Speak With Confection
Culinary Cat Cozy Mystery
Ruth Hartzler
Speak with Confection
Amish Cupcake Cozy Mystery Book 4
Culinary Cat Cozy Mystery
Ruth Hartzler
Copyright © 2020 Ruth Hartzler
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The personal names have been invented by the author, and any likeness to the name of any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Amish Recipe
Amish Recipe
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About Ruth Hartzler
Chapter 1
I couldn’t remember when I had last been so excited. I had closed on the new house I had bought from my twin sister, Rebecca, and her husband. They were Amish and I was not, but after my husband divorced me to marry a much younger woman, I had lived in the apartment over Rebecca’s cupcake store with two elderly ladies, Eleanor and Matilda, and their cat, Mr. Crumbles.
Now Matilda, Eleanor, and Mr. Crumbles were moving into my new house with me, and I couldn’t be happier. I was smiling widely to myself when Rebecca burst through the door of her store. “Sorry I’m late, Jane.”
I looked at my watch. “You’re not late. The shop doesn’t close for another three hours.”
Rebecca made a clicking sound with her tongue. “Of course I’m late. This is your first day in your new house, and I wanted you to have time off to enjoy it. It’s just that I promised to help Mrs. Graber, and it took longer than I thought it would.”
I waved her concerns away. “I work for you, Rebecca. I’m not going to shirk my duties just because I’ve bought a house. Besides, Eleanor and Matilda went to the house this morning. They said they’d get it ready for me.” A small tingle of apprehension ran up my spine.
“Did you have many customers?”
I shook my head. “A steady stream, but I wasn’t overwhelmed.”
Rebecca pointed to the door. “Off you go!” Her tone was firm.
“But, but,” I sputtered, but Rebecca would hear none of it.
She put her hands on her hips. “I insist!”
I didn’t need telling twice. “Denki, Rebecca.” I hurried out of the door and strode to my car. This was the first house I had ever owned—well, the first house I had owned all by myself, no cheating husband involved.
What’s more, I wouldn’t be lonely, not with Eleanor and Matilda. The house was far bigger than the apartment we had shared above the cupcake store, so I wouldn’t be in for any surprises living with them. I hoped not anyway. Mr. Crumbles—he was another matter. That cat was full of surprises.
I brought the car to a stop and jumped out, smiling once more as I looked at my house. It was all white with a big porch and stood on the adjoining land to my sister and her husband’s farm. They had been only too happy to sell it to me when their renters had given notice. That had coincided nicely with the arrival of money owed to me from my former marriage. The house was in good condition and solidly built, and what’s more, it had electricity unlike other Amish-owned houses in the area. I was glad Englischers had rented it for years.
I looked over at the herb garden and the vegetable garden, and then all but skipped up the porch steps. I flung open the front door and gasped.
Eleanor and Matilda had decorated the house. It wasn’t at all my style. I stood there with my mouth open, wondering where they had gotten all the furniture. Over to one side was a leather Chesterfield couch, but instead of being in the typical Chesterfield colors of brown or black, this one sported the brightest floral pattern I had ever seen. I almost needed sunglasses to look at it. Opposite it was a huge wooden table with a slab of marble on the top.
A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling. It looked antique. I was certain it hadn’t been there before. Bright purple curtains hung from the windows opposite me. I wondered whether Eleanor and Matilda were both color-blind. That was when I turned around and saw what was on the far wall.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Swords and daggers and guns covered the wall, collectively forming some bizarre type of decoration. They hadn’t been in the apartment—not as far as I knew—and I wondered where they had been hiding them.
Matilda walked into the room. She let out a scream when she saw me. “Eleanor, she’s here!” she yelled. To me, she said, “You’re early.” Her tone was accusatory.
I rubbed my temples. “Yes, I know you wanted to surprise me, but…” My voice trailed away.
“Well, you have surprised us,” Matilda said.
It was then I noticed she was covered in soapsuds. I heard a sound like someone being strangled. “Is there somebody else here?” I asked her.
Matilda looked aghast. “Somebody else here? Have you taken leave of your senses, Jane?”
“Very probably,” I admitted. I hurried over to her, but she barred the doorway. After some jostling with elbows, I managed to push past her. The noise was coming from the main bathroom.
I flung open the bathroom door to see Eleanor sitting in the bath with a goat.
I thought perhaps I was having a nightmare, a rather bad nightmare. Surely, this couldn’t be happening. “Eleanor, why are you in the bath with a goat?”
“I didn’t do it deliberately,” she said rather crossly. “I was giving the goat a bath. She resisted, and I fell in.”
The goat let out another mournful sound.
I took a deep breath. “Why on earth are you shampooing that goat? And isn’t it one of those wild goats?”
“Gigi was a wild goat, but we are training her, aren’t we, Matilda?”
Matilda nodded enthusiastically. “She’s the tamest of the wild goats.”
Some time ago, Matilda and Eleanor had rescued fifteen wild goats for a petting zoo at a fundraising event and had subsequently boarded them on my sister’s farm. The wild goats had caused no end of trouble, and my sister and her husband were thrilled when I said the goats could live with me. After all, the house came with several acres.
“Why are you washing the goat, anyway? And more to the point, why are you washing a goat in my bathtub?”
“Where else would we wash her?” Eleanor frowned so hard, her eyebrows met and formed a unibrow. “Don’t worry, we didn’t use your shampoo and conditioner. We bought some specially.” She pointed to the bottle at the foot of the bath.
I tiptoed across the soaked bathroom floor and picked it up. The label proudly announced, ‘Premium Shampoo for Goats.’ I was shocked. “They actually make shampoo for goats? Who in their right mind shampoos goats?”
Eleanor a
ppeared quite offended. “We entered Gigi in the goat show.”
Well, now I had heard everything! I folded my arms over my chest. “You can’t put that goat in a show! Goats need pedigrees and everything like that. People breed them carefully for years. You can’t put any old goat in a goat show.”
“They introduced a new class this year,” Matilda said from behind me.
I turned around halfway so I could keep an eye on both her and the goat. I didn’t want any more surprises.
She pushed on. “The class is called Any Other Variety. They did it to allow anybody to enter any type of goat, because the goat society was trying to get the general public interested in showing goats.”
Eleanor nodded, causing bits of soapsuds to fly from her hair. “And what a good idea it is too. Matilda, could you hand me that blue rinse?”
Matilda handed Eleanor a bottle of blue liquid, and she wasted no time pouring it over the goat. I expected the goat to object, but now she seemed to be enjoying the attention.
At that point, I was very pleased that the house had an en-suite bathroom and that the goat was being washed in the main bathroom. “About all the furniture,” I began.
Matilda interrupted me. “We had it in storage for so many years and now it can see the light of day. Isn’t it wonderful!”
“That’s one word for it,” I said. “And what about all the guns on the wall?”
“They don’t work,” Matilda said cheerfully. “They’re only for show. But don’t worry. The katanas and daggers can certainly be used as weapons. They make a lovely and useful display too, don’t they?”
I clutched my head with both hands. I was beginning to regret buying the house and wanted to go back to the apartment. I staggered out of the bathroom and headed for the kitchen. I needed to make myself a nice cup of hot meadow tea. I had been raised Amish and left the community after my rumspringa. Some of the Amish ways had stuck with me, such as considering hot meadow tea to be soothing.
I found Mr. Crumbles sitting under the kitchen table. “I think I should get under there with you.”
Matilda walked into the kitchen. “Jane, you’re worrying about nothing.” She shook her head and frowned. “It must be the excitement of seeing how beautifully we decorated your house, and the shock of owning your own home and all these lovely acres filled with our goats. And don’t worry about us taking the goat to the show. It’s only a goat show. What could go wrong?”
Chapter 2
When we arrived at the goat show, I sat in the car, my hands trembling. I had no idea Matilda and Eleanor intended to transport Gigi in my car. I had expected they would hire a goat or livestock transport company. The goat had tried to escape from my car the entire way to the goat show, which had made driving difficult. I’d had to drive slowly to be safe, despite Matilda and Eleanor loudly and insistently urging me on.
As it was, we had arrived at the goat show plenty early. I took a deep breath and watched as Matilda and Eleanor did their best to encourage the goat to walk into the exhibition building. Just as they had almost reached the entrance, a well-dressed woman walked in front of them. She waved her arms. Even from the distance, I could tell she was angry.
Matilda managed to get the goat to walk around the woman, even though the woman kept trying to jump in front of Gigi.
I jumped out of the car and ran to their assistance, but the woman left.
“What was that incident with that woman?” I asked them.
“It was some stuck-up, irate woman who said we shouldn’t bring a goat like that to the show,” Eleanor said. “I told her Gigi was entered in the Any Other Variety class, but that didn’t make her any happier.”
“Don’t let that worry you now,” Matilda said. “Have positive thoughts. What that woman said was simply her own opinion.”
Eleanor nodded and maneuvered Gigi inside. Goats were everywhere: white goats, multi-colored goats, chocolate colored goats with white markings, and black goats with white markings. None of them looked anything like Matilda and Eleanor’s wild goat, but then again I hadn’t expected that they would.
I looked up to see Eleanor and Matilda struggling with Gigi. Other goat owners were looking on, their jaws gaping open.
Finally, they managed to get Gigi into a pen. The other goats were all standing politely in their individual pens while their owners fussed over them and groomed them. Eleanor and Matilda were hanging tightly onto Gigi.
I walked over to them. “Gigi doesn’t look anything like the other goats,” I said in the most even tone I could muster. At least the smell was pleasant—the combined fragrance of hay and heavily scented shampoo permeated the air.
Eleanor’s eyebrow shot skyward. “Of course not. She’s in the Any Other Variety class. We told you that.”
The lady in the next pen apparently overheard because she leaned over to us. “This is a dairy goat show,” she said with a chuckle.
Eleanor nodded to Gigi. “Isn’t this a dairy goat?”
The woman chuckled again. “No, definitely not. She’s a crossbred goat, probably a combination of fleece and meat goats.”
“Someone wouldn’t eat Gigi, surely?” Eleanor said in alarm.
“I’m Francis.” The woman stuck out her hand.
“That’s a pretty goat you have there,” I said, shaking her hand.
Francis beamed from ear to ear. “Yes, her name is Splendiferous Farms Lady Prudence. She’s in the junior goat class.”
I stared at the goat. “What type of goat is she?”
“She’s a Toggenburg. They’re the brown ones with white markings.” Francis gestured to pens beside her filled with large and substantial-looking goats. “Next to these Toggenburgs are Alpines, and in the pens beyond are Saanens. They’re the white ones.”
“What breed are those multi-colored ones with droopy ears?” I asked her.
“Nubians. And over the back are the LaManchas, the Oberhaslis, and the Dwarf Goats.”
Something puzzled me. “Why is there an Any Other Variety class at this show? I mean, Matilda and Eleanor told me it was to encourage people to become interested in goat showing, but wouldn’t it be an Any Other Variety class for dairy goat breeds only?”
Francis shook her head. “There is no other variety of dairy goat outside the classes here. The Any Other Variety class was introduced so farmers could bring maybe an Angora goat or a Cashmere goat. It’s not a recognized, serious class, of course. I don’t think it was meant for crossbred goats, although your goat is obviously full of character,” she added kindly, although I’m sure that wasn’t what she really thought. “Have you had your goat for long?”
Matilda shook her head. “We’re still trying to teach her to lead.”
Francis was visibly disturbed. “Oh, that’s not good. The judges expect them to lead very well. All the show goats are very well behaved, just like dogs at a dog show. They all have to walk around politely and then stand for the judge.”
Matilda and Eleanor exchanged glances. “You don’t have to enter Gigi in the show. We can always go home,” I said hopefully.
Eleanor was visibly put out. “We’re not going home. Besides, I haven’t seen any other goats that look like Gigi, so maybe she’s the only entrant. That means we’ll get first prize.”
“That’s cheating!” Matilda exclaimed.
Eleanor’s face flushed beet red. “How is it cheating, Matilda?”
Thankfully, Francis interrupted them. “I did see some Cashmere goats on my way in. Never mind—don’t expect to win at your first show.”
“Do you think you will win?” Matilda asked her.
“I certainly hope Prudence will win her class. She was Reserve Champion Toggenburg at her last show, which was bigger than this show. The only thing is, Gemma Calhoun’s goat, Liberty Hill Farm Sweetened Wine, always wins Grand Champion.”
“Does she win Champion Toggenburg goat or champion of all the goats?” I asked her.
“Both,” she said with a sigh. “She always
wins her class and then goes on to win Best of Breed, and then she always wins Best in Show as well. In fact, her goat has never been beaten.” She cast a look around her. “I saw Gemma’s trailer outside, but I haven’t seen her.” She lowered her voice and added, “She’s not a very nice person. None of the other breeders like her.”
I scratched my forehead. “I didn’t see any trailers when we arrived.”
“You must’ve parked out the front. All the trailers are out the back. How did you get that goat here?”
“In my car,” I said with a glare at Matilda and Eleanor. They both looked away.
“Well then, I had better get Prudence to her class.” She sprayed something all over the goat, which made her coat shine, and then led her out of the pen.
“Maybe we should have bought some of that stuff.” Matilda leaned over the pen and looked at it. “It’s some sort of spray-on shine for show horses.”
“I don’t think it will help Gigi,” I said. Both of them glared at me, so I thought it was time to walk away. I walked over to the ring and sat down to watch the entrants. All the goats looked the same to me, but I expect it was like show dogs—there were particulars that only breeders and exhibitors would recognize.
The goats walked around the ring one after the other. I was rather dismayed when I saw how well behaved they all were. Presently, the exhibitors lined up in the center of the ring and the judge walked along, inspecting each goat. The goats were awarded ribbons and left the ring.
Next, it was Francis’s turn. All the goats seem to be as shiny as each other. I noticed Francis was looking straight at the judge, maybe expecting the judge to call her goat in first. In fact, that was what happened. This time, the judge took longer to look at the second and third goats, but soon, the ribbons were awarded and Francis’s goat won.
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