“The police?” Emma asked.
“And hopefully a fire truck.” Tony stood and peeked over the hood of the truck. “Clarence’s horse looks fine—made it to the boundary fence.”
“What about Doc?” Agatha popped up beside him.
“Your horse is good. Smart of you to park it so far away from the structure.”
“I didn’t know Eunice was going to set the place on fire, but I wanted a safe distance between her and my horse.”
“What happened?” Henry asked. “How did...how did you end up trussed like a couple of calves?”
Agatha gave them the short version with Emma chiming in with occasional details like Agatha’s fear of bats.
Crossing her arms across her middle, Agatha defended herself with the claim that her fear was “perfectly normal.”
“We need to get you a bat box.” Tony smiled and clumsily patted her shoulder.
“Why would I want a bat box?”
“For bats. They’re beneficial to have around. They eat a lot of insects.”
“Uh-huh. Let me think about it.”
Henry heard all this, but his thoughts had drifted to encompass all that he was seeing. He had explained many times that his subconscious mind was what saw every minute detail, not his conscious mind. But something about drawing—about embracing his gift—had caused his conscious mind to become more aware of things, especially during incidents that were emotionally stuffed and brimming over.
And in that moment, he was almost painfully aware of every detail.
The fire raging in the background.
The emergency personnel speeding toward them.
Agatha smiling up at Tony, and the way he looked back at her with real affection.
And brighter and more vivid than any of those things—Emma. Emma shaking slightly. Emma tucking a loose lock of hair into her kapp and then staring at her hands and attempting to brush the soot from them, wiping her palms against the fabric of her dress. Emma standing so close to him that it seemed as if their hearts beat in rhythm with one another. Emma smelling of smoke and under that something more familiar and comforting—baking and knitting and soap mixing into the very essence of who she was. He saw in her eyes the fear and the relief and the love that she felt for him.
And Henry Lapp, who considered himself a very grounded and practical person, had to fight the urge to fall onto his knees and thank the Lord for this life, for these people, and for the woman who was by his side every day.
Instead, he sent up a silent prayer to his Heavenly Father and slipped his arms around Emma. “You frightened me,” he whispered.
“I frightened myself.”
“That was entirely too close.”
“Agreed.” Emma stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek, then her expression grew suddenly serious. “So Eunice did it? She actually killed Nathan?”
And then it was Henry and Tony’s turn to explain—about Clarence, about Eunice’s history of mental illness, and about her delusions that she was an Amish cowgirl.
“Certainly explains her skill with a rope,” Agatha muttered.
Before they could piece together the final details of the mystery, all conversation stopped because emergency personnel were crowding around them, insisting on administering aid to Emma and Agatha. Help had arrived, and Henry was very glad to see them.
Chapter Nineteen
Two days later, Tony offered to drive Henry and Emma to San Antonio to catch their bus. Agatha went along, happy to be with friends, happy to have a day away. She felt inexplicably light. How good and right it was to simply be able to enjoy life, and to not be troubled by dark matters such as murder.
They left early and travelled the back roads to show Henry and Emma more of the Hill Country. They cruised through Kerrville, then slowed as they passed the small downtown of Bandera and finally turned east through Helotes and into the sprawl of San Antonio. Usually Agatha preferred the short distance and slow speed of a buggy ride, but on this day she found herself sticking her hand out the window like a pup on a road trip.
When they’d made their way through the traffic and into downtown, Tony looked at his watch. “We still have over an hour before your bus departs. Mind if I take you to a favorite spot? We can have a late breakfast or early lunch.”
“Sounds like a great idea,” Emma said. “Gina made sandwiches for us to eat on the bus for our dinner, and then it’s another year of cooking for me. Come to think of it, I rather miss cooking.”
Henry laughed. “Another benefit of vacation—makes you appreciate home, both the chores and the familiarity of it.”
Tony pulled into the parking area for La Panaderia.
“Smells gut even from here.”
“And it tastes even better.” Before they went inside, Tony explained a little of the history of the place. “Jose and David opened up this bakery and café only a few years ago. The interesting thing is that they learned to bake from their madre. Doña Josefina sold fresh baked bread on the streets of Mexico City. She was quite prosperous, and they learned from her success, then brought their business to Texas.”
“So it’s a family enterprise.” Emma smiled. “That’s nice.”
“Just wait until you taste it.”
They feasted on breakfast sandwiches made of ham, Swiss cheese, eggs and avocado, served on fresh croissants with a side of black beans. Strong black coffee and dessert rounded out the meal—one bear claw, an oreja, a small monkey bread, and a peineta. They put all four desserts in the middle of the table and took a bite of each.
“I’m going to sleep on the bus,” Henry predicted.
“And I’ll knit. We’re as full as bugs in a rug. Danki, Tony. It’s been a fine end to our trip.”
Henry nodded in agreement. “Agatha, I can’t help but believe Gotte caused our paths to cross.”
“Maybe so.” Agatha beamed at the two of them. “I didn’t expect to have an Amish bishop and savant dropped into my B&B, but you, your wife, and your talents sure came in handy. We couldn’t have solved the murder without you.”
“Speaking of murder...have you had any updates on Eunice?”
Tony nodded. “Let me refill our coffee cups. Then I’ll tell you all I know.”
What he knew was a lot. Eunice had felt spurned by Nathan. She’d obsessed over their relationship and finally begun to follow him. When he ignored her, or told her to go home—and that happened on more than one occasion—she became angry.
“Angry and desperate are a bad combination,” Agatha noted.
“Indeed. On the afternoon of November third, Eunice drove her brother’s buggy to the old bridge and parked it on the side of the road. Offloading her bike, she travelled back to where Nathan’s goats were foraging.”
“Across from the B&B.” Emma seemed as caught up as Agatha was.
Hearing Tony lay out the details of the case was like reaching the conclusion of a novel—only this story involved real people, real lives, and real tragedy.
“As we suspected from your drawings, Eunice managed to get his attention by lassoing one of the goats. When Nathan came to rescue it, they argued. Eunice shot him, then yanked off and pocketed the whistle he wore on the chain around his neck.”
“Which caused the bruising,” Henry said.
“Yup. And it also explains the partial boot print. She didn’t have to step closer to kill him, but she did have to stand over his body in order to retrieve the necklace.”
“What was the argument about?” Agatha shook her head in disbelief. “Didn’t Nathan realize that she was dangerous?”
“We don’t know much about the details of what was said between the two. Eunice still refuses to explain exactly what pushed her over the edge.”
“Maybe she doesn’t know.” Henry stared out the window for a moment, then turned his attention back to his friends. “Maybe she can’t explain it even to herself.”
“That’s certainly possible. We do know that she was carrying Clarence’s old rifle, so she anticipated
using it. We don’t know if she actually set out that day planning to kill Nathan, but there are grounds for premeditation. The prosecution will be able to charge her with first degree murder if and when she’s deemed competent to stand trial.”
Agatha sat up straighter. What Eunice had done was wrong, but putting her in jail for the rest of her life wouldn’t right that wrong. “Is that a possibility...her standing trial for murder?”
“It’s doubtful. Texas allows an insanity defense. According to the M’Naghten rule, a defendant who is unable to distinguish between right and wrong may be found not guilty by reason of insanity.”
“To me she seemed like a child—an angry one at times, to be sure, but still a child.”
“And there’s little doubt that she was unable to control her impulses, given she was not taking her medication and her previous diagnosis of schizophrenia.”
“So she walks free?” Emma shook her head. “She doesn’t belong in jail, but I’m not sure that Clarence can handle her.”
“She’ll be sent somewhere that she can receive psychiatric care. Your bishop...” Tony let his gaze rest on Agatha for a moment.
His attention caused her pulse to jump, but she rather liked it.
“Jonas.”
“Right. He’s been in touch with a group of Mennonites who run a mental health center. It’ll be a little bit of a drive for Clarence to visit her, but they can provide the care Eunice needs. They’ll also keep a close eye on her. Hopefully, with time, she’ll eventually be able to return home.”
“And Joey?” Agatha asked. “Why did she shoot Joey?”
“Eunice hid across the road after the shooting. When Joey fled the scene, she saw him. After that, it was simply a matter of following him until he was alone.”
“My barn.”
“Yup. Your barn.”
Which seemed to sum up the case.
Tony insisted on paying for their meal. They thanked the waitress and stepped out into a November day that was cold but sunny and startling in its beauty. Hanging baskets of flowers adorned storefronts, and as they walked toward the bus station, they paused to look down on the San Antonio River. Boats of tourists floated past them, and along the river walk restaurants boasted patio tables with brightly colored umbrellas.
“Looks like an oasis,” Henry said.
“Something we can all use from time to time.” Emma reached for her husband’s hand and smiled at him.
Agatha liked that about them—many Amish still held to the old ways, refusing to show any type of affection in public. Emma and Henry had found each other late in life, and they weren’t going to hold back on how they felt because of such traditions.
At the station, Agatha pulled Emma into a hug. “You’re welcome to come back any time.”
“And you could come visit us in Monte Vista. It’s beautiful there. You and Tony should both come. It would be a nice vacation for you.”
“I just might take you up on it.” Agatha rather liked the idea of driving with Tony through the Colorado mountains, and she’d also have a chance to see a lot of Texas just trying to get out of it.
When she said goodbye to Henry, he held her hand in his and said, “Gotte bless you, Agatha. What you’re doing here...providing a haven of rest for weary people...it’s Gotte’s work.”
His words touched her heart. She’d made a vow when she’d first moved to Texas. In fact, those very words, haven of rest, were etched on a bronze plaque that was tucked into her garden, honoring the memory of her bruder. Below that line was another that read May God’s peace fill your soul.
She supposed those two lines summed up her mission statement for her B&B, but few guests paused long enough to read the words on the plaque. Fewer still guessed how deep their meaning ran for her. Tears pricked her eyes, but she managed a strangled “Danki.”
“I have something for you.” He removed a postcard-sized piece of paper from his shirt pocket.
She stared down at it, at the picture of her B&B with the Guadalupe River flowing behind it and felt tears sting her eyes. “It’s beautiful, Henry.”
“It’s his first scenic piece,” Emma explained. “He’s going to do a book of them, then donate the money he earns.”
“A way of using your gift,” Tony said.
“Exactly.”
Emma enfolded her in one last hug, and then they hurried off to catch their bus.
She and Tony waited until the bus pulled out, then they walked arm in arm back to his truck. Forty-five minutes later they’d left the bustle of San Antonio behind them.
“Henry and Emma are gut people,” she declared.
“Salt of the earth.”
“What’s that?”
“You haven’t heard that saying?” Tony tugged on his ball cap, then smiled at her. “My dad used to call people he liked, people who didn’t stand on pretense and would help you out of a jam, salt of the earth.”
“I like that.”
“Yup.”
“My life has certainly been interesting since I moved to Texas.”
“My life has been interesting since you moved to Texas.”
She turned toward him, a smile playing on her lips. Deciding she had nothing to lose, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“What did I do to deserve that?”
“Just being who you are—being the salt of the earth.” She mimicked his voice and he laughed. “I wonder what’s next.”
“I have literally no idea.”
“One thing I’m sure of...it’s not going to involve murder.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Absolutely. I’m done. No more sleuthing for me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I mean it, Tony. I’m not planning anything more exciting than sitting in a kayak with you and learning to fish.”
“You’re not a very good fisher.”
“I am, too.” She knew he was teasing, but she couldn’t help defending herself. “I caught those sunfish, and I didn’t fall in.”
“You’re setting a mighty low bar.”
“True.”
“You squeal whenever you catch a fish.”
“It’s exciting.”
“Exciting enough.”
“Exactly.” She didn’t need murders or clues or investigations. All Agatha needed was the sun slanting through her kitchen window, guests to care for, good friends like Gina and Becca and Emma, and the certainty that God had her in the palm of his hands.
Of course, having a good-looking neighbor as a best friend didn’t hurt one bit.
The End
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my friend Priscilla Wright. She’s that rare kind of friend who is there for you through the good and the bad. Also she helps me pick out the perfect shade of lipstick. Priscilla, I hope you enjoyed the character that was inspired by you.
I need to again thank Beth Scott for the use of her cat Fonzi, and others from our church’s ladies’ group who may find their names sprinkled throughout this story. You all are a joy to be around, especially when we’re drinking coffee.
As is always the case, I owe a large debt to my pre-readers, Kristy and Tracy. Love you both. Teresa, you did a fabulous job on the editing. Jenny, once again I absolutely adore the cover that you created. My family deserves a giant thank you for every single book I finish. You all are the best.
And a heartfelt shout-out to all my readers who over the years have asked for another book about Henry. I hope you enjoyed his return.
And finally ... always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ (Ephesians 5:20).
Blessings,
Vannetta
Also by Vannetta Chapman
Book 1 of Agatha’s Amish B&B Series
Dead Wrong
The Shipshewana Amish Mysteries
Falling to Pieces
A Perfect Square
Material Witness
The Amish Village Myster
ies
Murder Simply Brewed
Murder Tightly Knit
Murder Freshly Baked
The Amish Bishop Mysteries
What the Bishop Saw
When the Bishop Needs an Alibi
Who the Bishop Knows
Find these and more at https://vannettachapman.com/books/amish-mystery/.
Author’s Note:
There is no Plain community in Hunt, Texas, though I have no trouble picturing one there. Hunt sits squarely in the middle of the Texas Hill Country, an area growing increasingly popular, especially for folks trying to escape the fast pace and stressful life of Dallas, Houston, and San Antonio. It’s a beautiful part of our state, and as you drive the twisting roads that follow the Guadalupe, you can catch a glimpse of the Texas that used to be.
I had the pleasure of conducting thorough research in the community of Hunt. Any differences from the real location were done for purposes to further my plot. Likewise, though I have visited over a dozen Amish communities, the community you read about in this book is fictional and subject to intentional discrepancies in the interest of dramatic license.
I first wrote about Bishop Henry in What the Bishop Saw. Accidental/acquired savant syndrome is a condition where dormant savant skills emerge after a brain injury or disease. Although it’s quite rare, researchers in 2010 identified 32 individuals who displayed unusual skills in one or more of five major areas: art, musical abilities, calendar calculation, arithmetic, and spatial skills. Males with savant syndrome outnumber females by roughly six to one.
Did you love Dead Broke? Then you should read Fading Into the Night by Vannetta Chapman!
When a cyber terrorist targets the Amish town of Shipshewana, an Amish farmer and a seasoned agent join forces to stop the attack.
How do you defend yourself against an attack you can't see?
Nora Brooks has been sent to the small town of Shipshewana to stop a cyber-attack that could kill hundreds. She doesn't realize that she'll need an Amish farmer to do so. Ben Lapp is walking around the corner of his barn when he comes face to face with a woman dressed in black, bleeding from a wound on her right arm, and aiming a gun at him. When he learns why she's there, he wants to do more than stay out of her way. He wants to help her stop this threat to the community and the people that he loves. But the man who is threatening Ben's community has faded into the night, and it's going to take every bit of cunning and instinct these two possess to find and stop him.
Dead Broke Page 17
