His shoulders sagged. “No, you don’t. Not really.”
I squeezed his upper arm. “Maybe you’re right, and it’s probably good for the county that I don’t have that kind of power. My being a Rolling Brook township trustee is dangerous enough.”
He smiled and walked to a squad car in front of the house.
I followed him with Petunia trailing behind me. “Where are you going?”
“I have to get the extra evidence bags while Anderson is Sasquatching.”
“Sheriff James Mitchell, are you making a joke while on duty?” I chuckled.
“Don’t tell anyone.” He opened the trunk of the squad car and removed a box of evidence bags from the empty tire well.
How many did he think he’d needed? The side of the box said it was a hundred count. “You don’t think Jonah did it, do you?” I asked. “You know that he couldn’t.”
Mitchell tucked the box of bags under his arm. “I should have known you weren’t really going to stay out of this.”
I rolled my eyes. “How can I? We’re in my parents’ front yard.”
Mitchell squinted. “You know Hillary has been complaining to me that Zander has been rolling his eyes a lot lately. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Nope,” I said a little too quickly before pressing on with my real concern. “Mitchell, I’m serious. Jonah would never hurt anyone. He’s the most likable man in the county.”
“Gee, thanks.” The corner of his mouth quirked up in a half smile. “I was vying for that title.”
“You know what I mean. You’re going to be hard-pressed to find anyone, Amish or English, who doesn’t like Jonah Graber, and equally hard-pressed to find anyone he doesn’t like . . .” I trailed off on the last portion of my pronouncement because there was someone Jonah didn’t like in the least bit. Now, that one man was dead.
“Angie, do you know something about Jonah’s relationship with the deceased that you’re not telling me?” His tone was serious. Mitchell didn’t miss anything, and much to my chagrin, my face had always reflected every thought passing through my head.
I pushed my long blond curls out of my face. The haphazard knot I had thrown them in that morning as I ran from the house was beginning to unravel. I was stalling. “Not really. I don’t know the entire story.”
“But there’s something that you do know.” He wasn’t going to let me off the hook that easily.
I didn’t answer.
“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t keep secrets from each other.” His unique blue-green eyes focused on me and did whatever they could to force me to confess. Sometimes—a lot of times—they worked their magic, but not this time. This was Jonah I was protecting. It was going to take a lot more than Mitchell’s beautiful eyes to crack me.
I went on the offensive. “You keep secrets from me all the time,” I protested.
“I’m the sheriff.” He slammed the trunk closed. “I’m obligated to keep secrets from you. It’s part of the job.”
I folded my arms. “Jonah is one of my best friends, so I’m obligated to keep his confidence.”
“Did he tell you not to talk to me about whatever this is?”
“No,” I said, because it was true, but then again, I doubted Jonah thought there would be a dead body in my parents’ backyard that morning.
“So it is related to Bright.”
Drat. I should have just stopped talking altogether. That would have been the safest move. “I can’t be forced to speak against my friend.”
“That only works for spouses”—he paused—“in court.”
“Jonah will have to tell you.” I left it at that. “You know he will. He’s an honest man. It’s his story to tell.”
He shook his head. “I need to return to the scene and check in with Anderson by phone. Poor guy looked shaken up by whatever he thinks may be out there.”
The officers across the street were still circling the tree. Now it sort of looked like a game of Duck, Duck, Goose. Something had been there—I knew it—but it was just too much to believe it was anything other than a person. Maybe it had been Nahum. Maybe whatever it had been wasn’t as large as I first thought.
“Do you really think it’s, you know, Bigfoot?” I asked.
“No,” was Mitchell’s direct answer. “There’s no such thing, and even if there was, I doubt it would kill a person with electricity. That is a very human weapon.”
He had a point.
He placed his large hand on my cheek for just a moment. “I’ll do what I can for Jonah. You know that.” With that, he dropped his hand and walked around the side of the house that led to the backyard.
After he was gone, I felt the loss of his brief but warm touch.
Petunia shook me back to reality by biting the head off one of my mother’s bright red tulips lining the walk to the front door. A bloodred petal dropped from her lips while she chewed. Not one to miss a snack, Petunia bent her head, scooping it up with her tongue.
I groaned. “Petunia, Mom is going to make goat stew out of you if Miriam doesn’t first.”
She gave me a mournful sigh and blinked at me.
She always made it so hard to stay mad at her. Dodger had the same talent. Aptly named after Dickens’s Artful Dodger, he was twice as destructive as the goat.
“Fine, we’ll blame it on a passing deer, but you’re going to have to back me up on the story.”
She offered me a goaty grin as if she understood. There were plenty of deer in Holmes County to take the fall.
Chapter Eight
I was attempting to pull Petunia away from my mother’s tulips when a bright yellow compact car raced up the hill and screeched to a stop in front of my parents’ house. The driver parked the car in the middle of the road, and a woman jumped out of the driver’s seat. She made a beeline for me, leaving the door of her car wide-open.
Petunia stepped in front of me, and I suddenly felt a lot more grateful for the goat.
The woman was thin and her brown hair was piled on top in an elaborate braided bun that looked painfully tight. There was something about her that was vaguely familiar. “Where is he?” The bangles on her arm rattled together as she yelled the question at me.
Deputy Anderson and the two officers stopped circling the tree and cautiously headed toward us. At least backup was close by.
“Where is who?” I asked.
“Griff! Where is my fiancé?”
I stared at her. “Griffin was your fiancé?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Is he telling people something different? I’ll kill him.”
Too late for that, I thought.
Anderson spoke in his radio as he approached the woman, and a moment later, Mitchell and another of his deputies came around the side of the house.
“I know he’s here,” the woman said. “I need to talk to that good-for-nothing scoundrel. If you’re not going to tell me where he is, I’ll find him myself.”
I grimaced. I didn’t want to be the one to tell her that her scoundrel fiancé was dead. Thankfully, Mitchell had reached us by that point. “What’s going on here?” Mitchell asked.
“I’m looking for my fiancé, Griffin Bright. He should be here working on this house. I told him not to take this small job when he has a big contract in town, but would he listen to me? No. He never listens to me.”
“Ms. . . .” Mitchell began.
“Zeff. My name is Mallory Zeff. Now, will you please tell me where Griff is?”
“When was the last time you saw Griffin?” Mitchell asked.
“Two days, when I threw him out of my apartment. He came begging to me to give him more time, but I gave him an ultimatum. The wedding had to happen by the end of this year, or I was leaving him for good.”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “I thought you said he was you
r fiancé.”
Her dark eyes narrowed. “He is my fiancé. We’ve been together for years. I’m tired of him putting off the wedding. I came here to give him a piece of my mind. He’s not answering any of my calls or texts.” She scowled. “So typical. I don’t know why I put up with him at all.”
At that moment, the EMTs pushed the gurney that held Griffin’s body around the side of the house.
The sight of the gurney seemed to shock her, and then she looked around and seemed to register all the police officers and their vehicles. “What’s going on here?”
“Miss Zeff,” Mitchell began. “I need to talk to you about Griffin.”
Understanding dawned on her face. “Griff?” she whispered. Mallory lunged at the gurney. Mitchell caught her before she could reach it. Wisely, the EMTs picked up their pace and transferred Griffin’s body to the ambulance. The tires of the ambulance screeched as they sped away from the curb.
The woman was crying. “You can’t take him. That’s my fiancé. You just can’t take him.”
“Sheriff,” Deputy Anderson said, “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but Mr. and Mrs. Braddock want to talk to you.”
I grimaced. It sounded like Mitchell was being called to the principal’s office, and with my mother, that was a pretty good comparison.
Mitchell looked heavenward for the briefest of moments. “Please record Miss Zeff’s statement. I will be right back.” He strode to the house.
I watched Mitchell go. I was torn between learning more of what Mallory Zeff might know about Griffin’s death and shielding Mitchell from a verbal attack from my mother.
Deputy Anderson made the decision for me. “Angie,” he said, “you should probably give Mitchell some backup with your mom and dad.” He wrinkled his nose in concern for Mitchell, and I knew he was right.
It wasn’t until the deputy led Mallory away that I remembered why she looked so familiar to me. I had seen her before, just a few yards from where Petunia and I stood at that very moment. She was the sullen woman who had been sitting in Griffin’s truck yesterday, which meant she had been lying. The last time she had seen him hadn’t been two days ago. What else was she lying about?
This knowledge spurred me to find out where Mitchell went. It was even more important than rescuing him from my mother’s barrage of reprimands and complaints.
Inside the house, I tied Petunia to the banister in the foyer. Even as I did it, I had a sinking feeling that it was very bad idea. I was about to untie her and take her back outside, when my mother cried, “You can’t be serious!”
I abandoned the goat and dashed into the next room. I don’t know what I expected to find in my parents’ living room, but my mother glaring at my boyfriend was not a welcome sight. She poked her manicured fingernail into his chest. “James Mitchell, I am in the middle of a massive renovation here. I don’t have a working kitchen. I need that to be fixed, especially since there is a murderer running loose in this county, and now you say I have to leave my own home. What is Kent supposed to do? He’s injured his back. He can’t sleep on some hard hotel bed. That will only make his pain worse.”
Mitchell almost appeared neutral as my mother poked him, but I saw his right cheek twitch. Ever the gentleman, he would never tell my mother off, even if she might deserve it.
Oliver, who had been seated next to my father’s chair doing his best to play the part of guard dog—which was an impossible feat for a funny-face Frenchie—crept over to me at the door.
Dad cleared his throat from his spot on the recliner. “James, as you can see, my wife doesn’t want to leave our home.” He grimaced. “And I have to agree with her about my back and the hotel bed.”
“I’m not saying that you have to leave,” Mitchell said in an even voice. “I was only making a suggestion. The investigation in your backyard might go on for some time. We’ll move the trailer to the crime lab as soon as possible, but several eyewitnesses saw someone near your property. My first concern is your safety.”
Dad reached up and took my mother’s hand. “We understand.”
Mitchell glanced over at me. I hadn’t even known he’d realized that I had entered the room. Not that I should be surprised; Mitchell was always aware of what was going on around him.
“I will not abandon my home,” Mom declared.
“I can stay here,” I spoke up. “The more people here to keep watch on the house, the better, and with Dad not being able to get around as well as usual, I would like to keep an eye on things. It’ll only be for a couple of days. I’m sure Jonah and his men will have the kitchen done as quickly as possible.”
Mitchell’s head snapped in my direction, and I gave him my most innocent smile. By staying at my parents’ home, I might have an opportunity to delve into the murder and clear Jonah’s name, and it was true I wanted to keep an eye on my father. His back injury worried me.
Mitchell’s eyes narrowed. Sheesh. You’d think that the guy didn’t trust my motives.
Mom nodded as if liking the idea. “You can stay in my future grandbaby’s room.”
Okay, I was already regretting my decision. I dared to peek at Mitchell.
The sheriff’s jaw twitched. I didn’t know if it was from my obvious scheme to investigate or the mention of grandchildren. Probably both.
I gave Mitchell the best set of puppy-dog eyes I could muster.
He gave a slight shake of his head. The eyes didn’t work. They never did. Not with the pageant judges, my parents, or Mitchell. Why then, did I keep trying with the hope of different results?
Dad shifted in his seat and winced. “I hate to ask you to leave your own home, AngieBear. I’m not an invalid.” He patted his walker. “With my aluminum steed, I can get around pretty well.”
“I want to stay,” I said. “I’ll feel better if I know you and Mom are safe. If I was at my own house, I would only worry there.”
“I think it’s a splendid idea, Angie,” my mother said as she gave Mitchell a level stare down. “It will give us a chance to chat about your future.”
My future? I would avoid that conversation at all costs, even if it required me to run headlong into Bigfoot’s arms. I put a brave face on for Mitchell’s sake.
He gave me a steady look. “All right,” the sheriff said in resignation. It was almost as if he knew he would never win with a roomful of Braddocks up against him. He was right in that regard. “We still have to process the kitchen,” Mitchell said. “Jonah claimed to enter the backyard through the broken French door. We want to make sure his story jibes with the physical evidence. I wouldn’t expect any work being done in the kitchen until tomorrow at the earliest.”
“That’s settled, then,” I said and picked up Oliver. “I’ll stay. Now, I really have to run. I need to stop at home before opening the shop.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Mitchell said.
In the foyer, we found Petunia still tethered to the banister, munching on a piece of crime scene tape.
Mitchell ran his hand through his dark hair flecked with silver. It definitely had more silver than when I first moved to Holmes County. I refused to make the correlation.
“How in the world did she get ahold of that?” Mitchell asked.
I shrugged, setting Oliver on the floor next to the goat. “Do you think it will make her sick?”
“It’s not any worse than most of the stuff that she eats.” He paused. “So you just happen to want to stay at your parents’ home to protect them?” His voice dripped with doubt.
I put my hands on my hips. “You don’t think I’m worried about my own father?”
He held up his hands as if to warn off the barrage of words I was about to throw at him, and I had some doozies in mind too. “I know you’re worried about him. You have every right to be. I’m only suggesting that caring for your parents isn’t your only motive for wanting to stay here.”
My eyes narrowed into slits. “What are you implying, Sheriff?”
He focused his blue-green gaze directly at me. “You want to snoop.”
I didn’t confirm or deny this.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “This case is going to be a pain. I can already tell. And it’s not just because the crime was committed on your parents’ property, but that certainly doesn’t help.”
“Neither does Bigfoot,” I reminded him. “That’s a new one.”
He groaned. “There’s no such thing, but there will be some Amish in the county who will be offended just by the rumors of its existence. They aren’t much for make-believe, as you know.”
I nodded. Martha Yoder immediately came to mind. She would hate the rumor about Bigfoot in the county and would somehow blame me for it. Martha had once worked for my aunt at Running Stitch. She had even taken care of my aunt Eleanor while she was battling cancer. Because of her loyalty to my aunt during that difficult time, she had expected that she would be the one who would inherit Running Stitch upon my aunt’s death. To her surprise, and frankly to mine, Aunt Eleanor left the shop to me. Martha never forgave me for that and, out of spite, opened a rival Amish quilt shop, Authentic Amish Quilts, right next to Running Stitch.
I untied Petunia and led her out the front door. Oliver and Mitchell followed me as I walked the goat to my small SUV parked crookedly on the street. “At least you have a good suspect.”
Mitchell arched his brow.
“Mallory, Griffin’s fiancée. Something is up with her. She already lied once.”
His gaze sharpened. “What do you mean?”
I went on to tell him about seeing Mallory in Griffin’s truck the day before.
“Interesting,” Mitchell said thoughtfully.
“Can I talk to Jonah before I go?” I asked.
He shook his head. “He’s still being questioned. I need to have a little chat with the fiancée.” He squeezed my hand. “Don’t do anything stupid. Please.”
“Me?” I asked. “Do something stupid?”
Murder, Handcrafted (Amish Quilt Shop Mystery) Page 6
