Confection is Good for the Soul: An Amish Cupcake Cozy Mystery

by Ruth Hartzler

  Confection is Good For the Soul

  Ruth Hartzler

  Confection is Good for the Soul: An Amish Cupcake Cozy Mystery

  (Amish Cupcake Cozy Mystery Book 3)

  Ruth Hartzler

  Copyright © 2019 Ruth Hartzler

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN 978-1-925674-92-7

  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

  Amish Recipe

  Amish Recipe

  Connect with Ruth Hartzler

  Next Book in This Series

  Other Books by Ruth Hartzler

  About Ruth Hartzler

  Chapter 1

  I was on my lunch break, sitting in the apartment I shared with two feisty octogenarians. I looked in despair at one of said octogenarians trying to train her cat, Mr. Crumbles, to walk on a leash.

  “Eleanor, you’ve gone quite mad,” Matilda scolded her. “You’re feeding that cat too much.”

  Eleanor was holding onto the end of the leash tightly. The leash was attached to a harness around Mr. Crumbles. Every few seconds, she threw a few cat treats in front of Mr. Crumbles. He walked forward, ate them, and then looked up at Eleanor expectantly.

  “It’s working a treat,” Eleanor said.

  “The only treats involved are the ones you’re giving him.” Matilda jumped to her feet and waved her arms in the air. “At least you got rid of that silly pole.”

  Eleanor shot her sister a dark look. “You wanted that pole as much as I did. I only removed it because Rebecca insisted that we did. And I don’t know why! After all, it saved Jane’s life.”

  I had to admit she was right. If Mr. Crumbles hadn’t swung around the pole and sailed into the air straight into my would-be assailant when he did, I might not be here now.

  Matilda put her hands on her hips. “This really is the last straw, Eleanor. You can’t take that cat outside the apartment on a leash.”

  “Plenty of people do,” Eleanor countered. “It’s all over YouTube. In fact, I think I’ll start a YouTube channel just for Mr. Crumbles.”

  Matilda gasped and sat down hard, causing me to spill my hot tea into my saucer. As I removed my teacup from the saucer and wiped the underneath with a tissue, Matilda said, “Eleanor, you can’t go public. What if someone sees us?”

  I was intrigued. “Who would see you and why would you care?”

  Eleanor and Matilda exchanged glances. “No one, of course. I don’t know what I was saying,” Matilda said. “Have you heard from your attorney yet about those papers your ex-husband wanted you to sign?”

  I knew she was changing the subject, but equally I knew she wouldn’t tell me if I pressed her. “The lawyer thinks I will have some money, but he doesn’t want to get my hopes up until he looks into it a bit further. He has an associate who works in this particular field of contract law, so he’s getting his opinion first.”

  Eleanor took the harness off Mr. Crumbles. “Jane, that’s wonderful. What will you do with the money?”

  “I don’t know if there is any money,” I cautioned her. “And if there is, it might not be much.”

  “What if it’s enough for a house?” Eleanor said.

  Matilda sighed. “I’d miss you, Jane, if you left.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be enough for a house,” I said with a laugh.

  Eleanor rubbed her hands together with glee. “What if it is? You could buy a farm. We could put the goats there.”

  I groaned aloud. The goats were a sore point with my sister, Rebecca. Eleanor and Matilda had rescued some wild goats only recently and had put them at my sister’s farm. When my sister and her husband had agreed to have them there, I’m sure they thought they were nice, well behaved goats, but these goats were proving to be anything but nice or well behaved.

  A raised voice drowned my reply.

  “It must be that dreadful woman again,” Matilda said. “Quick, Jane, go down there and help your sister.”

  I hurried down the stairs to my sister’s cupcake store below, my heart in my mouth. A particularly unpleasant woman, Judy Jenkins, had accused Rebecca of stealing her allegedly new idea for Amish sour cream spice cupcakes.

  Judy Jenkins was a self-proclaimed and as far as I knew, untrained, chef who was about to release a cake cookbook featuring an Amish sour cream spice cupcake on the cover. It was irrelevant to her that Rebecca had been selling those very cupcakes for years. Judy Jenkins had been in the store several times yelling at Rebecca and accusing her of stealing her ideas.

  The overbearing woman had rented premises not far from the cupcake store and was planning to go into the retail cupcake business in opposition to Rebecca.

  I opened the door to see Judy’s big round face pressed close to Rebecca’s. I could see Rebecca was shaken, so I hurried to stand next to her.

  “Would you please keep your voice down, Mrs. Jenkins?” I said in a firm tone. “You’re scaring away the customers.”

  Mrs. Jenkins gestured wildly around the shop. “There are no customers.” Nasty red blotches appeared on her face.

  “Exactly,” I said. “That is precisely my point.”

  Mrs. Jenkins appeared taken aback to have someone stand up to her, no doubt as Rebecca had always been gracious to her. Of course, the Amish would never raise a hand against anyone, and most would not even speak up in their own defense. They were a peaceable community, and to say they didn’t like conflict was an understatement.

  Mrs. Jenkins drummed her stubby fingers against one of the display cabinets. “She’s still selling those cakes!”

  “My sister is Amish in case you hadn’t noticed,” I said slowly, gesturing up and down my sister: her hair in a bun under her prayer kapp, her plain dress, her apron. “Rebecca has been selling Amish sour cream spice cupcakes for many years.”

  “It was my idea to turn Amish sour cream spice cakes into cupcakes!” Mrs. Jenkins’s voice rose to a high pitch. She pounded her meaty fist on the countertop, making all the cupcakes rattle.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” I said in even tones. “Rebecca and I are twins and so I was raised Amish. Our mother always made Amish sour cream spice cakes.”

  Mrs. Jenkins shook her finger in my face. She smelled overpoweringly of wet dogs and cat litter trays. The more she shook her finger, the more dog hair flew into the air. I was glad the health inspector was not present.

  “Be that as it may, but you’re trying to confuse me. I would have no problem if your sister sold Amish sour cream spice cakes. My problem is that she’s turned them into cupcakes and that was my idea! Why, my book has b
een on pre-order for ages, long enough for your sister to steal my ideas, and it’s recently been released! As you very well know, I have my own invention, an Amish sour cream spice cupcake, on the cover.”

  I was doing my best to remain patient. “I am well aware you claim it’s your idea, but my sister has been selling those cupcakes for years. If you take a good look around this store you will see she has Amish whoopie cupcakes, Amish Shoo-fly pie cupcakes, caramel apple coffee cupcakes, and Long John roll cupcakes. She’s turned all standard Amish cakes and desserts into cupcakes. Why, she’s even designed an Amish funnel cake cupcake and that was very difficult to do.”

  Judy looked as though she would explode. “I knew I wouldn’t get any sense of out you! I hope the bishop can knock some sense into your sister.” With that, she left the shop in a rage, shaking her fist.

  “Are you all right?” I asked Rebecca.

  “Yes,” she said, although her face was white and drawn.

  “What’s this about the bishop?”

  Rebecca looked down at her shoes. “I didn’t want to worry you, but the bishop called Ephraim in the barn early this morning and said he has to come and speak with me about my Amish sour cream spice cupcakes.”

  I was in disbelief. “The bishop?” I shrieked.

  Rebecca nodded.

  “But surely he knows you wouldn’t have stolen that idea?”

  Rebecca held up one hand to reassure me. “Of course. The bishop knows I didn’t steal the idea from Mrs. Jenkins, but Mrs. Jenkins made a complaint and he told her he would speak with me. He’s simply doing what he said he would do.”

  “I suppose so, but I don’t like it. Rebecca, I’m coming with you.”

  “You don’t have to do that…” Rebecca began, but I interrupted her.

  “Yes, I do. That Mrs. Jenkins was probably on her best behaviour when she spoke with the bishop, but I’ve seen the woman more than once and I know what she’s like. I can imagine she puts on a good act to people she wants to impress.”

  “But you really don’t need to defend me,” Rebecca protested. “The bishop knows I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just that he was put in the position of telling Mrs. Jenkins that he’d speak with me, so that’s what he’s doing. He told me as much.”

  “I still think it’s best if I come,” I said.

  Rebecca reluctantly agreed. “Actually, Ephraim won’t be home until late because he’s out with some of the menner helping Mr. Lapp to build a new fence. It would be lovely if you would stay to have dinner with me.”

  I wiped Mrs. Jenkins’s dirty fingerprints from the countertop. “Matilda and Eleanor said they wanted to check on the goats today, so I’ll go with them. Hopefully, they’ll be finished with the goats by the time you get there.”

  Rebecca wrung her hands on her apron. “Oh, those goats.”

  I stopped spraying the countertop and looked up. “Have they been naughty?”

  “Very naughty,” she said with a sigh. “Jane, would you flip the sign on the door to ‘Open’? I closed the store when Mrs. Jenkins came in.”

  “That was wise,” I said with a laugh. I walked over to the window and flipped the sign, but as I did, I looked out the window and gasped.

  Chapter 2

  Eleanor was walking Mr. Crumbles along the pavement on a leash. She was still throwing treats in front of his nose and he was walking from one treat to the other. To my relief, he did not seem frightened at all, but I didn’t know what would happen if he saw a mouse. I shook my head as visions of Eleanor being dragged along the sidewalk flashed through my mind. I knew there was no way she would let him go.

  Matilda was outside and appeared to be scolding Eleanor. Eleanor shook the bag of treats and Mr. Crumbles at once ran in circles around Matilda, wrapping the leash around her legs. I have no idea how she kept her balance.

  I turned away from the window before I could see the ensuing argument. I didn’t see Matilda or Eleanor again until hours later, when we all piled into my car for the drive to Rebecca’s farm. I always enjoyed driving to my old community. There was a sense of calm, of escape from the world. I didn’t miss it enough to want to return to the Amish. I guess it was like one of those places you loved to visit but wouldn’t want to live.

  Matilda and Eleanor’s conversation intruded into my happy place. They were both most indignant about Judy Jenkins’s accusations.

  “I’ve actually seen videos advertising her online courses,” Matilda said, “and butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. She comes across as a lovely person and very helpful, and she rescues animals.”

  “Does she rescue goats?” Eleanor asked her.

  Matilda shook her head. “I don’t think so. She’s always posting photos of dogs and cats she rescued.”

  I was puzzled. “I always thought someone who rescued dogs and cats would be a nice person. That doesn’t fit with the fact she’s accusing Rebecca of stealing her new idea.”

  “You mean her new idea that Rebecca has been selling in the store for years?” Matilda said with a laugh. “I can’t believe she complained to the bishop!”

  “Like I said, the bishop isn’t worried. He’s only going to speak with Rebecca out of a sense of duty,” I said. “The bishop’s a lovely man. He always has a smile on his face!”

  Eleanor made a choking sound. “Not anymore!”

  My heart thumped. “What do you mean?”

  I looked out the window. I was only a hundred or so yards away from Rebecca’s house. I stopped the car and tried to make sense of what I was seeing. The bishop was sprinting up the road toward us, clutching his hat, and one of the larger horned goats was chasing him.

  “It’s Billy,” Eleanor said. “That naughty goat!”

  “He’s probably angry that you gave him such an unimaginative name,” Matilda said.

  I jumped out of the car. “What will we do? What will we do?” I said again and again. I was in a terrible panic. Billy had proven to be rather an aggressive goat. He was chasing the bishop and was getting closer with every stride. What would he do when he caught the bishop? I resisted the urge to scream.

  The next thing I knew Eleanor was sprinting toward the bishop with a rope in her hand. I didn’t know someone over the age of eighty could run so fast. I ran after her, but I couldn’t catch her. She was way too fast for me. She made a loop with her rope and swung the lasso over her head as she went.

  I stopped running to catch my breath and watch the scene. I was awfully impressed until Eleanor lassoed the bishop instead of the goat.

  The bishop fell face forward onto the ground.

  Billy the goat came to a stop and looked around, surprised. I guess he wondered where the bishop had gone. At that point Matilda sprinted past me with a rope in her hand. She lassoed Billy at her first attempt and then sprinted over to him. He stood on his hind legs and made to butt her, but she nimbly stepped aside and tied him to the nearby fence.

  As soon as Billy was tied up, he seemed subdued. He dropped his head to graze on the grass.

  I hurried over to help the bishop to his feet. Eleanor was already removing the rope from him and was apologizing profusely.

  The bishop’s face was bright red and he was unable to speak. “Are you all right?” I asked him.

  “The goat, the goat…” he stammered, gasping for breath.

  “Rebecca will be along presently,” I told him, “but let’s get you inside and make you a nice cup of meadow tea.”

  The bishop nodded slowly before picking some leaves out of his beard.

  “I wonder how the goat got out?” Eleanor said.

  “Goats… goats…” the bishop stuttered.

  “Goats, plural?” I asked in alarm.

  He pointed back toward the house.

  “Don’t tell me all the goats are out?”

  The bishop nodded slowly. I took his arm and we walked the short distance to the house. I looked round for signs of Billy’s friends, and kept my eye on the nearest fence to jump.


  “I’ll leave Billy tied up for a little time so he’ll settle down,” Eleanor said. “I’ll see what the other goats are doing.”

  As we rounded the corner, I saw, to my horror, a ghost in front of me. It took me a moment or two to realize it was a sheet, but the sheet had a life of its own. It flapped backward and forward in front of the house.

  Suddenly, from behind the moving sheet appeared some goats, all with clothes on their backs. One goat was wearing undies on her head.

  In my shocked state, I did not realize at once that the goats had taken down the washing line. The goat wearing the sheet seemed disturbed, but the other goats were happily grazing as they walked.

  “Why don’t I take the bishop inside and you two get the goats back into the field?” I said to Matilda and Eleanor, jerking my head toward the bishop. He seemed quite distraught. I was too, but at least I hadn’t been chased.

  “Good idea,” Matilda said. “Come on, Eleanor, let’s get the goats back in.”

  As I walked toward the front door, I saw it was open. “Did you leave the front door open?” I asked the bishop.

  He shook his head. “No, I had only just tied up my horse when that goat chased me.”

  I took it as an encouraging sign that the bishop was able to speak more than two words at once, but I was worried about the front door being open. What’s more, strange sounds were coming from inside.

  I walked into the living room, holding my breath, but everything seemed to be as it should. Plain furniture, a couple couches, an Adirondack chair—nothing out of the ordinary.

  I heard something breaking in the kitchen so I hurried in there. To my abject horror, one of the goats was standing on the kitchen table eating the remains of what looked like Shoo-fly pie. Bits of crumbled molasses dripped from his beard. He sneezed violently and molasses splattered all over the wall. Another had its head in the fridge. Don’t ask me how the goat got the fridge door open.