A Perfect Square

by Vannetta Chapman

  Reuben stood, his chair screeching as he pushed it back. “So you came to lecture me about the Scripture.”

  “I came to ask you to reconsider, if not for yourself, then for your family.”

  Reuben looked out the small window that was in the visitor’s room. When he did, he could see a few branches of a tree outside the Shipshewana City Hall, which housed the Shipshewana Municipal Jail. He was reminded then of Adalyn Landt’s words, when she’d warned him that he might miss fall turning to winter.

  But he’d missed a lot more in his life than the changing of a season.

  He knew that now.

  “Most folks think they’ll have all their lives, Tobias. Think they’ll have another chance. Think If I don’t do this today, I can do it tomorrow. If I don’t ask her this Sunday, I’ll ask her next.” A fist closed around Reuben’s heart, and he wondered what a heart attack felt like, wondered if he even cared anymore. “We think, If I don’t marry this season, I can do it next.”

  Reuben shook his head, stepped around the chair, and pushed it back toward the table with the toe of his prison-issued shoe. “Doesn’t work that way. You marry Esther, be a gut dat to Leah. Those are things you will never regret.”

  Then, before Tobias could answer, Reuben told the officer he wanted to be taken back to his cell.

  Chapter 17

  CALLIE HELPED LOAD THE CHILDREN into the buggy, then waved as Deborah drove away. They’d decided on a plan of action.

  Hopefully it would work.

  Hopefully it was legal.

  Holding Max’s leash, which was clipped to his collar, she walked him into the shop. Lydia was helping two out-of-towners check out, and they stopped to admire Max.

  “How old is he?” The woman waited before petting Max, waited until Callie nodded her assent. The couple appeared to be in their late forties. By the looks of them, they were probably empty nesters, traveling from somewhere to Chicago. They wore designer clothes, and the woman’s auburn hair was cut in the latest fashion. Her nails were also perfectly manicured.

  “I’m not completely sure. I inherited him from my aunt.”

  “Your aunt?” She straightened and pulled her purse over her shoulder.

  “I expect that would be the sweet lady who used to run this shop.” The man had light streaks of gray running through his short-cut hair. He looked as if he ran in marathons and worked out in a gym twice a week. Callie mentally slapped herself for making stereotypes. “I expect her name was Daisy?”

  “Correct. The shop’s named after her. Daisy passed on earlier this year. When I inherited the shop, I also inherited Max.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” the woman said sincerely, before turning and glancing around. “I noticed changes in the store. You’ve kept the main things the same — still looks vintage and authentic. I don’t like to walk into a quilt shop and feel like I’ve stepped into a chain store. I can do that in Chicago.”

  “We’ve been dropping in to Shipshe to shop for years. Every time we cross the state on our way back to the city. I’m Robert Jarrell, by the way, and this is my wife, Nancy.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Callie shook their hands. “I’m Callie Harper, the new owner of Daisy’s Quilt Shop.” Her heart danced a two-step when she spoke the words. She’d accepted for several months that she was staying in Shipshewana, but it wasn’t very often she acknowledged it out loud.

  “As I said, you’ve done an excellent job of balancing change and preserving what made this place uniquely Daisy’s.” Nancy turned and walked toward the quilt display.

  “Thank you,” Callie murmured.

  “My wife works for the Chicago Museum of Arts, the textile collection,” Robert explained. “She’s used to giving her opinion.”

  “I don’t remember ever seeing Amish quilts offered via the Internet.” Nancy glanced from the computer terminal to the display of quilts. “These are quite beautiful.”

  “Some local women sew them. We auctioned a few on eBay.” Callie laughed at the look of surprise on Nancy’s face. “That was the general reaction. These women have special circumstances though, and I wanted them to fetch as high a price as possible. Their bishop allowed it, on a trial basis, but after the initial three sold we had a meeting. Now we sell exclusively through my shop’s online site.”

  “And how are they doing?” Robert asked.

  “Well. I drive a hard bargain.” Callie hesitated, then continued. “I’ve only lived in Shipshe since June, but these women have become close friends. I feel like it’s my job to get the best price I can for their work. Of course, they could sell them at the local auction, but we think by offering them on the Internet and showing them in the shop, we can appeal to a wider range of buyers.”

  “I’ve looked at a lot of quilts, but their stitching is exquisite, and the way they piece together their patterns … well, let’s say it shows a sophistication and artistry that I don’t see very often.” Nancy smiled and turned toward her, reaching into her handbag as she did. “I’ve been thinking about putting together an Amish quilt exhibit.”

  “How would that work?”

  “I have benefactors who would pay to have the ladies come to Chicago and place their quilts on exhibit. We have a limited area for displaying textiles, and I run more than one exhibit at a time. I wouldn’t need more than say … a dozen.” Nancy handed Callie a business card.

  Callie thought about the stack of quilts — finished and waiting to be sold — at Deborah’s house. “I’m not sure they’d be comfortable traveling to Chicago. And they’d have to speak with their bishop.”

  “Of course,” Nancy said. “Talk to them, and I’ll check with my director.”

  As they walked toward the door, Nancy added, “They wouldn’t have to travel to Chicago, you know. That’s not a deal breaker. You could travel with the quilts, but it would be nice if the artists could attend the opening night, or if at least one of them could.”

  “Nancy’s exhibits do quite well for her artists. They often raise the value of artists’ works significantly, largely because of the publicity they receive.” Robert reached down and gave Max one final pat.

  As they drove away in their new, small, hybrid vehicle, Callie stared down at the card in her hand. What was that all about? When she’d walked inside with Max, her mind had been totally focused on Deborah and Reuben and what to do with this unclaimed cell phone in her pocket. And then she’d stumbled on what — a real mother lode for Melinda, Esther, and Deborah. Not to mention the commission she’d make for herself.

  “Might be able to buy you that new doghouse after all, Max.” But she wasn’t envisioning a new doghouse as she walked down Main toward Adalyn’s office. Instead she was thinking of Melinda’s middle child, Aaron, and the new wheelchair he’d purchased when school began this year. Aaron suffered from chicken breast disease, an inherited muscular disorder. Among the Amish, it affected the chest, making the breastbone more prominent. The disease also stalls the growth of muscles, making it impossible for him to walk. While he was doing remarkably well at the moment, he would undoubtedly face increasingly high medical bills in the future. It would be nice for Melinda and her husband, Noah, to have a little money put back against those needs.

  Then there were Reuben’s legal fees. Adalyn couldn’t work for free all of the time.

  Suddenly Callie remembered the pastor of the church she’d been visiting saying that God works in unusual ways. It would seem there was something to that idea. Now if only the cell phone could provide some connection to Reuben and point to his innocence.

  Her stop at Adalyn’s office was a waste of time. Adalyn was out, this time with a client over in Nappanee.

  “I’ll leave her a message to call you as soon as she has a moment,” Adalyn’s receptionist told Callie.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem, Callie. Good-bye, Max!”

  Since she was already out and Lydia was watching the store, Callie decided to run some er
rands. She thought about stopping by Mrs. Knepp’s quilt shop. The woman had placed an ad in the Gazette vowing to match any sale in Callie’s store. It was as if Knepp was trying to provoke her.

  Callie looked down at Max and changed her mind.

  Knepp hated dogs. The old woman had a cat that slept in the window, and this wasn’t your normal sweet tabby. Last time Callie had walked by to check out the window displays at Quilts and Needles, the cat had stood, stretched, then hunched its back like a Halloween cat and hissed. Max had gone berserk and started barking so loudly Callie had needed both arms to drag him away.

  Best to walk on over to the Gazette. Maybe Trent would have some idea how she could find information about the phone — or he might report on it in tomorrow’s paper. She’d have to handle this just right.

  Unfortunately, Trent wasn’t the first person Callie saw when she walked into the newspaper office. The smell of newsprint hit her as soon as she opened the front door. The paper’s top editions were framed and hanging on the south wall, including the one that featured herself, Deborah, and Max.

  Her celebrity status, however, did nothing to soften the attitude of Trent’s receptionist, Mrs. Caldwell. Callie had a sneaking suspicion that Caldwell had harbored a secret love for Stakehorn, the paper’s previous editor, and somehow blamed Callie for his murder.

  As if to prove her hunch, Caldwell glanced over and glared at her.

  Baron Hearn was handing a check to Caldwell. Hearn was tall and lanky, had black hair cut short, and dark eyes to match. Though he was smiling cordially, Callie had no doubt he was laughing at her, since she and Baron Hearn did not have a good history.

  “Well, if it isn’t Miss Harper.” Hearn stuck his checkbook in his back pocket. “Girl, you manage to involve yourself with every murder for a hundred miles, not that we had many of those before you showed up.”

  “Dogs are not allowed in this establishment. I’ll thank you to take that mutt right back outside.” Mrs. Caldwell pointed to the front door as if Callie were too daft to understand where outside might be.

  “Good afternoon to both of you. Actually we’re not staying, Mrs. Caldwell. I was wondering if Trent was in this afternoon.”

  “And I’d be happy to answer, once you take that dog outside.”

  This time Caldwell stood before jamming her finger in the direction of the front door. Max looked from the door back to the receptionist, as if he were missing something, then let out a small whine.

  “But I — “

  “Out.”

  “Can’t we — “

  “I said out!”

  Baron was actually holding his side, he was laughing so hard, and Mrs. Caldwell’s face was turning quite red. Callie decided maybe she should step outside and call Trent instead.

  “Come, Max.” Turning and starting out of the room, determined to ignore Baron’s laughter and Caldwell’s whispers — “that Callie Harper tries my patience more than flies on a summer day” — she walked to the front door, and even had her hand on the knob, when she heard steps between the press room and the front office.

  “Leaving so soon, Callie?” Trent caught up with her in a few long strides. Nodding to Baron and Mrs. Caldwell, he opened the door and followed her out into the October sunshine.

  “I was going to call you from outside. Your bodyguard insisted that Max wait here.”

  Trent grinned as he walked her over to a bench positioned under the plate glass window. In spite of her irritation with him over his handling of the murder scene, she couldn’t help smiling in return. He had such a boyish way about him.

  “You have to admit. She does look out for the place.”

  “If you’re trying to scare people away.”

  “How are you, Max? Huh, boy?” Trent used both hands to scratch behind Max’s ears and was rewarded with a sloppy kiss.

  Callie had the passing thought that dogs get all the fun, then wondered where such an idea came from.

  “So, why did you really come by?” Trent returned his attention to Callie.

  “I found this.” Callie pulled the cell phone out of the pocket of her jacket. “And I wondered if you could help me with it.”

  “Help you?”

  “Say I wanted to know something about it. Like who owns it, how to get past the password protection — “

  “Okay. I get the idea.” Trent took the phone from her. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to ask where you got this.”

  “It could be important, Trent.” Callie tucked her hair behind her ears as she studied the shoppers strolling down Main Street in the brisk fall afternoon and wondered what secrets the small phone might hold. “Is there anything you can tell me about it? Can you get past the password — “

  He opened it, turned it on, pushed a few buttons, then smiled. “Personally, I’d start by listening to the message.”

  Chapter 18

  “HOW DID YOU DO THAT?”

  “Wasn’t so hard. Most people use something easy to remember, like four zeros or, in this case, one, two, three, four.”

  Callie reached over and put her hand on Trent’s arm, leaving it there until he raised his eyes from the phone and looked at her. “Don’t touch that button — yet.”

  “Having second thoughts?”

  “Yes. No.” Her throat suddenly felt incredibly dry, as if she’d been battling a high fever. “Maybe.” “You sound like a woman.”

  “Listen. Tobias came by the shop earlier this morning—”

  “Tobias into quilting now?”

  “He was with Esther. They were bringing me a wedding invitation.”

  “Don’t those Amish weddings last, like, all day?”

  “Pay attention.” She swatted his arm, then reached down and stroked Max’s fur as she worked out the progression of events. “He left his coat, but I didn’t realize it until later. When I saw it on the counter, I wasn’t sure whose it was, so I looked in the pocket. And that was when I found the phone. The only man who’d been in the shop up to that point today was Tobias.”

  Trent looked into Callie’s eyes then and — for a moment — all of his teasing fell away. Possibly, just possibly, he even forgot he was an editor of a small-town newspaper looking for the next front-page story. He reached out and tucked Callie’s hair behind her ear, sending a delicious shiver from her face — where his hand brushed — all the way down to her toes.

  Callie closed her eyes, melted into the moment, and wondered what it would feel like to kiss Trent McCallister. But she quickly shook any romantic notions from her mind. She needed to focus. She needed to think of Deborah, Reuben, and the phone they’d just broken into.

  “You don’t think this belongs to Tobias. You think it has something to do with Reuben, something to do with the murder.”

  “According to Deborah, Tobias would never own a phone. She’s also certain it’s not his coat that was left at my shop. It’s Reuben’s. She knows because there’s a torn seam along the collar. She mended it, so she’s positive it’s Reuben’s coat — “

  “So why was Tobias wearing it?”

  “Deborah said that the night of Reuben’s arrest, Shane was questioning Reuben and Tobias at their house — or rather the barn where they’ve been living.”

  “I remember.”

  Callie’s gaze snapped up, met his. Trent the Reporter was on duty. Trent, the guy who would photograph anything, who had often managed to splash her own photograph on the front page of the Gazette, was staring back at her.

  “I suppose in the heat of the moment, when they arrested Reuben, he grabbed the wrong coat.”

  Trent shook his head. “What’s more likely to have happened is that Shane arrested Reuben, put him in the cruiser, then went back inside to get Reuben’s coat for him.”

  “And picked up the wrong one.”

  They both stared at the phone still in Trent’s hand.

  “So why would Reuben have a phone?” Trent finally asked.

  “Maybe he was keeping it for someone, li
ke the girl staying at his place.”

  “There’s still only one way to find out, and that’s to listen to the message. I can also take it inside and run a check on the serial number, try to find where it was purchased, research the call history, maybe even run the GPS tracker — “

  “You can do all those things?”

  “I was an investigative reporter before I was an editor — oh wait, come to think of it, now I’m both.” Trent smiled and Callie began to have second thoughts — maybe she didn’t want to get messed up with Trent and his nefarious ways.

  “Okay, the next question is should you do that, should we do it? What if this is considered tampering with evidence? Isn’t that a felony or something? I tried to stop by Adalyn’s and ask, but she’s out of the office until tomorrow.” Callie crossed her arms, hugged them around herself. “I’ve been arrested by Shipshewana’s finest, and I don’t have any desire to go back into their interrogation room, thank you.”

  Trent rubbed his thumb over the blank phone display. “Be reasonable. You can’t know it is evidence unless you listen to it. If what we find seems to indicate anything about the girl’s body, anything that will help to identify who she is, then you take it to Black. Whether it helps Reuben’s case or hurts it.”

  “And you won’t report what we find?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Trent gave her a crooked smile. “You have to leave me something here, gorgeous. Even if it’s just a few crumbs, or in this case — even if it’s just a few lines of copy.”

  Callie snatched the phone out of his hand, held it close to her heart. “I can listen to a message by myself.”

  “All right. And do you know how to trace the registration number from the SIM card?”

  “I didn’t know SIM cards had registration numbers.” Callie felt herself frowning, pouting actually, like a child, but she made no effort to stop it.