She knelt in front of the box of supplies.
The two brushes were stained and dirty, little pebbles meshed into the bristles. A smock was stuffed into the box, but she could see from the way it was folded that it had been ruined by blotches of paint—some along the hem and some higher up, as if the person painting had brushed against the wet paint and then it had run down the smock.
And the can of paint. It had been hastily closed. Whoever had pressed down on the lid hadn’t noticed or cared that the paint squirted out and ran down the side of the can. The color was one Hannah had seen before.
She’d seen it in two photographs.
The color was blood red.
Sixteen
Friday morning had started out well.
Amber almost relaxed.
Her nerves had been strung tighter than a violin after Wednesday night’s confrontation with Patricia. And then Tate was acting strange. He’d followed her home and insisted on walking through the house before he left. She appreciated his concern, but it seemed overly cautious to her.
Thursday hadn’t been much better, except for the brief break she took at Hannah’s house, learning how to quilt. That still made her smile, but as soon as she was back at the Village, the troubles had kept rolling in—a small plumbing problem, an employee falling into the pond, and a guest smuggling a rabbit into her hotel room. Amber struggled all day, maybe because in the back of her mind she kept thinking about Ethan’s funeral. She didn’t regret the decision not to attend, given Margaret’s attitude toward her. But she still felt as if she hadn’t done enough.
Friday she had hoped her day would find a normal rhythm, and it seemed to—at first. Then she’d stepped out of the office, walked down to the restaurant, and purchased a midmorning snack. When she returned, Elizabeth was frowning at a note she was still writing.
“Problem?”
“I’ll say.” Elizabeth removed her glasses, allowing them to dangle at the bottom of the beaded chain she wore around her neck. “At least you saved me having to write all of it out.”
Amber accepted the “While You Were Out” message and motioned Elizabeth into her office.
“She actually called here?”
“Yes, and may I say that Margaret Gray is not a pleasant woman.”
“Tell me. I found that out firsthand. First at her home, then at the visitation. Perhaps her surly attitude is her way of grieving.”
“Humph.” Elizabeth pressed her lips together. “I won’t comment on that since my daddy always said if you can’t say something nice—”
“Don’t say anything at all.”
They shared a smile, and Amber dropped the note onto her desk, sinking back into her chair.
“So she wants us to deliver his truck?”
“Yes, to a Patricia Gray. I wrote her address on the back.”
“I met Patricia Wednesday night. She seemed . . . different. For some reason I’m not sure she drives. Do you know anything about what happened to her?”
Elizabeth sighed and frowned at her lap. “It was a real tragedy. I understand teens will try things, but when Patricia experimented with drugs she wrecked her life.”
“Was it the amount she took? Or was there something wrong with—”
“Don’t ask me. It was years ago and my memory isn’t that good. Probably you could go online to the newspaper archives and find some details. All I can tell you is that she has times when she’s lucid and times when she’s not.”
“Wednesday night she was not!”
“I’m not surprised. The shock of seeing her brother in the casket might have pushed her back to the unsteady side. Regardless, Margaret insisted the truck be taken care of today. She said it was the least you could do since . . . and I’m quoting, ‘she allowed my husband to be murdered while on the Village time clock.’ ”
Amber stared at the Friendship Star quilt on her wall. She focused on the yellow stars, which so often reminded her of the warm sunshine outside her window. Today the stars blurred with the blue background. Staring at it produced no answers. She wasn’t even able to find her usual peaceful frame of mind. Reaching for the sack from the restaurant, she pulled out Elizabeth’s piece of cranberry bread and handed it to her. Then she removed her bowl of fruit, which didn’t look nearly as appealing as Elizabeth’s snack.
Stabbing her fork into a strawberry, she shrugged. “The address isn’t so far. It would be easier to deliver the truck than to endure speaking with—”
“You mean arguing with—”
“Margaret.”
“I have a couple of hours before our managers’ meeting at noon.”
Elizabeth left to retrieve the keys to Ethan’s truck from her desk drawer, then brought them back to Amber. “He’d left them in the cash register drawer, and Margaret never picked them up.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Amber pocketed the keys and ate a grape, trying to imagine it was a bite of rich yummy bread.
“The security firm said they’d be here at eleven thirty to set up for their presentation. They requested a projector. I’ve taken care of it. The restaurant is also bringing up boxed lunches for everyone.”
“Thank you.”
Elizabeth started to leave and the office phone rang. Instead of continuing to the outer office, she reached across Amber’s desk and answered the call.
Amber understood by the expression on her face that the news wasn’t good. Her response to the caller was a clear indication that their morning had taken another turn for the worse.
“When? How many? She’ll be right down.”
Forking a piece of pineapple and a grape, Amber stuffed them into her mouth as Elizabeth hung up the phone.
“Front desk of the inn. They have a situation.”
“I’m on it.”
“Started about ten minutes ago and involves six guests.”
Amber grabbed her ring of office keys, her tablet, and her purse. She checked to be sure that Ethan’s truck keys were already in her pocket.
“I’ll go to the inn first, then head out to Patricia’s with the truck.”
As she made her way down the stairs and across the parking lot to the inn, it occurred to her that her tablet wasn’t doing a very good job of keeping her life on a calm and even level. Her apps were supposed to render everything manageable. She had always thought that with enough organization and planning, anything was possible. Until recent events, there hadn’t been an emergency she couldn’t handle as long as she had Wi-Fi access and her daily dose of caffeine.
That wasn’t exactly true.
Loneliness had been a problem, but then, technology couldn’t solve everything. She’d resisted her sister’s suggestions to try online dating sites. Not that she was against them. She even knew two couples who were happily married after meeting online. But she clung to the stubborn belief that God would arrange for her to actually meet the man she was supposed to marry—in person.
An image of Tate flashed into her mind, but she laughed and pushed it away. Nice guy, but not exactly her type. He was kind, considerate, and had certainly sent butterflies scurrying about her stomach the last few times they’d seen one another. Still, he wasn’t her type. There was nothing to bat around in her mind, or her heart, because she and Tate were complete opposites.
Walking through the front door of the inn, she saw that three couples were waiting to check in and the two workers behind the desk looked a few shades past exasperated. Martha and Karen, both young Amish women, had managed the front desk for several years. Karen had been hired first, and then she’d suggested her friend Martha apply. Both were excellent employees. They were two of Amber’s most dependable workers.
Karen was short, plump, and walked with a slight limp. Martha was tall and thin with almost a boyish figure. If the guests were surprised to see two Amish women checking them in, they didn’t show it. In fact, the guests looked amused about something, sharing smiles and even giving a thumbs-up when Amber walked in the door.
“Gut,” Karen said.
“Fine,” Martha muttered.
It was plain that their answers didn’t encompass the entire situation.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“These guests want to check in for the mystery package.” Martha shook her head in frustration.
“We explained to them there is no such package, but they insist there is. We didn’t know what you would want us to do.”
“All of these people—”
“Ya.” Martha put her hand on top of her prayer kapp. “I’ve tried to be clear. I even showed them the packages we have listed on the computer.”
“They seem to think it’s a game.” Karen peeked around Amber at the six waiting customers. “There is no reasoning with them.”
“I’ll handle it.” Amber turned back toward the guests. When she did, the front door of the inn opened, and Tate walked inside. For a moment, she was disoriented, and she had to fight the urge to check her tablet.
Had they set up a meeting?
Why was he here?
Tate smiled, and she held up a finger to let him know she’d seen him and would be with him soon.
He nodded and stood by the door, waiting. Dressed in blue jeans and an Indiana Hoosiers T-shirt, he seemed completely at ease in her inn.
One thing at a time.
She turned back to the customers.
“Karen and Martha told me you were expecting some sort of mystery package?”
The youngest couple gave her another thumbs-up.
The middle-aged couple nodded in agreement.
And the two elderly ladies, who looked like sisters, whispered to one another.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have any package like that.”
“It’s probably what she’s supposed to say,” said the young man.
“Part of the mystery is finding the mystery package!” The young woman actually laughed.
“No. It’s not part of any deal currently, past, or future. We don’t have anything remotely resembling a mystery package.”
“It says here that there’s a special rate.” The older of the two women—who had to be in her seventies—began thumbing through the screens on her phone.
“And clues!” This from the younger sister, who stepped closer to Amber and confided, “Exactly like an Agatha Christie novel. We do love her books.”
“No. You’re not listening—” Amber walked around the counter so that she could speak with them more firmly without raising her voice.
The middle-aged man, who was decked out in motorcycle gear, put his thumbs under his belt buckle—Harley Davidson, of course. But when he spoke, he didn’t sound like a biker. He sounded rather cultured. Well, shame on her for thinking in stereotypes.
“It’s not solved, is it? Because the site says today is the first day. Doesn’t seem as if it could be solved.”
His wife rolled her eyes and plopped down in a chair. “I told you we should have left earlier.”
“What site?” Amber asked.
All three couples stopped talking and stared at her.
“You said, ‘The site says today is the first day.’ What site?”
“This one.” The young woman tapped twice on her phone’s screen and then thrust it into Amber’s hands.
When she saw it, her world tilted slightly for a moment. Then she felt Tate’s hand on the small of her back—rooting her, grounding her.
“Nice graphics,” he murmured.
At the top of the screen were the words “Who Killed Ethan Gray?” Below that was “Amish Artisan Village. Middlebury, Indiana. Mystery Package.”
“Looks like a type of geocaching.” Tate pointed to a tab that was labeled “Clues.”
“How do you know about geocaching?” Amber had the distinct feeling she’d stepped into an alternate world. One that looked like hers but didn’t follow the same rules.
“My younger son loves to do it. He drags me along occasionally when he comes home to visit. They even had a club for it at his college.”
“You’re right.” The motorcycle guy rubbed a hand along his jaw. “It is like geocaching. It even gives you coordinates to the first clue.”
“And it says that you’ll be given additional clues as you go.” The elderly woman with the beehive hairdo had become suddenly serious. “Stella and I are very good with clues. We have a real shot to win if you’ll let us in our rooms.”
Amber closed her eyes and prayed for patience. When she opened them, the six guests were still waiting.
“I can give you our lowest rate.” When she named the amount, they all nodded agreeably. “But I don’t have a prize for anyone, there is no mystery package, there are no clues, and there hasn’t been a murder.”
“Ethan’s dead, isn’t he? Because the site gave the funeral details.” The woman in motorcycle gear reached for her own phone, but Amber waved her away.
“Yes, Ethan is dead, but we’re not offering a mystery package. There is no mystery! He died of natural causes.”
The guests exchanged knowing looks, and Amber understood she was fighting a useless battle. Instead of continuing to argue, she walked around the check-in counter and showed Martha and Karen a special code for a 15 percent discount. “Call me if you need anything else.”
She practically pulled Tate out of the reception area.
She needed a little sunshine.
Seventeen
Tate followed her out into the perfect spring day.
“Tough morning?”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Amber sat on a bench outside the inn. Her hair—which seemed more cinnamon than chestnut to him now that they were out in the sunlight—was once again straightened. She wore black slacks and a white, neatly starched blouse. In other words, she looked gorgeous.
“Now tell me what you’re doing in the neighborhood.”
“I live in this neighborhood.”
“Good point, but you’ve never stopped by before.” She looked up at him and smiled, and Tate’s palms began to sweat. He’d needed to see her, but now he wasn’t so sure he should have stopped by. He felt like a lovesick pup, which was absolutely ridiculous.
“Tate?”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I was thinking about something else.” He glanced out across the Village, shading his eyes against the morning sun. “Truthfully, I didn’t have a reason. I mean, I can make up one if you’d like me to, but I wanted to see you, is all. I didn’t mean to interrupt your workday.”
“You’re not interrupting me.” Amber’s voice was soft. Her expression was unreadable. “How did you know to find me at the inn?”
“I called your office. Some lady named Elizabeth said I could come to your office and wait, or walk to the inn where you were likely to be for a few minutes.” He looked away, but hadn’t he come too far to back down now? “Look, Amber, I feel bad—now that I know you—that I’ve been so critical of the Village. I thought I’d stop by and see things for myself, and I did want to see you. I had been to town, and when I drove back by here on my way home, I had an urge to stop. So I did. Probably I should have called first.”
“You did fine. I’m glad you were there to help me through the mystery guests.” Amber laughed and sat back so that she was leaning against the wall of the inn. Closing her eyes, she murmured, “I think I need a few hours of sleeping in the sun. It’s such a nice spring day.”
They sat that way for a moment.
Guests walked back and forth on the pavement, ducks settled on the pond, and a light breeze blew through the trees. It was spring in Indiana, one of Tate’s favorite times.
Amber groaned and stood up. “I’d love to give you a tour, but I have a truck to deliver.”
“A truck?”
“Yes, Ethan’s. Margaret wants it delivered to Patricia, and I volunteered to do it.”
Ambe
r was facing Tate. Looking past her, he saw an Amish girl hurrying toward them.
“How were you going to get back?”
“Back?”
“After you drop off the truck.”
“Oh.” Amber shook her head and pulled her purse strap higher up on her shoulder. “I’m off schedule today, and I am not thinking straight. You’re right. I’ll need to ask one of my employees to follow me over. Fortunately it’s not far.”
“I could do it.” The words were out of Tate’s mouth before he’d even stopped to think of what his chore list included back home.
“Why would you do that?”
“Like you said . . . it’s a nice spring day.”
“All right. I accept your offer of help.”
She was fishing the keys out of her pocket when an Amish girl, the girl who had been hurrying, stopped in front of them—red in the face and breathless.
“Hannah, is everything all right?”
Hannah shook her head yes and then no. She fiddled with her kapp strings and then glanced from Amber to Tate and back again as if she was uncertain whether she should speak.
“Do you two need a minute?” he asked.
“No. Hannah, this is Tate—my neighbor. He’s been helping me out since the vandalism began.”
Hannah nodded as if that made perfect sense.
“We found a box. Seth nearly tripped over it in the back storeroom.”
“Of the coffee shop?”
“Ya.”
Hannah looked flustered. To say she was distressed would have been an understatement. And somehow, Tate knew that the next thing she was about to say would complicate Amber’s morning more than it already had been. He also stopped worrying about being in the way. Maybe there were several reasons why he had felt the intense need to see her.
Hannah lowered her voice and stepped closer to Amber. “The box . . . it’s full of things.”
“What type of things?”
“A stained smock—”
“Stained?”
“Brushes—”
Murder Simply Brewed Page 14
