Stephen smiled back at me. “In many ways, the bunnies are like my own children. I can’t give them to just anyone.”
“I can understand that,” I said. “I’m sure I would feel the same way.”
He nodded. With his round belly, white beard, and cheerful smile, he would do very well as Santa Claus, but the Amish didn’t believe in jolly old Saint Nick, or his elves, and it was Easter not Christmas. The large white rabbit with the pink bow around her neck wiggled her nose.
I studied the rabbit in his arms. “I desperately wanted a rabbit when I was a kid. My neighbor across the street had a black and white one, and I loved to go over to her house and play with it. She even taught her rabbit to do a few tricks. I remember the bunny jumping through a hoop.”
He smiled even more broadly. “Rabbits are much smarter than people give them credit for being. Puff knows all sorts of tricks.”
“Puff?” I asked.
He patted the bunny’s head. “Her name is Puff.”
“Like the magic dragon?”
He looked confused for a moment. “I think like a cotton puff.”
I inwardly shook my head at myself. Of course, because Stephen was Amish, he wouldn’t get my reference to a children’s movie.
He pivoted so I could look the large, white rabbit in the face. “She’s my lead bunny, the one who shows all the others how to behave on the farm. My rabbit farm is not too far from here, perhaps five miles. So, it’s a short buggy ride.”
I nodded at the rabbit. “It’s nice to meet you, Puff.”
“Now that everyone has been formally introduced, can we discuss Easter Days?” Margot asked.
“Easter Days?” I asked.
Margot beamed. “That’s what I’m calling this week! Isn’t it clever?”
“Very,” I said mildly. I wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear that Margot had named the week. The woman had marketing down to a science. Honestly, I could learn a thing or two from her when it came to my own business.
“This week leading up to Easter, I thought it would be fun to sell Easter crafts, candies, and, of course, the children visiting could pet Stephen’s rabbits. Perhaps he will even sell a few bunnies to good homes.”
“Everyone in the village is okay with this?” From what I knew of the Amish, they didn’t like to make much fuss over the holidays for fear of commercializing them. I would guess that Easter was the very last holiday that they would want to make commercial in any way.
“Everyone in the village thinks it is a wonderful idea. Whatever brings the tourists in, you know?” She clapped her hands. “Now, we should talk about your part. Swissmen Sweets will be providing the candy and sweets, but that is just the beginning of my plans for you.”
I thought it would be best to cut to the chase. “My grandmother said that you want me to carve a giant chocolate bunny. That’s easy enough for me to do. It will take a couple of days, but I should be able to make it. I probably can have it done the day after next.”
She smiled. “Good, good, but I don’t actually want a chocolate rabbit.”
I inwardly groaned. I knew it was too good to be true. “Oh?”
“I want you to mold the largest toffee Easter rabbit in history!” She said this as if she was presenting me with a very prestigious award. Unfortunately, this was an award that I didn’t want to win.
“You want me to mold a rabbit out of toffee?”
She clapped her hands. “Yes!”
“Why toffee?” It seemed the most obvious question.
“Because I love it,” she said, as if the answer was as simple as that. “My mother was English,” she went on to say. “And I don’t mean English in the way that the Amish use it to designate anyone who speaks English. I mean that she was born and raised in England. She came to the United States in the fifties and married my father. The rest is history. In any case, she never gave up her British sensibilities. She drank tea every day of her life and she loved a bit of English toffee with her evening nightcap. Even more important, if we have a toffee rabbit we would be different from every other town in the country with a giant chocolate rabbit in the middle of their town square. I’m trying to make Harvest distinctive, Bailey.” She gave me a beady look. “I hope that you can appreciate that.”
I opened and closed my mouth, trying to decide how best to argue my point on this one. Margot wasn’t one to give up an idea easily. My argument for a simple chocolate rabbit would have to be well thought out. The truth was I wasn’t sure how a toffee rabbit would work. Toffee was usually hard. It would have sharp bumps and edges. It most certainly wouldn’t be a smooth Easter rabbit. I would have to use chocolate to bind it all together.
I was about to share these concerns with Margot when Stephen held the rabbit out to me. “Can you hold Puff?”
Before I could argue with him, he put the large rabbit in my arms. The rabbit farmer’s breath came in rasps, and a trail of sweat ran down his cheek. Just a moment ago he had been fine. I settled the rabbit in my arms. “Stephen, you don’t look well at all. Maybe you should sit down. We can get you some water.”
Margot’s eyes widened. “Yes, Stephen, it looks to me as if you may have overdone it with all the preparations for Easter Days. Let’s have a seat somewhere in the shade so you can collect yourself.” She dropped her bullhorn on the ground and made a move as if she was going to help Stephen find a shady seat.
Before she could do that Stephen gasped and clutched his chest. He fell backward, toppling like a tree struck by lightning. He hit the ground and didn’t move. His eyes stared blankly into the blue sky.
Margot and I stood there by the gazebo, dumbfounded.
The bunny farmer had dropped dead right before our eyes.
Chapter 5
I don’t know how long I stared at Stephen Raber’s body before my good sense kicked in and I fell to my knees on the ground. I set the rabbit next to me.
Without looking up, I cried, “Margot, call nine-one-one!”
She yelped, and I prayed that meant she would follow my order.
Two Amish men ran over to me and helped me with Stephen. “We have to try CPR,” I said. I pointed at one man. “Chest compressions.”
He placed his hands just under Stephen’s rib cage and began compressions.
He stopped, and I blew in Stephen’s mouth. There was nothing. We went back and forth like that for several minutes, but how long it was I couldn’t exactly say. I stopped when an EMT pulled me away from Stephen’s side and took over CPR. The Amish man who had been helping me was gone. I hadn’t even noticed that he’d left until I stood up. I guessed he slipped away when the EMTs arrived. Many Amish had an aversion to English officials of any kind.
I stumbled to my feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Puff-the-Bunny, pawing at Stephen’s foot like she was trying to convince her friend to wake up. The sight was heartbreaking.
One EMT shook his head at the other, and I knew there would be no waking Stephen Raber up ever again. He was dead. I stared at his unseeing eyes. Another dead body. How was this even possible?
“Must have been a heart attack,” someone in the crowd said. I didn’t know who.
Another man nodded at the statement. “He is a large man. He’s bound to have a bad heart.”
Before I took another step back, I bent over and picked up the large rabbit. No one stopped me, but I couldn’t stand there and watch her paw at her owner like that. As I stood up straight, I saw a young Amish man of about twenty with dark brown curls and gaps in his teeth standing off to the side. Tears ran down his face. No one else on the square was paying any attention to him. I walked over to him. “Are you all right?”
He looked at me with watery green eyes. “That’s my daed,” he said.
My heart ached for the boy. “I’m so sorry.”
“Is he dead?” he asked, and rubbed his eyes. His face was red, but I suspect that was more from embarrassment over crying than from the crying itself. The Amish weren’t ones to show
their emotions. Especially not Amish men.
I glanced back at the EMTs and Stephen. The rabbit farmer was all but surrounded now except for his large feet. He giant black shoes poked out from the ring of emergency workers around him.
“Is he dead?” the teen repeated the question.
“Is there anyone I can take you to?” I glanced around the square. “Do you have other family here today? Anyone at all? Your bishop maybe?”
“Let me have Puff. My daed would want me to have her.” He took the large white rabbit from my arms. When he had Puff firmly in his grasp, he turned and ran away as fast as a hare in a foot race. He left without so much as a backward glance. He left before I could ask his name.
“Bailey!” Aiden shouted from across the square. He was coming from the direction of the large white church where his mother, Juliet, who was in love with the church’s pastor, Reverend Brook, spent most of her time.
I waved to him and hurried over.
“What happened?” Aiden wanted to know. “I came as soon as dispatch gave me the call. I was in the church when the call came in. I could have been here much sooner if you’d called me directly. I can’t believe I was right there.” He gestured at the church.
“I’m sorry. I was just shocked by what happened. I told Margot to call nine-one-one while an Amish man and I tried CPR on Stephen.” Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes. “But I don’t think there was any use to it. He was dead before he hit the ground.”
Aiden gathered me in his arms and pulled me toward him. “I’m sorry. You did the right thing. I should never have questioned you.” He let me go. I knew he was aware of people watching. He couldn’t show me any kind of special treatment when he was in uniform.
“Why were you in the church?” I wiped away a stray tear that had escaped from the corner of my eye.
“Reverend Brook called. There was a break-in. I was following up.”
“What? Someone broke in to the church?”
“Shh, please keep your voice down about it.” He squeezed my shoulder. “We can talk more later, but I need to get to the scene of where Stephen fell. I want you to tell me everything that you know, but hang tight for a minute. Can you do that for me?”
I nodded and watched as Aiden strode away from me. Even though I’d agreed to “hang tight,” it wasn’t something I was very good at doing. My brain immediately went to wondering about the church. It was much easier to think about than dwelling on the demise of poor Stephen Raber or his son who’d run away from me. I bit my lip. I should have told Aiden about the young Amish man first thing. I took a step toward the scene and stopped myself. Aiden was surrounded by EMTs and sheriff’s deputies. This wasn’t the time to interrupt.
I glanced back in the direction of the church. A break-in at the church? Who would want to do that? And this close to Easter too. Reverend Brook, who to me always looked like he was on the brink of tears, must be a mess over it, and I couldn’t even guess how Juliet Brody, Aiden’s mother and a constant fixture at the church, would take it. To say she was excitable was an understatement. I dearly hoped that she had her comfort pig Jethro with her to take the edge off.
Actually, I didn’t need to hope that because I saw Juliet across the street from the church. She held her black-and-white polka-dotted pig Jethro under her arm like a football. She was running so fast, Jethro, who was typically treated like royalty by Juliet, looked as if he was wondering what on earth was happening. The little pig’s ears bounced up and down as she ran.
Juliet wore a pink-and-white polka-dotted dress and a white cardigan. She loved polka dots almost as much as she loved her pig, and I don’t think I had ever seen her not wear polka dots somewhere on her clothing. I could appreciate the fact that she had a look and committed to it.
“Bailey!” she cried, waving her free arm. “Bailey!”
I hurried over to her because I was afraid that the heel of one of her pink pumps would get stuck in the grass on the square and cause her to fall. That wouldn’t end well for Juliet—or for Jethro.
She came to an abrupt stop as soon as I reached her. She placed the back of her hand on her forehead. “Oh, my word,” she said in her light Southern drawl. “I’m so glad you’re home, my sweet girl. I’m so glad that you’re home. We’ve had a terrible time while you were gone. We have just been completely at a loss without you. You can’t imagine how hard it has been on my sweet Aiden. I don’t know how the two of you are going to plan a wedding with you off in the big city so much of the time. You need to think about your future.”
Jethro sneezed, and pig spit flew onto my bare arm. My return to Harvest was going famously.
I removed a tissue from the pocket of my jeans and wiped my arm.
“Jethro has a cold. It’s the change of seasons. It’s always so hard on him.” She kissed the top of the pig’s head between the ears. “Are you back in Harvest again for good? I’ve been talking to your grandmother about wedding plans. Clara is so sweet, but she refused to move ahead with any ideas until you returned. Are you ready to talk about the wedding? What about outdoors in June? It’s a lovely time of year.”
I shoved the tissue back into my pocket and gaped at her. June was less than two months away. She was relentless when it came to Aiden and my supposed wedding. Because Aiden’s mother was so dead-set on Aiden and me getting married, it had taken us some time to actually come to the conclusion that we wanted to date each other. I think we both balked at the idea because his mother was so sure that we were, in her words, “a match made in heaven.”
I had never been one for someone else planning my life. My parents had wanted me to go to an Ivy League college after high school and instead I moved to New York to work for Jean Pierre and worked my way through culinary school. To say that they hadn’t been happy with my decision would be an understatement. It took two years for them to come and visit me in New York and to be willing to admit that I had landed on my own two feet following my own path.
It was time to change the subject. “Juliet, Aiden said that there was a break-in at the church. What happened?”
“Oh yes!” she cried. “It was terrible. Poor Reverend Brook has been a complete mess over it. I have never seen him so upset. He was even more upset than the time he tripped and fell in the middle of Christmas Eve services two years ago.” She placed a perfectly manicured hand on her cheek. “It was so embarrassing for him.”
I blinked. “Was he hurt?”
She shook her head. “Only his pride.”
I closed my eyes for a moment. “I don’t mean Christmas Eve two years ago. Was he hurt during the break-in at the church?”
She shook her head. “No, thank heavens. He wasn’t there at the time of the break-in. The church would be at a complete loss without the reverend.”
I thought that Juliet would be at a complete loss without the reverend too, but I didn’t say that. “How did Reverend Brook learn of the break-in?” I asked.
“When he came into the church today to work on the Easter sermon—you know that’s the most important service of the year, so he spends a lot of extra time on it. The man works like a dog.” She shook her head. “I really think members of the community should give him more credit for everything he does.” She pursed her lips.
“Juliet, the break-in,” I repeated. “How did Reverend Brook learn about it?”
She blinked. “The back door of the church was wide open when he came in this morning. He usually doesn’t go that way into the church but wanted to make sure everything was okay because the church will be a focal point of Margot’s Easter Days. We have to look our very best for the event!” She took a breath. “He took a lap around the building and saw the door. That’s when he knew trouble was afoot.”
I wrinkled my brow. Trouble was afoot? It seemed to me that Juliet had been reading too many Sherlock Holmes stories lately. “Was anything missing?”
“Not as far as Reverend Brook could see, but there are a lot of nooks and crannies in that church.
It will take some time to inventory everything that is there.”
“Was anything disturbed?”
She nodded. “The kitchen. It was a mess! Someone cooked in there and didn’t put a thing away, just left it. You would think if you were breaking in to a place, you would like to cover your tracks, but not this culprit.”
I blinked. “So, you are saying someone just broke in to the church to cook?”
She hugged Jethro to her chest, and the little pig snuffled his displeasure. “That’s what it looks like. It’s horrid to think of someone messing up our nice clean kitchen that way.”
“What did they make?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, but something sticky and sweet. It’s all over the counters. It will take the whole day to clean the kitchen.”
“Sticky and sweet.” I shivered. “Like candy?”
She nodded. “Exactly like candy. I was cleaning the kitchen just now when a church member ran in and said that someone had died on the square. I wasn’t the least bit surprised to see you here, Bailey. You have a knack for finding dead people.” She placed a hand on my arm. “You do know you don’t have to find dead people to get my son’s attention. He likes you just the way you are.”
I inwardly rolled my eyes. It wasn’t like I went out looking for dead people. Dead people found me.
“Who told you that someone was killed?”
“The church member ran into the church saying someone was dead on the square, and a second later Aiden, who was talking to dear Reverend Brook, got a call telling him to go to the square right away. What could we think other than it was someone who had been murdered? Murder is becoming a very common thing in the village.”
I grimaced because Juliet was right. There had been three murders in Harvest within the last year. I prayed that Stephen Raber had died of an unfortunate heart attack just as the EMTs on the scene thought and his death wouldn’t add to the murder total.
Toxic Toffee Page 3
