Murder Tightly Knit

by Vannetta Chapman

  “You’ve grown, Jesse. My little bruder has become a man.”

  Jesse thought of responding to that, but he was afraid what would come out of his mouth might not be charitable. No need to start a tiff in front of his parents. They’d experienced enough trouble.

  “And my older bruder hasn’t changed much, which reminds me that I need to leave for work.”

  “Still at the Village?”

  “I am.”

  “Still doing grounds work?”

  Was that sarcasm Jesse heard in Andrew’s voice?

  “Jesse’s been promoted to one of the shift managers for the grounds crew.” His mother patted his hand. “You go on to work. We’ll help Andrew settle back into your room. Everything’s exactly as you left it, Andrew. The clothes you didn’t take are still hanging on your hook.”

  Ivan had pushed back his chair and stood. He was nearly to the mudroom when he stopped and did an about-face. “We should have a special dinner on Sunday. One to celebrate Andrew’s return.”

  Andrew ran his hand along his jaw, again glancing out the window. He finally nodded his head in agreement.

  The entire scene made Jesse want to scream. He knew Englisch teens who had moved away from home. Their families didn’t throw a reunion each time they returned. No one acted like the long-lost son was finally found, and no one wept when he left again. It was the way of the world for many people. But his parents didn’t see that. Their entire lives were built around their family, and they wouldn’t rest easy until the whole flock was once again reunited.

  “I could invite your aentis and onkels.” Rebecca had begun washing the dishes. “They’ll be so relieved to hear you are home, and they’ll be eager to see you.”

  “The family’s grown since you’ve been gone. It would be gut to join together and celebrate this occasion.” Ivan fumbled with pulling his hat off the peg.

  In that moment, like so many moments over the last year, he seemed older to Jesse. The loss of his older son had aged his father, and the extra work hadn’t helped. What had seemed possible with the three of them had become burdensome when they had been reduced to two.

  But now the prodigal son had returned.

  Jesse was happy about that. He’d always thought his brother belonged at home, and he hadn’t seemed that content in Chicago. But why the sudden change of heart? Had he even had a change of heart? Or was he merely passing through on his way to another town and another adventure? Worry whispered through his mind.

  Something told him that his parents’ relief might be a little premature. Andrew hadn’t said he was staying. He also hadn’t explained why he’d left the first time, the second time, or the last time. He hadn’t apologized for abandoning the family during harvest. Not when Jesse had visited him in Chicago, and not now.

  Jesse knew his parents wouldn’t push him for those answers. Instead, they would wait, as they had been waiting.

  And they would celebrate, though Jesse wasn’t sure exactly what they were celebrating.

  At least they weren’t planning to kill the fattened calf.

  Three

  Amber Bowman was having a productive day.

  Morning rounds on the property had gone well. And she’d had an actual lunch instead of eating at her desk. She’d eaten at the restaurant with Carol Jennings, manager of The Quilting Bee. One of Amber’s new goals was to meet with each manager individually on a rotating basis. If she could make three lunches a week, she could go through all the managers each month. At first it had sounded like a lot, but she found herself enjoying those one-on-one times.

  Her staff was beginning to resemble a team again, and their efforts were becoming coordinated. The Village was more successful financially than it had ever been. All of which was a welcome relief after the trials of the previous spring.

  Indeed, her life had taken several major turns since that dark time. Facing death could do that to you, she supposed.

  Elizabeth tapped lightly on her office door and then entered the room. Her office assistant—and friend—was in her early sixties, round and grandmotherly. She wore her gray hair in a practical, short bob, and her hazel eyes were usually smiling behind her half reading glasses. At the moment, those glasses were hanging from a blue-beaded chain.

  “Sergeant Avery’s here to see you.”

  “Gordon?” He hadn’t stopped by in months. She couldn’t remember the last time. He certainly hadn’t been in her office since her wedding. She ran a hand through her shoulder-length brown hair. She’d taken to wearing it naturally curly on weekends, but for work she still straightened it.

  “He’s waiting in the outer office.”

  “Oh. Okay. Show him in. Thank you, Elizabeth.”

  Amber closed the files she was working on. She’d been manager of the Village for twenty-three years. They had been relatively quiet years, up until six months ago. She hoped Gordon’s visit didn’t foreshadow more trouble.

  But perhaps he was stopping by for personal reasons.

  Or maybe he happened to be in the neighborhood.

  Gordon Avery was nearly six feet tall. He trudged into her office, removing his hat as he did so. A sergeant with the Middlebury police force, he was forty-seven years old, only a couple of years older than Amber. He sported black hair, brown eyes, and an unusually fit physique.

  They’d dated in the past, but that was before she knew—really knew—Tate.

  She walked around the desk and greeted him with a quick hug, though she had to reach up to do so. Her five-foot-four height had always made her feel like a child standing beside him.

  “How are you, Amber?”

  “Fine. It’s good to see you. It’s been awhile.”

  “It has.”

  Amber motioned to one of the chairs across from her desk and sat in the other so they were side by side but still angled toward each other. It seemed less formal that way, without her sitting behind the desk. Gordon was a friend, after all.

  “How’s Tate?” Gordon motioned to the framed wedding picture on her desk.

  The photo showed Amber and Tate standing in front of the red covered bridge on the Village property. She was wearing her wedding dress—white, long, and beautiful. Tate wore a black tuxedo. Some days it all still seemed like a dream.

  “He’s doing well. We both are.”

  “Sorry I missed the wedding. Bad luck that they sent me for training the week you tied the knot.”

  There was a small grin on his face, and she relaxed, realizing things were all right between them.

  “We didn’t exactly give a lot of notice. I decided on an August wedding. Honestly, the main reason for that was I wanted an Alaskan cruise honeymoon, which sort of necessitated an August wedding.”

  “Sounds like you enjoyed yourself.”

  “Oh, we did. Tate hasn’t been much of a traveler, and it was my first two-week vacation since I started here. I wouldn’t mind making a habit out of it.”

  “You should. You work hard.” He tapped his fingers against his leg, and Amber realized he was putting the polite talk behind them.

  There was another reason he was in her office.

  Still, she couldn’t help suggesting, “We should get together with you and Cherry sometime. Do some sort of couples date.”

  “Cherry and I . . .” He waved toward her picture again. “We’re not like that.”

  “Oh.” So the rumors that they were serious were false. Apparently Gordon was still available. She probably knew someone who would be interested. Anyway, she was relieved to know they weren’t dating. For some reason, she and Cherry had never hit it off, and she couldn’t help thinking that Gordon deserved someone better suited to life in Middlebury.

  Gordon cleared his throat and settled his hat on his knees.

  “I’m sensing you didn’t stop by for social chatter.”

  “No. There’s been an incident.”

  “Here?” The word came out too loud and harsh. Amber forced her shoulders to relax and asked again,
“Here? On the property?”

  “No. Actually, the crime scene is on the Pumpkinvine Trail.”

  “What happened?”

  “A man—Owen Esch—was found there this morning.”

  “Found?”

  “Dead.”

  “Dead?” She stared at him with wide eyes. She had the vague sense that her past troubles were coming back to visit, but that was impossible. “An accident?”

  “No, he was murdered.” Gordon’s gaze flicked up and away.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “It was rather—unusual.”

  “Any murder in Middlebury is unusual. We have a quiet, peaceful town.”

  Gordon twisted the department-issued hat around and around in his hands. “He was killed with a bow.”

  “A bow?” She was repeating everything he said. She shook her head to clear it. “A bow?”

  “A hunting bow. A crossbow. I’m sure you’ve seen them.”

  “Yes. I believe Tate has one. I’ve never seen him use it, but I think one of his sons enjoys bow hunting.”

  “Most people around here have one, which is going to make this investigation a challenge.”

  “He was murdered? You’re sure it wasn’t an . . . an accident?”

  “He was standing in the middle of the trail and shot through the heart. I don’t see how someone could have mistaken him for a deer.”

  Amber was speechless. She couldn’t help throwing a glance over her shoulder to the wall that had been remodeled. The quilt, the friendship quilt, had been mended and once again hung in the middle, but this time the wall was painted a warm yellow. She’d decided not only to repair but to remodel after the explosion, and the Village owners had agreed.

  An explosion.

  In her office.

  Still hard to believe.

  She rubbed her hands over her face, though she realized she was removing what little makeup she’d applied that morning. “Why are you here? It wasn’t where the trail intersects Village property?”

  “No. Actually, it was nearly two miles to the east.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m waiting for forensics.”

  “To tell you he died from an arrow through the heart?”

  Gordon nearly smiled. Though the topic was tragic, Amber knew he’d always enjoyed their conversations, even when they became heated.

  “No. Cause of death is undeniable. Forensics will tell us an approximate time, how close the shooter was standing to the victim, any other marks of violence—”

  “A bow is pretty violent.”

  “True, but maybe they had argued or even fought prior to the murder.”

  “Fingerprints?”

  “The crime techs are checking the arrow as well as the surrounding area. It’s doubtful they’ll find much. I suspect whoever did this was smart enough to use gloves, and both sides of the trail are covered with footprints due to recent rains.”

  Amber shook her head. She understood that the world was a cruel place, but this was Middlebury. People cared about one another in their little town. Murder was something unheard of, until recently.

  “We did find one piece of evidence that might be useful.”

  “And that’s why you’re here?”

  Gordon nodded once and then leaned forward, arms braced on his knees. “The victim—”

  “I assume he was Amish, given his name.”

  “Correct. He was holding a cell phone.”

  Something in Amber’s stomach seemed to drop, and she knew she didn’t want to hear Gordon’s next words.

  “He had placed a call immediately before he died. He called one of your shops, Amber. His final words might have been to one of your employees.”

  Four

  Hannah made her way back across the Village, puzzling over what Seth had said and thinking of Jesse’s brother. She wasn’t paying attention to the people around her, and she nearly bumped into Amber.

  Her boss wore a worried expression, and so did the man with her, Sergeant Gordon Avery.

  This day was spinning out of control.

  “Hello, Hannah. How are you?”

  Hannah didn’t know how to answer that. Gut would have been a lie, but Amber probably didn’t want to know her problems. They were friends, but Amber had a lot of responsibilities. The last thing Hannah wanted to do was add to her worries. She’d seemed so happy since her wedding, and things had been so quiet at the Village—peaceful almost.

  When Hannah didn’t respond, Amber said, “We’re on our way to the yarn shop.”

  “Mary’s?” Hannah’s heart began to bang against her ribs. Was her friend in trouble? Is that why the shop had been closed?

  “Who is Mary?” Gordon asked.

  His uniform made Hannah uneasy, though she knew he was a friend to Amber and a good police officer. She’d seen that firsthand last spring.

  “Mary Weaver is the manager of the yarn shop, of The Cat’s Meow.” Amber turned back to Hannah. “You nearly jumped out of your apron when I said Mary’s name. Is there something you’re aware of that you want to tell us?”

  Hannah pushed up her glasses and rubbed her eyes, but she still didn’t say anything.

  “You know Mary pretty well. Don’t you?”

  “Ya. We are in the same district. We attend the same church.”

  “Would you mind coming with us? Gordon needs to talk to her, and she might be more at ease with you there.”

  “I was headed home, but if I can help . . .”

  “Thank you, Hannah.” If Amber had noticed the reluctance in her voice, she ignored it.

  Together the three of them walked the short distance to the yarn shop, which was now open.

  Mary Weaver stood behind the counter. From what Hannah could see and hear, it appeared Mary was arguing with Helen Stinson. Helen was one of the new employees on the Unassigned List. Hannah knew a little about her because she’d filled in one day when Seth had a dental appointment. Helen was short—even shorter than Amber and Hannah—with long, dark hair, which she wore loose down her back. Today she had fingernails painted a sparkly bright green and earrings that dangled and caught the light.

  If two people could have looked more different, Hannah didn’t know how. Mary had recently turned thirty. She was tall, which helped to hide her weight. Looking closely, one realized she was a bit on the heavy side of plump. She always dressed in subdued colors—today a dark-gray dress with a light-gray apron. Her blond hair was carefully hidden by her kapp.

  She did not seem happy about Helen’s presence in her shop.

  “I don’t need help. As you can see, there are no customers at the moment, and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of any who arrive.”

  Mary still hadn’t turned toward them, though the bell over the door had clearly announced their arrival. She was busy arguing with Helen, and Gordon was holding back as if he needed to watch and take notes as the scene unfolded in front of him. At that moment a group of older women pushed past them and into the store, talking and jostling and oohing and aahing at the yarn displays.

  Mary glanced up at the customers and saw Hannah, Amber, and Gordon. Her face paled, if that were possible, and she plopped down on the stool behind her counter.

  “Hello, Mary.” Amber stepped forward first. “I’m the one who asked for Helen to come here and help for a few moments. Sergeant Avery and I would like to have a word with you. Perhaps in your office?”

  Mary nodded mutely. Her gaze settled on Hannah for a moment, who shrugged her shoulders up and down. She had no idea what was happening. Had Amber found out the store was closed at lunch? Was Mary in trouble for leaving her post?

  But that made no sense. Hannah didn’t need to be there for that sort of discussion. Sergeant Avery certainly didn’t need to be there.

  Sergeant Avery was saying, “We need to check the tape first.”

  He walked around the counter, pulled a plastic glove from his pocket, and hit the Play button on the shop’s r
ecorder. All that could be heard was something falling to the ground, followed by two minutes of nature noises.

  “I’ll need to take this with me,” Avery said.

  Mary stood, straightened her apron, and led the way down the hall to the back of the shop. Her office was small and cluttered. Stacks of paper covered the desk, and unopened boxes of supplies crowded the floor.

  There were two chairs.

  Amber ducked out into the hall and soon returned with a stool.

  “I’ll stand,” Gordon murmured.

  Mary sat perched on the desk chair with her back ramrod straight. Amber took the chair opposite her, pulling it up so they were almost knee to knee. Hannah sat on the stool, though it made her feel like a schoolchild to do so.

  “I enjoyed our lunch together last week.” Amber waited for Mary to nod and then continued, “Have you met Sergeant Avery?”

  Mary shook her head, still mute, but at least responding. When she’d first seen them in the store, Hannah had the crazy thought that she might start hollering at them or insist they leave the shop.

  Gordon introduced himself, but he didn’t offer to shake Mary’s hand. Hannah knew he’d worked and lived around the Amish long enough to understand their customs—women generally didn’t shake hands with men, especially Amish women with Englisch men.

  “Mary, the reason we came by, the reason Sergeant Avery is here, is to ask you some questions.”

  “All right.” They were the first words she’d spoken directly to them. Hannah expected her voice to be shaky and timid, but instead Mary’s words came out in a blunt, defiant tone.

  “I asked Hannah to come because she’s your friend, and I thought you might feel more comfortable.”

  Hannah met Mary’s gaze and offered her best comforting smile. Mary nodded slightly but didn’t speak. Her arms were crossed, and she was glowering at them as if they had done something terrible.

  “When was the last time you spoke with Owen Esch?” Gordon asked.

  Owen! What had happened to Owen? A chill passed over Hannah, and she sat on her hands to warm them and still their shaking.

  “I’m not sure.”