“When are you coming home?”
Home. I wished that it was possible to go home. Even if I was willing to leave my grandparents at a time like this, I didn’t know if the police would let me go.
“You have left at an uncomfortable time,” he complained. “I need you here. Are you back in the city?” He blew out a frustrated breath.
“No. I’m still in Ohio with my grandparents,” I said.
A creative string of French swearing assaulted my ear.
When he finally wound down, I interjected, “I can explain. Just give me five minutes to speak, and then you can yell at me again.”
“All right, ma chérie, but when you finish speaking, I will resume my shouting.” He was matter-of-fact.
A smiled curved my lips. “Deal.” I took a deep breath and told him everything that had happened since I had arrived in Ohio, except I left out any reference to Eric Sharp, because, of course, Jean Pierre didn’t, and couldn’t, know about my relationship with the pastry chef.
Jean Pierre swore as I finished my tale.
Silence hung between us until I couldn’t take it anymore. “That’s all you are going to say? You aren’t going to rant and rave?”
“Ma chérie, I would not yell at you at a time like this. Do you think I am some kind of animale? You have been through a terrible shock. I will not make it worse.”
To my surprise, the fact that Jean Pierre wasn’t yelling at me about abandoning him was even more disturbing than his curse-laden rant would have been. Tears stung my eyes. For all his rants and complaints, he really did care about me.
“And you must stay there and take care of your grandparents. They need you now.” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Even more than I do.”
I hesitated. “What about the selection committee?”
He called the selection committee a particularly terrible name, which made me feel better. “Let me take care of them. They can postpone their decision a few days, until you are able to return.”
“Thank you, Jean Pierre.” I brushed a tear from my cheek.
“Ah, do not thank me now,” he said. “Thank me later, when you assume my role in my great chocolat empire.”
I laughed. “Okay. I’ll thank you then.”
I ended the call and shoved the phone back into my pocket. My hand fell to my side on the cement stoop.
“Ow!” I yanked my hand back as a sharp pain coursed through my index finger. There was a tiny piece of glass, a sliver really, stuck in my finger. I pulled it out, and blood gathered on my fingertip.
I jumped to my feet and stared at the stoop. The sunlight glittered on other minuscule shards of glass on the edge of the stoop. I moved around the landing and found several larger pieces in a small patch of grass. The glass was very thin. I squatted in front of the pieces. I didn’t dare touch them. I glanced up at the back door.
“What are you doing?” someone demanded.
I screamed and rolled onto my back like an overturned turtle. Aiden stared down at me. He offered me a hand, but I ignored it and scrambled to my feet. “Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a person like that?”
He held his hands up in mock surrender. He held a plastic sack of apples in one hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He showed just a hint of the dimple with that remark.
“You didn’t scare me,” I lied.
His face morphed from amusement to concern. “You’re bleeding.”
I looked down at my hand and saw blood trickling down my index finger to my palm and wrist. “It’s nothing.” I moved my hand above my heart to slow the bleeding.
“You might need stitches.”
I shook my head. “No. I have had far worse cuts, which didn’t require stitches.”
He blinked at me.
“I’m a chocolatier,” I explained. “Anyone who works in a professional kitchen has cut him or herself once or twice.”
He rested the hand not holding the sack of apples on his duty belt. “I still think you should have it looked at.”
“I’ll bandage it up when I go back inside.” I held my wrist with my left hand. “What are you doing back here?”
He scanned the alley. “I thought I would take another look around.”
“That’s what I was thinking too,” I said. “And look what I found. Broken glass. There’s some on the stoop, but there are some larger pieces in the grass. Though even the larger pieces are small. None are much bigger than a matchbook. I think whoever broke this glass cleaned it up in a hurry, and didn’t care that they missed part of it.” I paused. “Or they didn’t have time to care.”
Aiden stood next to me. “The glass is very thin.” He nodded to my hand. “Is that what cut you?”
I nodded.
“You’re lucky it didn’t do more damage. Glass that thin could have really hurt you.” He held the piece of glass under his nose and sniffed. “Just what I thought.”
“What?” I asked.
“Kerosene. This glass came from a kerosene lamp.”
“So someone Amish brought a kerosene lamp here,” I said.
“Why do you say they’re Amish?” he asked.
I sidestepped away from him. He was too close. I cleared my throat. “Who else would carry a kerosene lamp?”
He stepped back from the stoop too. “Good point.”
“You didn’t know about this glass before?” I asked.
Aiden shook his head.
“Didn’t you search the back alley for more signs of a break-in?” My tone was accusatory.
He frowned. “Deputy Carpenter searched the alleyway early this morning.”
“But he didn’t find this,” I said.
He shook his head. “He may have missed it.”
“Or he didn’t want to see it,” I muttered, remembering Deputy Carpenter’s accusations against my grandfather.
Aiden’s gaze snapped in my direction. “Deputy Carpenter is a good cop. He would have reported something like this if he’d noticed it.”
I didn’t bother to argue with him. “Doesn’t this prove that whoever broke into the shop with Tyson was Amish? Maybe Tyson and the killer even entered together.”
“No, this proves nothing,” the deputy said simply. “We don’t know how long that glass has been there.”
I took a deep breath and recited the types of chocolate in my head. “I know it looks bad for my grandfather, but I’m telling you he didn’t do this. He’s sick. He even passed out yesterday. His family doctor had to make a house call to check on him. He’s in no condition to kill anyone, let alone have the strength to stab a grown man. That takes a lot of force, which my grandfather doesn’t have, and he didn’t ask me to do it either, if that’s the other theory you have going.”
“Miss King,” he began.
“I thought you were calling me Bailey,” I said. “Every time you say Miss King, I feel like you’re about to administer a chocolate sculpting test. My instructors in culinary school always called me Miss King.”
The lines around his mouth softened into a smile. “Bailey, first take a breath.”
I glared at him.
“Go ahead.” He smiled encouragingly. “I’ll wait.”
I scowled, but finally, I relented and allowed myself to breathe.
The deputy removed an evidence bag and a set of tweezers from the breast pocket of his uniform. He set the bag of apples on the step as he collected the pieces of glass from the ground. “Did that help?”
“Nope.” I folded my arms, taking care not to bump my finger, which was beginning to throb. But I wasn’t going to let Aiden know that.
“I’ll have the crime scene guys come back here to take pictures and collect whatever glass I missed. They are better equipped to pick up all the tiny pieces.” He sealed the bag and put the tweezers back in his pocket. “I don’t believe that your grandfather did this either, but I have to follow wherever the evidence leads. Right now, he is the best suspect we have, but you’re right that his health al
most immediately eliminates him. I’ll talk to his doctor about his strength and his ability to stab anyone the night of the murder.”
I grimaced.
“But even if your grandfather is eliminated from the list, it still leaves you and your grandmother as suspects.” He picked up his bag of apples from the step.
I felt sick, because I knew he was right.
The radio crackled on his hip. “I have to go.” He opened the plastic sack in his hand and removed an apple from it. He held it out to me.
I stared at it. “What’s that?”
“A Honey Crisp.” He grinned. “I just picked these up from the farmers’ market before coming back here.”
I still didn’t move to touch the apple.
“Take it. They’re the best apples you’ll ever eat.”
I accepted the apple, feeling a little bit like Snow White accepting a snack from the evil queen. This time, she might be disguised as a handsome prince instead of an old hag.
Chapter 10
I stared at the apple for a long time after Aiden left the back alley.
“Bailey!” I heard my grandmother call me from the front of the shop.
I glanced from the apple to my cut finger, which was no longer bleeding, but still throbbed. Of the two, I thought my maami would be more upset about the cut, and I didn’t want to give her any more reason to be upset that day. Heavens knew, she’d already had enough to cause her worry that morning.
With my hand in my pocket, I came around the back of the building. My grandmother stood beside the metal cart that I had borrowed from Esther Esh and smiled at me. “When I saw Esther’s cart here with you nowhere in sight, I was afraid something might have happened to you.” She chuckled, but her eyes were worried. “I know that’s silly.”
I rushed over to her and gave her a hug, taking care to not to show her my injured finger. “That’s not silly at all. I’m sorry. I was just wandering around outside the shop, thinking about all that’s happened this morning.”
She gave a great sigh. “There is certainly a lot to worry us.”
I stepped back and shoved my hand back into my pocket before she could see my cut. My grandmother had a sharp eye, and I knew she would realize there was something wrong with my hand at just a glance.
Her brow creased. “Where did you get that apple?” she asked, proving my theory that there was little she missed.
“From the farmers’ market,” I said breezily.
“Oh, that’s nice. I didn’t know that you already went over there.”
I didn’t correct her.
She patted my arm. “It’s at times like these that Gott reminds us to cast our cares on Him. I don’t know why this happened. I don’t know why Tyson died in our home, but I do know our Lord can use an evil act for His purpose and for gut.”
I bit the inside of my lip to stop myself from questioning my grandmother’s faith. I didn’t know that I believed the same, or if I ever could. How could a man’s murder—even if that man was as universally disliked as Tyson seemed to have been—be turned into anything good?
“Now,” she said, her face breaking into a smile, “we should get to work loading the carts and opening our booth. Until we know how Gott will use what has happened, we must be faithful in the gut work the Lord has assigned us for the here and now.”
I smiled, still uncertain over what my grandmother had said. “Let me just take this inside.” I held up the apple.
Maami stared at the apple a little harder, as if she suspected that there was more to the story.
“Clara! Clara, dear!” A woman with short black curls waved a stack of papers at my grandmother from the other side of Main Street. “You will need to set up your tent quickly, if you want to open with the rest of the farmers.”
Grateful for the interruption, I asked, “Who’s that?”
“Margot Rawlings. She’s the village chairwoman in charge of the square and all the activities that are held there. I spoke with her this morning about having a booth at the farmers’ market, and she was kind enough to grant us that,” she said, just barely above a whisper.
“Why are you whispering?” I asked in an equally low voice.
“Clara! Hurry up now, dear. Chop, chop.” Margot tapped an imaginary watch on her wrist. “The farmers’ market won’t wait for you to open.”
My grandmother waved to acknowledge she had heard the other woman.
Margot marched across Main Street straight toward us, crossing right in front of an Amish buggy. The driver had to pull back hard on the reins to avoid hitting her, not that she noticed.
“Clara, are you almost ready?” Margot asked, half out of breath.
“Ya, Margot, we are all but ready. We will be ready to open when the market begins as promised.”
“Wonderful,” Margot said, seemingly only slightly more relaxed at this news.
“Margot, have you met my granddaughter, Bailey?” my grandmother asked.
Margot’s curls bounced on her shoulders like Shirley Temple’s might have in the middle of a dance number. “No, I haven’t. It’s nice to meet you, Bailey. Will you be helping your grandparents in the booth this afternoon?”
“That’s the plan,” I said.
“I’m glad to hear it.” She turned back to my grandmother. “I was sorry to hear about what happened in your shop. What a terrible situation for you, but I can’t say that I’m sorry Tyson is dead. He was a horribly greedy man. You should have heard about the plans he had for Main Street after he bought everything up. He was going to turn us into a Disney version of Amish Country. The very thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. He even had plans to tamper with the village square, my square. Can you imagine?”
“Margot,” Maami said, aghast. “You should not say such things.”
The English woman sniffed. “Why not, if it’s the truth? You will be hard-pressed to find anyone in the village who is sorry that he’s dead.”
I studied Margot with renewed interest. It looked like I had a suspect. How far would Margot go to protect her control of the village square? But then I remembered the glass from the broken kerosene lamp behind the candy shop. Margot definitely wasn’t Amish, and wouldn’t be carrying a kerosene lamp to light her way in the dark. Then again, as Aiden had said, we didn’t know how long the glass from the broken lamp had been there. Margot remained on my list.
Margot glanced over her shoulder. “Oh no, Ephraim Schmidt is setting up his honey stall in the wrong place. I told him it must be on the south end of the square.” She started back across the street without saying good-bye and nearly got hit by an Amish buggy a second time.
My grandmother sniffed. “Insufferable woman.”
I bit my lip to hold back a laugh.
My grandmother eyed me. “Are you laughing at your grossmaami, Bailey King?”
“No.” I giggled. “I just have never heard you speak badly of anyone. Ever.”
“You haven’t met Margot. The woman would drive a saint to distraction.” She frowned. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t say such a thing. It’s unkind.”
“But is it true?” I couldn’t help but ask.
She grinned. “Maybe a little, but Margot was good enough to give us an open spot in the farmers’ market. I should be kinder with that in mind.” She sighed. “And she’s right. We do need to set up the booth.”
I headed for the door. “I’ll be back out in a minute.”
I ran into the shop, feeling grateful for busybody Margot. At least she kept me from having to explain the apple to my grandmother. I stopped in the bathroom and cleaned my cut. In the medicine cabinet, I found an old-fashioned tin can of Band-Aids. Thankfully, the bandages didn’t appear to be as old as the tin.
I tucked the apple in the crook of my arm and wrapped the bandage around my wounded finger as I made my way down the hall to the spare room, where I set the apple on the nightstand beside my bed, doubting that I would ever be able to eat it.
Chapter 11
Onc
e the Swissmen Sweets’ tent was set up at the farmers’ market—with some help from my grandparents’ friends who were also selling their wares on the village square that day—Maami and I stood back and admired our work. My grandmother smiled brightly at me, and I knew I had the same expression on my face.
Daadi was sticking the last of the price tags onto the plastic containers of fudge. When that was done, all we had to do was wait for customers to drop by the booth. I didn’t doubt that the candy shop’s booth would do well. Who didn’t like chocolate and candy?
Maami patted my arm. “Danki, my girl. You were a big help to me today. I love you so.”
I hugged her. “I wish I could help with all of it,” I said, knowing that my grandmother would know that I also meant the murder and Daadi’s failing health.
“I love you too,” Daadi said, looking up from his fudge pricing.
I went over to him and kissed the top of his fluffy white head. His hair felt like cotton against my cheeks.
Unfortunately, the glow of our accomplishment was short-lived.
“Clara King!” A high-pitched voice rung out across the square. “I would like to have word with you!”
My usually pleasant grandmother muttered something under her breath in Pennsylvania Dutch. I didn’t understand the words, but from her tone, I got the gist.
The thin woman who’d spoken didn’t walk toward the Swissmen Sweets’ booth, she glided. Her dark, bobbed hair fell to her chin and made her look striking in a 1920s sort of way. She wore a dark yellow dress with a thin black belt around her narrow waist. She looked like so many of the women who floated into JP Chocolates to order desserts for their daughters’ sweet sixteen celebrations or for dinner parties, I almost forgot I was in Ohio.
“Eileen, how can I help you?” my grandmother asked in her most pleasant voice.
Eileen waved her hand as if in exasperation. As she did, a cloud of too-sweet floral perfume wafted over the booth.
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