Dead Broke

by Vannetta Chapman

  Agatha pushed the platter of cookies toward Naomi, who chose one, took a single bite, then set the cookie down.

  “Did Nathan take Jenny to the vet?”

  “Nein. She hadn’t been sick. He went out to check on the herd, this was one day last week, and she was just dead.”

  Agatha thought of the note Henry had included in his drawing. What had it said? Pay for what...did that have to do with the unexpected death of Jenny? And there was something else she’d seen in the drawing, something that had struck her as odd. Like the whisper of a memory, she couldn’t quite remember what it was.

  “Nathan thought someone had poisoned her, but he didn’t have any proof. Afterwards, after the shock wore off, he wouldn’t talk about it. I asked him, but he simply said he’d take care of it. I don’t even know what it was.”

  “Did you tell all of this to the police?”

  “Nein. I don’t like...involving them.”

  And yet they were involved, and they would stay that way until Nathan’s murderer was caught.

  Agatha waited until a few more women showed up to sit with Naomi, then she slipped back outside. She was walking toward her buggy when Bishop Jonas climbed out of his.

  “How are you, Agatha?”

  “I’m okay. Naomi isn’t doing so well. Come to think of it, neither is Titus. They both look shocked and...well, tired.”

  Jonas nodded, pulling his fingers through his beard. “Danki for sharing that. Sometimes people will put on a different expression for their bishop, but for friends they’ll show their true feelings. It helps me to know how they’re really doing, not how they want me to believe they’re doing.”

  “I understand.”

  “I imagine when you moved to Texas, you didn’t expect to become the next Agatha Christie.”

  Agatha rolled her eyes. Smiling at the bishop, she confessed, “I’ve always enjoyed reading her books, so my family teases me with that name constantly.”

  “If you need anything, let me know. By the way, Nathan’s body has been released, and the funeral can be held on Friday.”

  Agatha hurried on to her buggy, thinking she should skip the visit to her friend’s house. She was going ostensibly because Tony had asked her to check on Henry. But did they really doubt that Henry was who he said he was? Nein. At least she didn’t. Her to do list was growing, and she should get on back home.

  But she directed Doc toward Becca’s. She didn’t need to ask about Henry, though she would. And it wasn’t so much that she had the time to visit as that she needed to visit. A cup of hot tea on her friend’s back porch would surely set the world right, because at the moment everything seemed muddled and confused.

  Perhaps Becca could think of a reason that someone would want to poison one of Nathan’s goats. Or better yet, maybe she could come up with a list of suspects who might have had a motive to kill Nathan, because Agatha couldn’t think of a single name to put on that list.

  Chapter Seven

  “Do you think the murderer could be someone who was in competition with Nathan?” Becca’s eyebrows were pulled together in a frown, and it wasn’t about the hank of yarn she was winding into a ball.

  Agatha and Becca were sitting on the back porch, and Becca was using the toes of her right foot to rock a small cradle where her youngest grandchild slept. Rose Ann was the cutest thing Agatha had seen in a very long time. She had an urge to scoop the child up and cradle her, though the babe was sleeping peacefully.

  Becca, her husband, Saul, and all eight of their grown children had moved to Texas at the same time. Whenever Agatha was homesick, she came to Becca’s to be around the children and grandchildren and chaos. It soothed her soul until she could make another visit home. She and Becca were the same age, though her best friend was two inches taller and twenty pounds lighter. Agatha tried not to hold that against her.

  “What do you mean...competition?”

  “You know how some people complain that we’re running Englischers out of business.”

  “Who’s saying that?” Agatha felt her hackles rise.

  Becca simply shook her head and gave her a you know what I mean look.

  “I suppose Nathan’s business was doing well.” Agatha had once again pulled out her knitting. It was one of the joys of life to knit on her best friend’s back porch and talk through any and every worry on their minds. Nathan’s death was certainly on Agatha’s mind. “I know last time I spoke with Nathan at church, he said he was booked up six months into the future.”

  “Ya, and those jobs belonged to a landscaping company before Nathan came along with his goats.”

  “I guess that’s true.”

  “So find out who he put out of business, and you’ll find your killer.”

  “Surely someone wouldn’t kill for that...for money.”

  “Humph. Tell that to the person who tried to end your life last year.”

  Fortunately she couldn’t have that conversation because the person was in jail, where he would stay for the rest of his days. But she didn’t want to think about that.

  Becca’s brow smoothed as she moved on to a happier topic. “By the way, has anyone bought the place next door to you?”

  “Ya. New couple moved in last week.”

  “What are they like?”

  “I’ve only met them once. We were talking—standing outside at the border of their property and mine, and then both of their cell phones began beeping at the same time and they had to attend to them.”

  “Typical.”

  “Certainly they seem nice. They’ve been busy, obviously. No children that I saw. I think they’re...what do the Englisch call them...minials?

  “Millennials,” Becca said. “I don’t even know what that means.”

  “Tech people. They work from home.”

  “Ah.”

  “I guess you’ve heard that Henry Lapp is staying at my B&B...” Agatha finished the row she was knitting, then looked up at her friend. “Henry Lapp who now lives in Monte Vista, who’s a bishop, who used to live in Goshen.”

  Dawning slowly broke across Becca’s face. “Bishop Henry Lapp...who draws?”

  “The same.”

  “Oh my.”

  Agatha gave a brief summary of Henry and Emma arriving, their kayak trip across the river, finding Nathan’s body, and Henry’s drawings. “I’m a little embarrassed, but Tony asked me to see what I could find out about him...put it through our Amish grapevine.”

  “Gotte was watching over you when He gave you Tony Vargas as a neighbor.”

  “Indeed.”

  “He’s a gut friend.”

  “He is.”

  “And maybe something more?”

  Agatha waved the insinuation away.

  “Not ready to talk about it, I see. Okay. Well, surely you remember Henry from when we all lived in Indiana.”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t. I guess I was pretty busy raising my family then, and I don’t remember a thing about a bishop who was an accidental savant.”

  “Is that what they’re calling it?” Becca stood, walked into the kitchen, and returned with a pitcher of iced tea. After refilling their glasses, she sat back down. “It was all very sad—the murder of Betsy, Henry’s surprise ability, and then him being arrested.”

  “Must have been terrible.”

  “Oh, it was. But the worst part was that some Plain people were willing to entertain notions that Henry had done it. As if they didn’t know him better than that. As if he hadn’t been their bishop for years—caring for them and praying for them and helping them through all manners of trouble.”

  Neither woman spoke as they considered such a thing. Finally, Agatha sighed and tucked her knitting into her bag. “A gift like Henry’s...it’s hard to fathom. In my experience, when people don’t understand something, it tends to frighten them.”

  “And when they’re frightened, they turn on one another.”

  “Sometimes.” It was a sobering thought that followed Agatha
as she made her way back toward the B&B. She hadn’t really put to bed any of the worries she’d left with earlier that afternoon.

  But she had added several more questions.

  And that was as good a place to start as any.

  The day was cool, but the wind had calmed.

  By late afternoon, her guests had all meandered down to the large living room where she’d set out snacks—freshly baked cookies, oatmeal bars, as well as sliced cheese and crackers. Atop a pinewood table set against the back wall was a tea service complete with a battery powered hot water kettle, various types of herbal tea, and mason jars filled with powdered hot chocolate and various blends of coffee. Brightly colored ceramic coffee drip cones allowed guests to choose their own flavor of coffee. Various blends of freshly ground coffee sat next to locally made coffee mugs.

  It was the first time all of her guests had been gathered together. Daniel and Mary Hochstetler were speaking with Henry and Emma. She didn’t know their exact ages, but Daniel and Mary certainly seemed older than the other couple by a good ten years. Or perhaps it was simply that they looked dog-tired.

  Patsy and Linus Wright were talking to the Thompsons about life in Houston. From the bits and pieces she heard, life in the big city didn’t sound like something the Wrights were enjoying. In fact, if she didn’t know better they had the look of someone ready to make a move. Is that why they were here? If they were looking for a home, she could put them in touch with a Realtor.

  But before she could make her way over to them, Valerie Thompson threw up her hands and stormed out of the room. Eric stood there a moment, rubbing his right eyebrow, then seemed to apologize and take off after his wife.

  Agatha hurried over. “Was there a problem?”

  “Define problem,” Linus said, reaching for another oatmeal bar. “Did you make these? They’re fantastic.”

  “I did, yes. I’d be happy to get you the recipe.” She directed the last comment to Patsy, who laughed.

  “My wife doesn’t cook much,” Linus explained.

  “I’ve been known to heat up a meal delivered by one of the local restaurants.”

  “Yes. She’s great with a microwave.”

  “Linus, on the other hand, loves to spend his time in the kitchen.”

  Linus patted his stomach. The man wasn’t heavy but neither was he thin.

  “Was that what you argued with the Thompsons about? Food?”

  “Nah. Mrs. Thompson seemed intent on proving that life in Los Angeles was both better and worse than life in Houston.” Linus shrugged and took another sip from his coffee mug. “I told her if it was so great, and so terrible, maybe she should go back there.”

  “Oh my.”

  “My husband doesn’t always play well with others,” Patsy explained. If Linus was offended by the comment, he didn’t show it. “But seriously, those two are high strung. They don’t really seem like the B&B type.”

  Agatha agreed, but she didn’t say so. Instead, she murmured something about checking on dinner and ducked out of the room. She honestly intended to go straight to the kitchen. She didn’t. She stepped out the back door and looked toward the Thompson’s cabin. Valerie and Eric had stopped on the path and were arguing loudly enough that she could hear their voices, though she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  What was that about?

  And should she try to intervene?

  Before she could make up her mind, Valerie stomped away and Eric meekly followed. Well, couples did argue. Life was full of stress and stopping off at a B&B didn’t always cure that.

  Agatha moved back inside and set about helping Gina finish up the dinner preparations. By the time she’d served the meal to her guests, grabbed a bite herself, and cleaned up the kitchen, it was a relief to escape to the back porch and enjoy a few moments of quiet.

  Apparently she wasn’t the only one to have that particular idea. She smiled at the assembled group, quite happy to enjoy the sunset with them.

  Not everyone was there, of course.

  Joey Troyer was still missing. She supposed she could cancel his reservation and list his room as available for the remainder of the week.

  The Hochstetlers had retired to their room, claiming that they’d had a quite busy day and needed to rest. Patsy and Linus were walking by the river. She could just make out their figures as he put his arms around his wife and made as if he was going to throw her in the river. Patsy’s laughter drifted back toward the house. They were an interesting couple. That was for certain.

  Eric and Valerie hadn’t even stayed for dinner, opting instead to drive over to Fredericksburg to eat at the new resort.

  “I can’t for the life of me think why that Thompson couple didn’t stay at the resort.” Gina joined Agatha on the back porch. “They turned their nose up at Emma’s dessert, and it was the finest pie I’ve had in some time.”

  Emma smiled at the compliment. “Your canned peaches made for the perfect blend of sweet and tart.”

  “They’re local,” Gina explained. “Fredericksburg peaches. This area used to be filled with peach farms, before the wineries came in, bought everything in sight, and drove up the price of land.”

  “A story for another day,” Agatha quickly intervened. Once Gina started in on the subject of change and prices and the decimation of the Hill Country, it could be a lengthy conversation.

  Becca and Henry sat close to one another on the swing.

  Tony plopped next to the steps, with his back resting against the porch column. Agatha and Gina settled into rockers.

  “How’s our murder investigation going?” Gina never was one to mosey around a bush. Her method was more to jump over the bush and yell “AH-HA!” to see what reaction she could get.

  Tony told about finding the bullet in the tree, exactly where Henry’s drawing had shown it to be. “Bannister sent it off to the lab, but they’re quite backed up so it could be weeks before we hear anything.”

  Henry took up the narrative, describing in detail his interview by Bannister and Griffin.

  “They didn’t arrest him, so we’re taking that as a turn in the right direction.” Emma was joking, or at least trying to, but the way she clutched Henry’s hand told another story entirely.

  Agatha shared what she’d learned from Nathan’s mother—which hadn’t been much.

  “He thought someone poisoned his goat?” Gina rocked her chair more aggressively. “Why would anyone do such a thing? Or was Nathan a little off his...rocker?”

  “Nathan loved his goats, that’s for sure and certain. I mean, not that I talked to him a lot, but the one time we went out...” Agatha met Tony’s gaze. He looked as if he was trying not to laugh. “Which was over a year ago, Tony Vargas.”

  “I didn’t say a word.” He held up his hands in a surrender gesture.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “It’s just that you never mentioned dating the goat guy.”

  Agatha rolled her eyes, then she heard the sound of a truck passing out on the road, and that reminded her of her missing guest. She explained about Joey Troyer checking in the day before but never showing back up. Gina chimed in with a brief account of their seeing him earlier that afternoon.

  “Or we think we did,” Agatha clarified. “It’s hard to say, as he turned away while he was driving past, and I couldn’t say for sure that he even arrived in an old green truck. I didn’t think to look when he checked in.”

  Henry’s head jerked up. “Did you say old green truck? Was it a 1972 Ford?”

  “I have no idea. How would I know that?”

  “Agatha doesn’t know trucks.” Gina shook her head as if she’d never understand the ways of her employer. “Now if you asked her what kind of horse was pulling someone’s buggy she could describe it down to the right hoof.”

  “We also saw an old green truck,” Emma explained. “Earlier today when we were on the shuffleboard courts.”

  The group digested that piece of information in silence.
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  Finally Tony popped up and said, “Back in a second. Don’t discuss anything important while I’m gone.”

  “He thinks he’s in charge, because he was a detective.” Gina tapped her fingertips on the arm of the rocking chair. “I wish I could think of something important to discuss, but I’m coming up blank.”

  Tony had gone into Agatha’s house. He returned with the pad of paper she kept on the kitchen counter for maintaining a running grocery list. Handing the pad and a pencil to Henry, he shrugged. “Thought maybe your mind picked up on the tag number.”

  Five minutes later, Henry had finished the quick sketch, and it had been passed around the circle of friends. Agatha’s heart quickened as she stared at it. Though only a hastily penciled drawing, it still felt as if the truck could start its motor and drive off the piece of paper. The drawing depicted the truck, a portion of the license plate, and even a crack in the rear windshield. Pulling the sheet closer so that she could better see it under the glow of the solar lights, she ran a finger across a partial bumper sticker that was shaded a darker gray with a star.

  “I wonder if this bumper sticker could be a clue.”

  Tony took the sheet from her. “Dallas Cowboys.”

  “Who is that?” Agatha asked and was tempted to swat Gina when she started laughing.

  “National football team. Their stadium is in the Dallas area.”

  “But Joey isn’t from Dallas. He’s from Beeville, and he’s Amish. I know he’s driving a truck, but sometimes our youngie do...before they join the church and commit to our ways.”

  “Could be the sticker was on the truck when he bought it.” Henry stared at them thoughtfully. “Of course we have no idea if this Joey Troyer has anything to do with the murder or if the driver of that truck is even him.”

  Unfortunately, Henry had seen the truck from behind, so he didn’t see, unconsciously record, or draw much of the driver, other than it looked like a man with dark hair that reached his collar.