“Weekly Dad call.”
“Oh right. I forgot you do that on Sunday night. So how is dear old dad?”
“Fine.” I smiled. Tee still held a grudge against my father for abandoning me after my mother’s death.
“And Sabrina the Suburban Witch?” She gave me a wicked grin.
I laughed. “She’s fine too. She’s turning the pool into a salt water pool.”
Tee snorted.
“Why are you calling so late, or is it early? It has to be almost five in the morning there.”
“Four, forty-five actually. I couldn’t sleep and figured you’d still be up.”
I sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed. “You’ll be tired in the morning.”
She waved away my concern. “I’ll have a double Italian espresso. It will make you lose the ability to blink.”
“Sounds terrific.”
“I love the stuff.” She leaned in closer to her laptop screen. “What’s wrong with you?”
“How can you tell anything is wrong with me over Skype?”
“Because I know you, that’s how. Spill. Dad stuff?”
“No.”
“Murder stuff?”
“To some extent, but it’s mostly Timothy stuff.”
She jerked back from her screen. “Don’t tell me you and golden boy are fighting.”
“We had a disagreement.” I went on tell her about our argument about the house Timothy wanted to buy.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you’d better hold up there. Why are you talking about a house before you’re engaged?”
I came to Timothy’s defense. “He’s just being practical. It makes sense he would want to talk to me about a house. If we were ever to marry, I’m going to live there too. He’s just thinking ahead.”
“You make it sound like you’re planning a merger. Where’s the romance in that?”
She had a point.
“Before there is any more house talk, buggy boy better put a ring on it.”
“Okay, Beyonce,” I drawled.
“And you had better get used to arguing with Timothy,” Tanisha said.
“Get used to it? Why?” I bit my lip.
“Because this won’t be the first thing you argue over. It’s just the start. What about kids?”
“Kids? Who said anything about kids?”
She shook her finger at me. “It’s something that will come up. Don’t the Amish have like forty-six children or something? You’d better find out about that too.”
“That’s a gross exaggeration,” I said. “And I’m so not ready for that conversation.”
“Get ready because if Timothy is talking house, the next stop is the cradle. And what about schooling for the kids?”
“There’s only one school district in Appleseed Creek.”
“There are a lot of things you and Timothy need to know about each other before you’re off buying houses. You get what I mean.”
I did. Loud and clear. “I feel like you have just given me some of your Italian espresso. How will I sleep tonight?”
She leaned into the screen again. “Oh, rats, I upset you. I didn’t mean to do that. Chloe, just talk to him. He loves you. Trust in that.”
“I know.”
She twirled a braid. “All this other stuff will work out.”
“I know.”
“Can we talk about crazed Amish murders now?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m much more comfortable with that topic.”
Chapter Thirty
On Monday, the bus tour’s main event was a tour of Holmes County, which had the largest population of Amish in the world. Even with that in mind, I hurried to the college in the early morning to grab a few files from my office and to tell my staff, Clark and Miller, where I would be the next couple of days. As expected both men seemed unconcerned with my absence.
Our first bus stop in Holmes County was an Anabaptist education center which had a panoramic Amish and Mennonite history. It had been an educational stop for me as well as the tourists because although I had been in entrenched in Amish culture between Becky and Timothy, I knew little about how the religion began.
We were only there for an hour. Hudson was determined to keep on schedule today or even ahead of it. I couldn’t help but wonder if he had a reason to want to hurry back to the inn.
“Head ‘em up, move ‘em out,” Hudson cried as the tourists shuffled in a single file back onto the blue tour bus.
“Does he think he’s running a cattle drive because I might take offense to being treated like a cow.” Gertie, who stood next to me, stamped her three-prong cane on the ground.
Melinda’s cheek twitched as if she physically bit down on her tongue to stop herself from saying something. “I’m sure it’s just an expression,” Melinda managed to say.
Gertie pointed her cane at Melinda. “You wouldn’t feel that way if he had a cattle prod.”
Charles clutched his professional-grade camera in his hands. “I don’t understand why that man wouldn’t let us take photographs of the panorama. What did he think we would do plaster them on the Internet? What difference would that make?”
Nadine rooted through her purse and came up with a tube of lipstick. “The Amish don’t like photographs, dear.”
“If that guy was Amish, I’m an ancient Egyptian. He had a cell phone strapped to his belt.”
“He said he was Mennonite.” Nadine reapplied bright pink lipstick.
“I still think it wouldn’t have hurt him if I took one picture,” Charles groused.
His wife dropped the lipstick into her straw purse. “You couldn’t have taken more than one. Photographs are your potato chips, honey.”
I glanced at the readout on my cell phone, and worry gripped me. Time was running out. The bus would leave for Indiana on Wednesday morning.
“In a hurry to be somewhere?” Doris asked.
I shook my head. “I’m just checking to see if we are on schedule.”
“We are,” Duke said. “We aren’t a second behind. Hudson runs a tight ship.”
“What about Dudley?” I asked. “What was his…umm… ship like.”
Duke stuck out his lower lip while he considered my question. “He seemed like he was in a hurry too. I can’t say I got the impression either one of them enjoyed their work. Miss Chloe, you are a breath of fresh air. Thank you for joining us.”
Doris smiled at me one more time before her husband helped her onto the bus.
These were my murder suspects. How could I imagine any of these people were devious enough to orchestrate a murder?
Through the bus window, Hudson watched me intently. Then again, they couldn’t be all innocent.
The bus tour’s next stop was a cheese-making factory, and I’d hoped that I could talk to Hudson while in the factory. It was easier said than done. The pudgy Amish woman, named Mercy, leading the tour did not abide by foolishness.
“These are the rules we need go over before the tour begins. There is no talking on the tour unless you would like to ask a question. In that case, raise your hand, and I will call on you.” She scowled at Fred and Nadine who whispered to each other about how to text their granddaughter from Nadine’s cell phone. “And no photographs or video are allowed during the tour.”
“It’s just cheese,” Charles yelped. “What difference does it make if I take a few photos of cheddar?”
She stared him down like a seasoned schoolmarm. I suspected she might have been in that line of work before the cheese factory. “Please respect our rules.”
“Next year, we are going on the vacation of my choice,” Charles muttered. “To the Grand Canyon. No one stops you from taking photographs of the Grand Canyon.”
Bitty patted her husband’s arm. “That sounds nice.”
Two by two, we followed Mercy into the work room of the cheese factory. The Amish women wore hairnets over their prayer caps and latex gloves on their hands. It was another example of the Old World meeting the new.
I slid to the back of the pack.
“You use electricity?” Jimbo asked. Accusingly he pointed to the fluorescent lighting overhead and the sockets along the wall.
Mercy pursed her lips. “You didn’t raise your hand.”
Jimbo shot up his hand but spoke before her was called on. “You use electricity.”
“Our bishop allows the use of electricity for our businesses. Not all Amish districts operate this way. It’s up to each individual bishop to decide when and how modern conveniences are allowed.”
Jimbo chewed on this for a moment.
Mercy scanned the group. “Any other questions?” she asked as if it was a dare.
Everyone shook their heads.
“Gut. Let’s move on.”
The tour ended forty minutes later and spilled out into the cheese shop where the travelers had the opportunity to shop and taste-test the cheeses.
Jimbo’s eyes gleamed when Mercy explained about the tasting.
“Please only take one piece of cheese per flavor per person.” Mercy looked pointedly at Jimbo.
He placed a hand to his round stomach and narrowed his eyes.
In the shop, the tourists fanned out with their shopping baskets. I hid a smile as Jimbo stuffed three pieces of baby Swiss in his mouth.
Gertie reached into her purse and pulled out a plastic bag of her fish jerky. She held it to Mercy.
The Amish woman blinked. “What is this?”
“Give it a taste. It will change your life,” Gertie insisted.
Mercy wrinkled her nose. “I don’t believe I want to give it a taste.”
Gertie shook the jerky at her. “You don’t know what you’re missing, and this will make an excellent cheese flavor.”
Mercy placed a hand to her hip. “But what is it?”
“Fish jerky. I made it myself.”
Melinda scanned the room as if on the hunt for the closest window to throw herself out of.
Mercy grimaced. “Danki, but I would not like to taste it, nor do I believe our customers would want it as a new flavor of cheese.”
“Why not?” Gertie asked.
Mercy pushed the loose tie from her prayer cap behind her ear. “It is not an appealing flavor.”
Gertie wagged the jerky at her again. “You have chocolate-mint cheese in this store. You don’t think that people gag when they choke that down? Jimbo won’t even touch it, and I’ve seen him eat a hamburger after it has fallen on the floor at a highway rest stop.”
Like a prairie dog, Jimbo’s head popped up from the tasting table at the mention of his name. A piece of provolone hung from his mouth.
Melinda tugged on the sleeve of Gertie’s cardigan. “Gertie, why don’t we wait outside?”
“Fine,” Gertie said. “I’ll enjoy my jerky in the sun.”
Outside, I found Hudson sitting on a bench overlooking the valley. The cheese shop was perched on the high hill. From that vantage point, I could see for miles. Below an Amish farmer and his team plowed a field.
Hudson crushed his empty can of Diet Coke in his hand and dropped it into his cooler. “Find your murderer yet?”
I ignored his question. “Everyone should be out of the factory in a few minutes.” I rested my hip against a log fence.
He smirked. “It must be hard since I came off free and clear to the police. I know you wanted to pin the murders to on me.”
I glared at him. “You’re not off my list.”
He was in front of me in a second and caused me to lean back on the fence. I felt the wooden boards give slightly under my weight. I prayed it held. It was a long way to the bottom of the valley.
“Don’t mess with me, little girl,” he growled.
The chatter of the approaching tourists interrupted us, and Hudson took two huge steps back. I remembered how to breathe again.
“Chloe,” LeeAnne trilled. “Wasn’t that tour delightful? I learned so much about cheese.”
I willed my pulse to settle. “It was nice.”
“Look at the view,” Nadine said
Fred shook the fence. “I wouldn’t touch that,” he said. “It’s not stable and could give at any moment. It would be a bad trip for anyone who sat on it.”
Nadine smiled proudly at her husband. “Fred used to work in construction. He knows this type of thing.”
I smiled at her, but my eye trailed to Hudson. He grinned at me. Why did I have the feeling he wouldn’t feel the least bit of remorse if I had toppled over the edge?
Chapter Thirty-One
Our next stop in Holmes County was Berlin, the most ‘touristy’ of all the towns in the county. Appleseed Creek had a sleepy quality that Berlin lacked. The town buzzed with automobile, horse and buggy, and pedestrian traffic up and down Main Street.
Shops lined either side of the road and sold everything from Amish gifts to New Age crystals. Clearly, the Amish weren’t the only ones taking advantage of the tourists. Hudson parked the bus behind a craft mall. The itinerary scheduled two hours in the picturesque town, which would be plenty of time for the travelers to shop and grab a bite for lunch. An Amish man was at the front of the mall selling homemade ice cream and kettle chips.
Gertie was the last passenger off the bus. “Chloe, why don’t you walk with Melinda and me through town? I would like the site described by an Amish expert.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m an expert, but I’m happy to walk with you and tell you what I know. My legs are feeling a little cramped after so many hours on the bus.”
Gertie looped her arm through mine. “Come along, Melinda,” she said over her shoulder.
I twisted my neck to see Gertie’s companion walking a few paces behind. Melinda grimaced but her face cleared when she caught me looking.
“Do you want to stop in any shops?” I asked Gertie. “You might find a nice souvenir to take home.”
“Pish, I have no need for any more trinkets in my home to collect dust. I can’t live much longer, and then Melinda will have the task of throwing them away.”
“Gertie, that’s no way to think,” I said.
“Ahh, don’t think I’m ready to buy the farm, my dear. But don’t begrudge me if I look forward to my great reward either.”
I could see her point, but at the same time, it made me terribly sad.
Melinda cleared her throat.
Gertie wagged her finger and continued her forward motion. “Melinda doesn’t like it when I talk about death. She’d hated to lose her cushy job.”
Melinda sighed so deeply that her breath tousled Gertie’s pin curls. “I don’t feel that way about you, Gertie.”
Gertie snorted. “That’s what you may say now. Let’s not waste any more timing running our mouths. Walk with me, dear.” Gertie looped her arm through mine and started down the sidewalk.
Melinda followed us. I know she was only doing her job, which was to watch over Gertie, but her eyes bore into my back.
“How is Pearl?” Gertie asked.
“She’s doing as well as can be expected. I’m glad she’s back at the inn. I know it’s difficult for her to be around the bus tour, but the thought of her staying in that other hotel all by herself.” I didn’t add Brock Buckley was a big part of that. My relationship with Brock and Curt was far too complicated to tell Gertie during a stroll through Berlin.
“She should rejoin the group. She is missing the trip.” Gertie touched the colorful silk scarf knotted around her neck. “Seems to be a waste of money to me not to.”
I skirted around a woman with a stroller coming the opposite way on the sidewalk. “She’s grieving.”
“She and Ruby were close for cousins.”
“Aren’t cousins typically close?” I asked. I didn’t know because I didn’t have any. Both of my parents had been only children.
“I suppose,” she mused. “Have you figured out who the killer is?”
“After Becky told us about your crime solving, I borrowed Melinda’s little computer phone and Googled your
name. I must say, Chloe Humphrey, I was surprised how many murders were linked to you in the local news.”
I swallowed. “Becky spoke out of turn. I’m here as the stand-in tour guide. I was the first person Chief Rose thought of when she was asked about a replacement.”
Gertie walked along with her cane. “If she didn’t find a replacement, then the tour might have ended. All of the police chief’s suspects would have driven away to Indiana or even back to Mississippi.”
I gasped.
“I wasn’t born yesterday, you know. Oh!” Gertie dropped my arm as we came across an English man operating an Italian sausage cart. She scrounged through her patchwork handbag and came up with a fist of bills. “Melinda, go buy us three Italian sausages with extra peppers.”
I stepped to the side of walk to let a couple pass. “That’s so sweet of you to offer to buy lunch, Gertie, but—”
“You’re far too skinny. I know the waif look is in right now, but it’s not what real men like your Timothy want. They want someone they can hold onto. You don’t want him to leave you for a curvier girl now, do you?”
“I guess not,” I said. The sausage did smell good. “No peppers or onions on mine though. Melinda, I’ll help you carry.”
Melinda gave me the tiniest of smiles. While we stood in line, which was growing longer by the second, Melinda said, “Gertie can be very persuasive, can’t she?
“How did you become her companion?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I asked to work for her. I knew she traveled and needed someone to keep her company. I was tired of my old job.”
“What did you do before?”
She removed a stack of napkins from the dispenser and came back to our spot in line. “I was a teacher.”
“What did you teach?” I asked.
“Middle school.” She didn’t elaborate.
“That’s a tough age.”
“It can be, but I loved my students. But after putting thirty years in, I was done and ready to move on to something else. Working for Gertie, despite all her eccentricities, has been a good fit for me.” She paused. “It’s given me an opportunity to accomplish my goals.”
Just as I was about to ask her what those goals were, Charles caught my eye across the street. He photographed a monarch butterfly balancing on a daffodil leaf. What other photographs had he taken? Specifically what photographs did he take Saturday morning at the Troyer farm?
A Plain Malice: An Appleseed Creek Mystery (Appleseed Creek Mystery Series Book 4) Page 19
