open until nine, but he still needed to change clothes and clean up, plus grab something for breakfast. He didn’t have time to return the way he had come, across his neighbor’s place and around the small schoolhouse that separated his sister’s farm from her neighbor’s. Instead, he took the shortcut by way of the Pumpkinvine Trail.
Pulling out his phone, he checked the time. His sister continually harassed him about getting rid of the small device, but he wasn’t ready to do that yet. Just like he wasn’t ready to join the church. He would eventually, but eventually wasn’t good enough for Naomi.
If she knew his phone had internet capabilities, she’d throw a fit. Fortunately, she wanted nothing to do with it, and he was careful to use it only when he was alone.
Like now. The display told him the time was seven thirty.
Mary would probably be at work. He could speak with her as he walked. Owen had found that a brief conversation with Mary could set his day on the right course. Plus, he needed to talk to her about the night before—about the meeting. And then there was the person he was supposed to meet, here on the trail, in a few minutes. His plan had been to meet him on the way to work, but he’d dawdled. It was close to the time now, and he hadn’t even returned home to change clothes yet.
He found the number for The Cat’s Meow and pushed Talk. The phone began to ring.
He pressed his cell phone to his right ear and carried his rifle with his left hand. A sound behind and to his right caught his attention—a rustling in the brush. It could have been a bird or small animal.
It could have been a person.
Turning, he glanced behind him, but he didn’t stop walking. The trail was empty in both directions, which wasn’t too surprising. Employees at the Village would already be at work. Tourists who biked the trail to see the fall foliage wouldn’t be out yet. Children generally took the other road to school.
The phone continued to ring, and then he heard the sound again—definitely behind him and on his right. This time when he turned around, he stepped out into the middle of the trail and scanned the path behind him, looking back in the direction he had come.
An Amish man emerged from the brush to the left. At least it looked like a man, and he appeared to be Amish. Owen couldn’t be sure because of the distance. He also couldn’t make out who it was, but he could see the item the person was holding. Clutched in his left hand was a crossbow.
Where had he been hunting?
The direction the man had stepped from was the same place Owen had come from—his neighbor’s farm. As he puzzled over this and raised his hand in greeting, he saw the man lift his crossbow and point it in his direction. Was it a teenager fooling around? The man drew closer, and Owen had the fleeting thought that it was someone he knew. Owen was about to call out to him when he heard the familiar sound of an arrow leaving a bow.
He barely had time to think that there wasn’t time to move. Owen understood that an arrow from a crossbow travels between three hundred and four hundred feet per second. That thought flashed through his mind instantly. Before he could react to what he was seeing or to the facts his brain was processing, the arrow smashed into his chest and threw him to the ground.
The pain was instant, searing, and then it was gone.
The next thing Owen was aware of was the canopy of leaves above him. His rifle lay by his side. His phone had fallen from his hand and skidded across the pavement. He thought he could hear the shop’s recording of Mary’s voice, but he couldn’t speak.
He couldn’t call out.
He could only lie there as thoughts and images and sounds swirled through his mind.
Mary in her shop.
The cold wetness of his shirt against his skin.
The buck he’d watched earlier. It was still in the field, still grazing, but now it turned toward him, showing a full rack of eight points. He shouldn’t be able to see it here, from the trail, but he could.
His sister’s face, worried as she watched out the front door.
The melody of the Loblied, rising up and splashing over him—covering him.
Owen knew he was dying.
The bow had pierced his heart.
It no longer hurt, which was a blessing. Owen realized that in a few more minutes he could rest. He felt all energy, all life beginning to drain from his body. He was so tired he could no longer continue staring at the canopy of leaves—reds and browns and golds. He was so tired he allowed his eyes to close, to rest.
His final thought was of his parents. He wondered if they’d be waiting when he awoke.
One
The Village
Middlebury, Indiana
Five hours later
Hannah stood in front of The Cat’s Meow, peering through the window and rattling the doorknob.
No answer.
Brushing her kapp strings behind her shoulders and then pushing her glasses up on her nose, she squinted, trying to see beyond the Closed for Lunch sign.
No luck.
She could see her own reflection—though the glass made her look wider than she was. Her weight had never been a problem, and she knew it was wrong to be proud of that. As she stared into the glass, she did straighten her kapp and pull down her apron. How was it that she became so disheveled at times?
Stepping closer with her nose now nearly on the glass, she couldn’t make out much more than the front yarn displays. She thought she saw a light on at the back of the shop. Was Mary in her office eating lunch? If so, she might ignore the knocking, thinking that Hannah was an impatient customer.
Come to think of it, why wasn’t the shop open? Their boss, Amber, provided relief for lunch breaks. They were all supposed to stay open from eight a.m. until closing time at five p.m., even her kaffi shop, which had recently expanded its hours. They were not supposed to close for lunch—or for any other reason, for that matter. They had procedures for every type of emergency. Most of them involved consulting the list of unassigned employees. Someone was always available to fill in.
S
he peered through the glass again. The Cat’s Meow was a cute shop.
The window display reminded Hannah of when she had worked in the quilt store, The Quilting Bee. Half of the display was supplies—knitting needles, pattern books, and yarn filled three handmade baskets. The other half of the window held afghans, sweaters, hats, and scarves made by Mary and other women in their community. Mary had chosen to display fall colors, which was smart. Folks might not finish a new project until winter, but the fall colors would be appealing. The reds, browns, and golds matched the leaves scurrying along the pavement and past the row of Village shops.
The Village was a collection of buildings—an inn with a conference center, a restaurant, a bakery, and six shops were all situated around a small pond. Amber Bowman was the general manager, and Hannah worked in the kaffi shop—A Simple Blend. She loved her job.
Last she’d heard, Mary loved hers too.
So where was she?
Hannah needed to buy some yarn. She’d decided to knit a blue-and-gray buggy blanket for Jesse for Christmas. She didn’t blush anymore when she thought about the fact that she was being courted by Jesse Miller. She didn’t blush, but her heart rate did kick up a notch. Jesse hadn’t asked her to marry him—yet. Some mornings she woke wondering if today would be the day, but other mornings she woke hoping it wouldn’t be.
Love was so confusing!
In the meantime, they had become the best of friends.
She turned to make her way back toward her shop—her shop because she’d recently been appointed the permanent manager. Amber had offered her the job back in the summer, after the ninety-day trial period was over. Memories from early spring and all that had occurred at the Village threatened to push through Hannah’s thoughts and ruin her good mood.
She tamped down the sobering thoughts.
It was a fine fall day. She was not going to spend it hashing over the events of Ethan’s death yet again. “Past is past,” as her mamm was fond of saying. “Best leave it there.”
Hannah had stepped no more than three feet away from the yarn shop when she saw Bradley walking toward her. He was easy to see because he was so tall and had red hair. It seemed to her that he didn’t fit in among the Amish or the Englisch. Bradley took care of maintenance on the computers around the Village. He also helped with the security system. He could work wonders with anything that was plugged in. He was what her Englisch friends called a geek.
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