Dead Broke

by Vannetta Chapman

  Henry explained how they’d found Joey and went back over what he’d said.

  Gina described finding the marijuana in the Thompsons’ cabin and then told about giving the bags to Patsy Wright. “She said she was with the DEA. How is that possible? Why are they staying at Agatha’s B&B? And if she’s with the DEA, who were those people who searched the house yesterday?”

  “All good questions.” Tony stared at the floor for a moment, then raised his eyes. “You found marijuana in the Thompsons’ room. What did you find in the Wrights’ room?”

  “I’m offended by that remark. I am not a snoop.”

  “Of course you aren’t. Everyone checks between the mattresses when they make a bed.”

  “For your information I’m quite thorough when I clean.” Gina tried to stop the smile forming on her lips, but she didn’t quite manage it. “Okay. I snooped, but I did it for Agatha. As for the Wrights’ cabin, it was too clean.”

  “How can a room be too clean?” Emma asked.

  “Trust me when I say we see all kinds of people at the B&B. Everything from the folks who need six pairs of shoes for a three-day trip to the ones who only bring a change of underwear.” She gnawed on a thumbnail for a moment. “The thing is that regardless of their wardrobe needs most people do bring stuff.”

  “Stuff?” Henry locked eyes with Tony, who shrugged.

  “Phone cords, laptops, books, crafts, magazines, make-up, favorite pillows...stuff.” She glanced around the group and grimaced. “Not the Wrights, though. Two changes of clothes, two toothbrushes, and absolutely nothing else.”

  “Which would make sense if they’re DEA agents on an active operation. They wouldn’t bring much stuff.” Tony put air quotes around the last word, then sat back and steepled his fingertips. “I came up empty on the bike tread from Henry’s picture...it’s a pretty standard tire, good for off road or pavement. But the boot print was a little more telling. Johnson Channing recognized the tread and said it’s definitely one of his boots.”

  “He’s a boot maker?” Henry asked.

  “Yup. Learned the boot making trade from Pablo Jass.”

  “The Pablo Jass?” Gina let out a whistle when Tony nodded in the affirmative. “There’s a long waiting list of folks wanting boots from Pablo. People even sell their place in line.”

  “Johnson put out his shingle in Hunt fifteen years ago. The interesting thing about the boot print? He changed the type of soles he used after the first couple of years. The soles in the picture Henry drew were the old kind.”

  Gina crossed her arms, staring across the room at nothing. “So whoever is wearing them probably wasn’t Amish. They’ve only been in the area a few years, so they couldn’t have bought them twelve years ago.”

  “Not exactly true,” Henry said. “Amish tend to buy things from second hand shops and garage sales—even boots. So the person could be Amish. They could have bought them used.”

  Tony was nodding before Henry had finished. “You’re right. Knowing who made the boot might not help us find the killer, but once we do find him—the boots will be one more piece of evidence in the case against him.”

  Bannister walked into the waiting room at the exact moment that the surgeon walked out to update Joey’s family. Apparently Bannister informed her there was no family in the area. Needless to say, Henry and his group weren’t invited over to listen to the details. It didn’t matter. Once the good doctor had finished, Bannister joined them.

  “More trouble at Agatha’s. Why am I not surprised?”

  “How’s Joey?” Henry asked.

  “He’s out of surgery and doing fine. I have an officer in with him now, taking down his statement. Officer Griffin and a forensic team are at Agatha’s, processing the crime scene.”

  They made a tight circle—Lieutenant Bannister, Gina, Tony, Emma and Henry.

  It was Tony who asked what was on their minds. “Do you have any idea who did it? In your opinion, is it related to the murder of Nathan? Do you have a working theory?”

  Bannister held up his hand to stop the barrage of questions. “Can’t say right now. You know that—open case and all. But you can tell Agatha to come out of hiding. We no longer believe she’s involved.”

  It was Emma who jumped to Agatha’s defense before anyone else could. “Agatha isn’t hiding. She’s at Nathan’s funeral.”

  “Whatever.” Bannister actually smiled.

  The expression was unusual on him, and Henry had known the man less than a week. Bannister tipped his hat, turned, and began to whistle as he walked out of the waiting room.

  “Huh,” Gina said.

  “He was acting rather...odd,” Emma noted.

  Henry looked at Tony. “What’s up with him? Why’s he so cheerful?”

  “There’s only one reason Jimmy Bannister whistles. He’s solved a case.”

  “The murder case?” Gina and Emma asked at once.

  “Hard to say. More than likely the drug case. It must have been a big one if they sent two agents down here. I suspect we’ll find Valerie and Eric are suppliers for a group of dealers.”

  “They don’t look like drug suppliers.”

  “That’s the problem. Your lower level dealers fit into a typical profile, but the upper level? It can be anyone from a corporate executive to a yuppie couple from California.”

  “Why would they do it?” Emma shook her head in wonderment. “If they already have a successful life, why would they risk it?”

  “Money.” Tony shrugged. “Some people just can’t get enough. One thing is certain. Based on Bannister’s response, whatever went down at Agatha’s today is big.”

  “How big?” Henry asked.

  “Promotion big, would be my guess. Big enough to overshadow Nathan’s murder and the attack on Joey...or else somehow related to those two events.”

  It seemed impossible to Henry that Bannister would feel happy about where things stood. Joey Smith was in a hospital bed recovering from his wound, but no one knew who shot him. Nathan King was being buried, and no one had been arrested for his murder. The Thompsons were arrested, but what were they doing in Hunt and was it related to Nathan’s murder? It seemed to Henry that very little had been solved, and it felt as if a clock were ticking.

  Because he didn’t believe for a minute that Valerie or Eric had killed Nathan King. Greedy? Sure. He could picture that, but not murderers. He’d stared into the eyes of a murderer on more than one occasion. He knew what that kind of darkness looked like. The Thompsons were irritating, possibly desperate, and definitely felt they were above the law. But he didn’t believe they were killers.

  And that meant whoever shot Nathan was still out there.

  Chapter Twelve

  Agatha had been to many funerals in her life. From a spiritual perspective, Amish tended to see death as a natural event—one that ultimately led to their heavenly home. But the emotional perspective was much the same as that of any group of people. The ones left behind mourned their loss, and so the community mourned with them.

  It seemed that most everyone from the Hunt community of Plain folks was at Nathan’s funeral.

  Looking out across the group, Agatha couldn’t tell that a single person was missing. Then she spied Clarence Yutzy standing with his entire family—well, almost his entire family. Eunice was nowhere in sight. Agatha’s mind flashed back to her encounter with the woman when she’d gone to see Nathan’s mom. What had Eunice said to her?

  Be careful, Agatha. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.

  It had struck her as an odd remark then, and now—after all that had happened in the last forty-eight hours—the words took on an ominous feel.

  The actual funeral service was held at the King home. It was fortunate that the weather was pleasant, as the crowd was quite large. Apparently some family members had arrived from Ohio, in addition the group seemed to include everyone in their local community as well as a few Englischers who had worked with Nathan in a business capacity.


  As was their custom at funerals, there was preaching by two of their deacons. Nathan’s body had been placed in a pine casket, made by Abraham Miller, who was Becca’s brother-in-law. He was a farmer, like most of the Amish men, but he made caskets on the side. He’d once told Agatha that he thought of it as his way of helping those in his community. Agatha knew that people tried to pay him for the work, but Abraham wouldn’t accept the money. She’d tried herself when her brother and sister-in-law had died. When Abraham wouldn’t take the money, she’d made a contribution to the benevolence fund instead.

  Nathan had been dressed in white, as was also their tradition. Agatha thought he looked peaceful, and she was grateful that the mortician who prepared the body had been able to hide the violence of his death. Although it was a solemn time, both the deacons had mentioned Nathan’s love for his goats. The fact that they were grazing in the adjacent pasture helped to lighten the mood.

  It seemed to Agatha that Nathan had lived a gut life, though he had died too soon. And yet as Christians they didn’t believe that. They believed in the words of the Psalmist—the very words that Bishop Jonas was reciting at that moment.

  All the days ordained for me were written in your book, before one of them came to be.

  If that were true, how could it be that his life had been cut short? Who could thwart the plans of God? Yet, he had been shot—killed without regard to the sanctity of life. Surely that had not been God’s plan for Nathan before he was even born. Sudden and tragic deaths had always been a mystery to Agatha, one that hadn’t become any clearer as she’d aged. Sighing, she realized that she didn’t expect to be able to understand all things...but it would be helpful to understand the big things.

  Still, her faith was stronger than her doubts.

  So she sang the hymns.

  She murmured amen to the sermons.

  She spoke words of encouragement to Nathan’s parents.

  They climbed into their waiting buggies, chalked with a number for ease in finding their own among that great sea of black. The buggy belonging to Nathan’s parents was chalked with a number one, since they would be leading the mile long trek to the Amish cemetery—which was actually a corner of Jonas’s property.

  Once there, they again gathered around the family.

  Jonas read from 2 Corinthians, the same verse that Agatha had requested for Samuel and Deborah. Perhaps that memory was what caused tears to blur her sight.

  We are confident...and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord.

  The pallbearers stepped forward and covered the simple coffin with dirt. Then those assembled flowed past Naomi and Titus, offering words of comfort, promising to pray for them, assuring them that they were not treading through this dark time alone.

  Agatha paused in front of the casket, wondering who had chiseled the words on the simple grave marker. For her brother and sister-in-law it had been done by Joseph Schwartz, but he too had passed in the last year. He’d gone on to his reward.

  She stood there, tears rolling down her cheeks, and read the words.

  Nathan King

  12-1-1966

  11-3-2020

  53 years, 11 months, 2 days

  Nathan King was gone, and she realized in that moment that she’d lost more than a fellow church member. She’d lost a friend. The least she could do was help to find his killer.

  AGATHA FOUND HERSELF squarely in the middle of the long line of buggies that headed back to the King home. The lunch after the funeral was an important part of their traditions. It was a lighter time and tended to provide closure to the events of the day.

  Some of the youngies had missed the graveyard service in order to set up tables and chairs. Agatha joined the other women who were uncovering dishes—fried chicken, sliced ham, sweet potato and green bean casseroles, plus plenty of fresh bread and an entire table full of desserts.

  Agatha was carrying a platter of bread and butter to each table when something streaked across the adjacent pasture. Murmurs rose throughout the crowd, and then some of the youngies were standing on the table to see better. Agatha moved back instead, because the house was on a bit of a hill and she could just see over the crowd if she backed all the way up to the house.

  A woman was riding a horse, galloping across the field and scattering the goats.

  Agatha didn’t realize it was Eunice Yutzy until Clarence started running toward her. Bishop Jonas was only a few steps behind him, as were several of the deacons. The real problem came when they accessed the pasture, as they left the gate open.

  Eunice cackled with laughter, then took off after the men, spurring her horse first left and then right and twirling what looked like a lasso.

  The goats, meanwhile, were desperate to escape the commotion.

  They headed straight for the open gate.

  Once through, they scattered.

  Most headed for the tables loaded with food. A few aimed for the porch, pulling up the bright orange and yellow mums that had been carefully potted.

  Agatha remembered suddenly that the males were called bucks or billies. The largest of the bucks climbed on top of one of the tables, sending those sitting there scattering.

  A teenaged boy decided to corral the animal, which caused it to grab the end of a tablecloth and pull, then run in the opposite direction. The boy dodged flying dishes as he gave chase.

  Several of the baby goats—were they called kids?—stood under a nearby tree, bawling and making quite the ruckus, which caused the does to charge across the crowd in order to reach them.

  If only Henry were here to draw this. The thought brought a smile to Agatha’s lips. Surely it was a terrible thing to have happen, but the heaviness that had lain across the day lifted. First one, then another of the men began to laugh. Then the women joined in, and the children were pointing and running after the smallest of the kids.

  It took nearly an hour to corral all the animals back into their field. By that time, even Titus and Naomi were smiling. Indeed, Agatha felt as if Nathan must be smiling if it was true that those already ascended could look back down on the happenings of those not yet gone.

  The gate was closed on the last of the goats.

  Tables were set right.

  Dishes were picked up.

  Dinner resumed.

  Agatha finished her shift at the serving table and went to fetch her purse from inside the house. Her plan was to eat dinner, speak with Titus and Naomi one last time, and then beat a quick retreat. She was ready for the peace and quiet of home. She needed some time knitting, listening to the purr of Fonzi, perhaps sharing a coffee with Tony.

  The thought of those things helped her to relax.

  So she was brought up short when she came around the corner of the house and heard Clarence scolding Eunice. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but she stepped backwards and stood there frozen, unsure how to proceed.

  “You weren’t supposed to come.”

  “You’re not the boss of me, bruder.”

  “And you made a promise, Eunice. Why...what were you thinking?”

  “Nathan loved those goats. I was simply setting them free.”

  “They’re not your goats to set free.” Clarence’s voice rose in frustration. “I want you to go home...go this very minute. We will speak of this more after I calm down, and after you’ve had time to think about what you’ve done.”

  “Fine. I’ll go home. I don’t want to be around these people anyway.” Eunice’s voice, usually whiny and childlike, took on a suddenly menacing tone. “But we won’t speak of this again. What I do is none of your concern, and you’d be better off keeping your nose out of my business.”

  That seemed to be the end of the conversation.

  Agatha thought she heard Eunice stomping away.

  She peeked around the corner of the house, and what she saw tugged at her already sore heart. Clarence Yutzy stood, his head bowed, his hands on his hips, his shoulders rounded. Obviously he had no idea what
to do with his sister. It occurred to Agatha that while Nathan’s family would be dealing with their heartache over his death, the man in front of her was carrying a completely different type of burden.

  Agatha had no idea how to help him—no words of wisdom, no helpful suggestions. So instead of approaching him, she walked back the way she had come and back through the house.

  Her appetite was suddenly gone.

  And she didn’t really believe she needed to speak with Titus and Naomi today. She’d visit them next week.

  For now, she needed to go home.

  She needed to rest.

  She no longer wanted to think about catching Nathan’s murderer. For once, she was happy to leave that to the police.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Agatha wanted to go to the hospital to visit Joey.

  “I’m not sure they’ll let you in.” Tony had apparently seen that determined look on Agatha’s face before, because he added, “But I’m happy to drive you over there if you want to try.”

  Which was all the encouragement she needed.

  Gina agreed to stay late and oversee dinner.

  “I’d like to go as well.” Henry thumped his cane against the living room floor. He hadn’t needed it since the first day they’d arrived, but he did now. He’d learned it was far better to use it and relieve the ache, than to give in to vanity, not use it, and feel worse later.

  “Are you sure you’re up to it?” Agatha looked at him with genuine concern.

  “Because of this?” Henry wagged the cane back and forth and shook his head. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “But you twisted your knee,” Emma pointed out. “When you were kneeling beside Joey in the barn. I saw the swelling, Henry, so don’t look at me that way.”

  “Gotte has promised to give strength to the weary.”