“I was coming down the steps when I saw you fall. I’m glad you’re not seriously hurt. Folks have been known to crack their heads open on patches of black ice like that.”
What a happy thought.
He pointed at my tennis shoes. “You should wear sturdier footwear. This is no weather for sneakers.”
I sighed. “Thank you for your help.”
He picked up my purse, which I’d dropped when I’d fallen. “You’re welcome. You be careful.”
I nodded and stepped onto the sidewalk. He headed to a squad car parked at the corner. As I made my way to the courthouse entrance, I stopped and glanced back at him. He did the same thing. Our eyes locked, and my blush reappeared. I ducked my head and hurried around the side of the courthouse.
A larger-than-life lady of justice statue loomed above the building’s visitors’ entrance. She gripped her scales and stared down at passersbys austerely, half buried in a mound of snow. I stepped through the heavy glass doors and found a security guard sitting behind a desk that held five different monitors. Beside the desk, a metal detector waited.
He smiled brightly as he got up from his seat. Yes, I was definitely no longer in Dallas. Security guards there did not smile, they growled.
“I will need to search your bag while you go through the metal detector. Just a precaution, you understand.”
I handed him my purse and removed my coat before stepping through the metal detector.
He peered into my purse, didn’t find anything of interest, and handed it back to me. “Are you here to view the courtroom?”
“View the courtroom?” I asked.
His smile widened. “You have the lost look of a tourist. Many of them tour the courthouse while winding their way through Amish Country.”
“That’s allowed?”
He nodded and smiled some more. “Oh, yes. As long as court is not in session, you are allowed to take a peek.”
As curious as I was about the county courthouse, I had more pressing business to take care of. “Actually, I’m here because I’d like to speak to Judge Mueller.”
The smile vanished as if the guard flipped a switch. “Name?”
“Angela Braddock.”
He reached over the partition surrounding the security desk for a clipboard. After scowling at it for a moment, he said, “I’m sorry. You’re not on his list of appointments for today.”
“I don’t have an appointment, but I will only take five minutes of his time. I promise.”
His frown deepened into a scowl. “You can’t see the judge without an appointment. I’m going—”
A man close to my age in a fine wool coat better suited for the streets of Manhattan than Millersburg stepped through the glass doors. He gripped a leather satchel in his gloved hand, which he handed to the security guard before passing through the metal detector. He gave me a slight nod.
The guard handed the well-dressed man his bag. “Here is your briefcase, Your Honor.” The guard shot a panicked glance at me.
Too late, buddy, I know he’s the judge now.
Cooper laughed. “Art, you have to stop calling me that. It’s just Cooper.”
I took a small step toward the judge. “Judge Mueller, I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time.”
His forehead creased. “Is this about a pending case?”
“No,” I said.
He cocked his head, reminding me of Oliver. “A non-pending case?”
“It’s not about any case, judge.”
He held his satchel at his waist. “The only people who want a few minutes of my time are reporters asking about cases. I know all the reporters in the county. You’re not one of them. Are you from Canton?”
Art placed a hand on my arm. “Sir, I will ask her to leave.”
I jerked my arm away. “I just have a couple of questions, and I’m not a reporter.”
“Today is not a good day for me,” Cooper said. “You can make an appointment with my secretary. Art will give you her number.”
“I don’t know that I can come back. Really it will only take a minute.”
He scowled at my persistence. It was an expression that was I used to. Ryan always said that I should have been a lawyer instead of a graphic designer because of my determination . . . actually he called it “bullheadness”. “It’s about Eric Schmidt.”
The judge’s satchel bounced off the floor. I scooped it up and handed it back to him. Cooper’s face was bright red and he said tightly, “Thank you,” as he took the bag from my hand.
Art stood next to me. “It’s time for you to go.” Art was my height, five nine, but twice my bulk. I had no doubt that he could chuck me out into the snow without breaking a sweat. That wasn’t a pleasant thought. Maybe I should come back later.
Even knowing it was foolhardy, I said, “I’ve already spoken to Lily Eby and Violet Graber. I thought you would like to tell your side of the story, too.”
The judge’s cheeks flashed red. He held up his hand to Art, who was about to grab me by the arm again. “It’s okay. Miss . . .” he paused.
“Braddock.”
He nodded. “Miss Braddock, please walk with me back to my office and we can talk there. I have exactly five minutes before I have to leave, so whatever you have to say, you’d better figure out how to say it fast.”
I hid my victorious smile. Half the battle was won.
My wet sneakers squeaked on the hallway’s tiled floor. Snow boots were on the top of tomorrow’s agenda. Not only because I wiped out in front of the Holmes County sheriff, but because my toes were half-frozen from walking around in wet sneakers all day. If I lost a toe to frostbite, my mother would never forgive me. It would ruin her vision for the wedding, which included glass slippers.
Cooper stopped in front of a heavy carved wooden door. A golden plate in the middle read, “Judge Mueller.”
He turned the knob and said, “After you.”
I shivered. His voice had a Count Dracula quality to it. Maybe I should have brought Anna or another member of the quilting circle with me. I stepped inside the office that wasn’t large by Dallas standards, but beautifully decorated in a Victorian tradition. The carpet was intricate and flower-patterned, but not in a girly way. If flowers could be manly, it was those flowers. The large window looked out onto the courtyard and the snow-covered stone soldier.
Cooper set his satchel in the middle of the empty desk. There wasn’t even a desktop computer on it, but it was clear his briefcase was large enough to hold a laptop. Perhaps that was his preference. “Talk.”
“You grew up Amish,” I said without preamble.
“Yes, I did. It’s no secret. In fact, my background helped me win the election. I can understand both the Amish and English worlds better than most.”
“You left the Amish not long after Eric Schmidt died.” Again, I stated this as fact.
He sat in his executive chair, straight and ridged. “Yes.”
I remained standing. “Is there any connection between those two events?”
He gave me a level glare. “Eric was my best friend, but his death was not the reason I left the Amish life.”
“What was the reason?”
He scowled. “That is a deeply personal question, and one I don’t have to answer for you or for anyone.”
He rocked back in his desk chair. “Who are you to ask anyone about Eric Schmidt? Obviously, you are not from Holmes County, and you’re not Amish.”
“I’m Eleanor Lapp’s niece.”
“I know Eleanor.”
“She was a close friend of Eric’s mother, who made a dying wish asking my aunt to find out what really happened to her son, Eric. My aunt is not well enough to do that, so I offered to help.”
“I’m sorry th
at Eleanor is ill. I didn’t know that.” He paused. “It is admirable that you want to honor Eric’s mother in this way. I knew Evelyn my whole life. She was a nice woman, but let there be no mistakes she was confused about a good many things, the first of those being her son’s death.”
I shifted my stance. “Lily broke up with you right after the accident.”
His mouth turned into a grim line. “She did.”
“Did she tell you why?”
He folded his hands on the desktop. “You have one minute left. I suggest you make your point and get out.”
“Lily saw you on the roof with Eric only a few moments before he fell, and you wouldn’t talk to her about it afterward. It made her wonder what really happened, which is why she broke up with you.”
His jaw twitched. “That was not the reason we didn’t marry.”
“Is Eric’s death why you left the Amish?”
He pursed his lips. “My leaving the Amish and not marrying Lily had nothing to with Eric Schmidt. I was uncomfortable in my own skin while I was Amish. Lily was not. She would never leave the community. Had we married, I would have realized eventually that I didn’t want to be Amish, which would have led to misery for us both.”
“What about the bike shop?”
His eyes went wide. “You have been busy. Where did you hear about that?”
“Violet Graber.”
He paused for a moment, then said, “I haven’t thought about that shop in years.”
“Whatever happened to it?”
“The shop was Eric’s and my dream. Neither of us had much interest in farming and wanted to raise our families in town. But we were tired of working at the factory and wanted to have something to call our own. An Amish bike shop in Rolling Brook was perfect.”
“You could have opened it after he died. Why didn’t you?”
His face turned bright red. “That is none of your concern.”
“Is there a connection between the bike shop and Eric’s death?”
He stood and glowered at me. “No, there is not. The only reason the shop never opened was because after Eric died, I left the Amish.”
“I thought you said Eric’s death didn’t influence your decision.”
He glared at me but said nothing.
“What about the Dudek brothers?”
He no longer looked surprised when I knew a name from his past. “What about them?”
“Do they sell bikes to the Amish now?”
“Some. I don’t think it’s at the scale that it would have been had Eric lived, but they have a thriving business. Theirs is the only bike shop in the county.”
“Were they upset when the deal didn’t happen?” I asked.
“I suppose they weren’t happy. I honestly can’t remember.” He removed a file from his desk drawer and placed it inside his satchel. “I think your five minutes have long since expired.”
I had one more question. “How does your family feel about you being a judge? It’s so—so . . .”
He laughed for the first time. “Not Amish.”
“Well, yes. I know a little bit about the culture since my aunt is Amish. An Amish person would never run for office.”
“Let’s just say I haven’t spoken to my family in years.” He stepped around his desk. “It’s time for you to go.”
I thanked him and walked out of the office, waving to a surly Art as I went.
Chapter Seven
Inside the rented tank, I cranked the heat up. The snow came down heavier now. I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles hurt, and despite Anna’s teasing, I was grateful for the super-sized car. It was mid-afternoon, but the flying snow blocked the sun. The last thing I wanted to do was drive around Amish Country alone during a snowstorm. The Dudek brothers, who were next on my list, would have to wait. I shifted the car into reverse and checked my rearview and side mirrors as I eased out of the spot. All I saw was a lot of snow. Timidly, I pressed down on the accelerator a little harder to roll over a pile of snow.
With a thump, the back rear tire hopped up on the curb, followed by a crunch that reverberated through the vehicle. Immediately, I shifted into drive and the tires settled into their original spots.
That didn’t sound good. I hoped whatever I hit didn’t scratch the Expedition’s paint job or the rental company was going to gouge me for it. With a deep breath, I pulled on the plain black winter hat I’d borrowed from my aunt—it was either that or her black bonnet—and stepped gingerly out. I was more cautious after my black-ice tumble less than an hour before.
The driving snow and ice stung my exposed skin. It was no wonder I hit something. I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face. I found my victim immediately. My tire tracks led me to the spot where the car rolled onto the sidewalk. I winced. A yellow diamond-shaped sign with a silhouette of an Amish buggy in the middle of it was bent backward at a seventy-five degree angle. I looked left and right for the sheriff. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he reappeared. Thankfully, no one came. All the townsfolk were smart enough to stay inside during the foul weather, much smarter than I was.
I had two choices: I could drive away or drag my sorry self into the courthouse and own up to my crime. I had no idea what the punishment in Holmes County was for destroying public property, but at least I knew where to go if my case ever went to trial. I hoped Cooper wasn’t the judge, though. I doubted he would be lenient after our conversation.
My toes curled from the wet snow melting into the fabric. The snow boots were no longer optional. I straightened my shoulders and trudged back into the courthouse. A gust of warm air hit me in the face as I stepped through the glass doors again. Art, who sipped from a can of diet cola, peered up from his monitors expectantly. It must be a lonely job to be a courthouse guard in Holmes County. I suspected Art didn’t have the opportunity to wrestle too many escapees to the ground.
He sputtered and a light spray of soda escaped his lips. “You again!” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Don’t worry. I’m not here to try to talk to the judge.” I paused. “I need to report an accident.”
Art stood and removed his heavy black parka from the back of his chair. “What kind of accident? Was anyone hurt?”
“No one was hurt.” I buried my hands deep into my pockets. “But a buggy sign right outside has seen better days.”
“You hit it with your car?”
I nodded.
Art shrugged into his coat. “Show me where.”
I led him outside and slid on a patch of ice by the door. Art grabbed my arm to steady me. “You might want to get some boots.”
I groaned.
He released my arm. “Where’s your car?”
“At the corner. Follow me.” In the two minutes I had been in the courthouse, the snow had lessened. I could see my hand, my rental, and the bent buggy sign, which looked even worse without the buffer of falling snow between it and my line of sight.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I sort of backed into it. I didn’t see it in the snow.”
He pointed at the Expedition. “Is that your car?”
I nodded, sheepishly.
“No wonder the sign is bent so badly. Why don’t you drive an aircraft carrier while you’re at it?”
I didn’t bother to tell him that I couldn’t drive an aircraft carrier. It was a boat, after all. I didn’t think Art would appreciate the correction. I gritted my teeth. “I’m from Texas and not used to driving in snow. I wanted to be safe.”
He snorted. “Oh, you will be safe. It’s those around you I’m worried about.”
“So, do I need to pay a fine or something? I really want to get to my aunt’s house before the snow picks up again.”
He walked over to the sign an
d held the bottom half with one hand and the top of the buggy sign with the other. With a grunt, he bent the buggy sign back upright. It wasn’t perfect, and there was a noticeable crease in the metal rod, but at least it wasn’t going to cut anyone who passed it on the sidewalk.
I whistled under my breath. “Whoa, I’m impressed.”
He shrugged. “I was a Division I shot-putter in college and still lift weights for fun.”
Well, that proved it. He could toss me across the street if he wanted to.
“I’ll let you off the hook this time. I know for a fact you’re not the first person to back into this sign. I keep telling the judge it needs to be moved back farther from the parking space.”
Deep down, Art was a softie. I smiled. “Thanks. That’s really nice of you.” I reached into my purse for a scrap of paper and a pen. I jotted my cell number on the paper and handed it to him. “Here. Just in case someone complains about the sign,”
The sound of quick footsteps approached us. Art and I spun around. A man hurried along the sidewalk, swerving around Art.
“Hey, buddy, watch where you’re going,” Art said.
The man glanced over his shoulder. Snowflakes sprinkled his Amish beard like powder sugar. An Amish man running through Millersburg wasn’t especially noteworthy, but an Amish man named Ira Eby was. What was he doing outside of the courthouse? Was he here to see Cooper?
Ira and I locked eyes. He said nothing and disappeared around the side of the courthouse. If I had proper footwear, I would have followed him. In my soggy sneakers, I was prone to break my neck.
Art shoved my phone number into this coat pocket. “Hey, are you all right? You look weird.”
I brushed snow from my eyebrows and was happy to see the snow had all but stopped. I hoped I could make it to my aunt’s house before it started up again. “That was Ira Eby. I met him this morning in Rolling Brook. I’m surprised to see him in Millersburg”
“Why? He’s here all the time visiting the judge. They’re good friends. I gathered they we’re close when the judge was Amish.”
Plainly Murder Page 5