Murder Simply Brewed

by Vannetta Chapman

  “My assistant, Elizabeth, mentioned Patricia’s history. She said it was tragic, but she didn’t remember the details.”

  “Most of us would rather forget things like that. Seeing your son or daughter through the teen years is frightening at times. I spent a few nights at the kitchen table, praying one of our boys would come home safely.”

  “I can imagine, not that I ever broke my curfew or caused my parents any anxiety.” The memory of how she had done those things was bittersweet. Both of her parents had died in the last five years, and she missed them terribly.

  Amber rolled her window down a little, needing to feel the breeze on her face. “The second door was closed and locked. Who locks the door to a room when they live alone? And the room across the hall from that was like a chemist’s play area.”

  “You snooped?”

  “I peeked inside. I suppose I thought I might find more cans of red paint or a BB gun.”

  “A BB gun was in the corner of the living room. I spotted that right away.”

  They both fell silent. Tate merged with Middlebury’s lunchtime traffic. Amber had too many things circling in her mind. She needed a few minutes to sit in her office, jot it all down, and make some sense of it.

  When Tate pulled into a spot in the Village parking lot, Amber let out a groan and nearly slapped herself on the forehead. “I’ve got it. That dog.”

  “Dog?”

  “The one next door to Patricia’s house.”

  “The yippy dog?”

  “Yes! Hannah and I were sitting outside of the coffee shop talking when a woman passed by. She was carrying a dog just like that in her purse.”

  “And . . .”

  “Maybe it was her! Maybe Patricia was here.”

  Tate drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “Maybe, but that isn’t a crime. And why would she carry her neighbor’s dog with her anyway? The more likely scenario is that it was a different dog that you remembered when you heard the noisy beast today.”

  “I suppose.”

  He made it around to her side of the truck and opened her door while she was gathering her things. She hopped out of the truck, then looked at him and said softly, “Thank you.”

  “For opening the door? My momma taught me well.”

  “Thank you for everything.” She stepped closer and peered up into his face. Tate Bowman had the warmest, brownest eyes she’d ever seen. “And the door thing is nice.”

  “Glad to hear it. Some women are more independently minded.”

  “About doors?”

  “About everything. I wouldn’t want to be smacked for treating a woman like a . . . well, like a lady.”

  “So you were taking a chance?” Amber liked teasing Tate. He looked so surprised when she did. It was the most relaxed she’d felt since her day had begun. Perhaps the drive out in the April sunshine had helped. The thought had no sooner passed through her mind than she remembered the coffee shop, the trail, her front porch, and Katie’s shop.

  She sighed and turned away slightly. “This is serious and terrible and so unexpected.”

  “About Ethan?”

  Instead of answering, she scanned the property—a property she’d dedicated her life to, at least the last twenty years of her life. “These seventy acres are supposed to be a haven of sorts. A place where people can work and rest in peace, but I’m beginning to wonder . . .”

  She stopped before voicing the next thought. It was painful to admit what she was contemplating. When she turned and met his gaze, it seemed from the expression on his face that possibly he understood fully how much she cared about the Village, all the people she employed, and her guests.

  “I’m beginning to think it might have been murder. I don’t know how, but there are too many coincidences. Too many things out of place. Too many questions.”

  “You don’t have to be afraid.” He stepped closer and reached for her hand.

  The full impact of what they were discussing hit her, and she nearly dropped her tablet. Was there a murderer loose in Middlebury? One who had a vendetta against the Village?

  “I’ll check to see if Gordon’s still here and tell him about Patricia.”

  “And I’ll go to my meeting—we’ve contracted a security firm to come and speak to our managers. Text me what Gordon says?”

  “Sure will.”

  She had the strangest notion that he was about to kiss her before she walked away, but he didn’t.

  It had probably been her imagination.

  But it occurred to her as she hurried toward her office that Tate Bowman would make some lucky woman a very good husband.

  Hannah joined the group of managers eating lunch around the conference table. She’d rather have taken her break outside in one of her usual spots at the pond or down by the creek. But the memo had gone out to all managers, and for the moment that included her.

  She had walked over to the office with Carol. They’d talked about the quilt shop, the kaffi shop, and the weather. When Hannah had brought up Ethan, Carol’s lips formed a tight, straight line, and she grew quiet.

  Hannah didn’t know if that was normal or not. She’d worked with Englischers since she’d turned sixteen, and she’d lived beside them always. Still, it was hard to know what was and wasn’t unusual for a group of people—especially a group she didn’t belong to.

  She did know that sometimes death was a difficult thing to accept, even within the Amish community. They were taught to acknowledge Gotte’s wille, but the hole left from someone’s passing hurt. She’d lost a grandparent two years earlier, and she understood this firsthand. Carol and Ethan had worked next to each other for years. Perhaps a friendship had developed, though Hannah found that hard to imagine since Ethan was so unsociable.

  She didn’t have much time to dwell on friendship and death and dying.

  They’d climbed the stairs to the office and entered the conference room, and everyone had turned to stare at her. Hannah knew it wasn’t because she was Amish. More than half of the people seated around the large table were from her community. No, the looks weren’t because of her prayer kapp or her long dress. Each person turned and stared at her because she was young. She understood in an instant. The person nearest her age was still twenty years older.

  What right did she have to be here?

  What made her think she could do the job they had been doing for years?

  Elizabeth fluttered around the room, making sure everyone had a boxed lunch and something to drink. Hannah had taken the first bite of her tuna sandwich when Amber hurried through the doorway. Their eyes met, and she knew—was absolutely certain—that something else had happened.

  Something to do with Ethan.

  Amber didn’t speak of it. Instead, she moved to the middle of one side of the table and took her seat.

  “Thank you all for coming. I apologize for my tardiness. Please, finish your meal.” Again her eyes sought Hannah’s, but then she turned to the Amish man beside her and engaged him in conversation.

  Hannah ate slowly and used the time to study the group.

  Five were not Amish, seven if you included Amber and Elizabeth. The Englischers appeared at ease, though several glanced at their watches occasionally as if they had other places to be. She didn’t know Larry, the assistant manager, very well. She’d had no cause to speak with him directly yet. When he came on duty in the late afternoon, she was already gone for the day. Harvey supervised the grounds crew, and Jesse spoke well of him even though he was a demanding boss. Stanley was in charge of the restaurant. He was older, with a large belly and a constant smile.

  Only one Amish man had joined them. Norman made wooden toys. Hannah had known him since she was a child. He was quiet, and he always had a twinkle in his eyes as if he was remembering something that amused him.

  The Englisch women were Carol, manager of the Quilting Bee, and Georgia, who oversaw the bakery staff. Seth had told her a little about Georgia. Plainly, she was someone who intimidate
d him, but after working with Seth for a few days, she understood the reason for that could lie in Seth’s work habits.

  The Amish women rounded out the group. Karen managed the inn. Mary ran the Cat’s Meow, their yarn shop. Letha made and sold the clothes at Village Fashions, with the help of her sisters. And Katie was in charge of Katie’s Mercantile, which was actually named after the owner’s aunt. An Amish person didn’t normally put his or her name on a marquee. It had seemed like an amusing coincidence when Katie took charge of the shop. Hannah could remember the women teasing her that soon she would start a line of goods with her name plastered on the label. Katie had laughed good-naturedly when the idea was brought up, but she couldn’t have known that her shop would be such a hit among the Englischers. Sales had increased dramatically since she had taken over the store’s management.

  Some might think it was a lot of folks to fit in one room, but Hannah was used to church services in people’s homes—services that often numbered more than one hundred when children were counted.

  No, the number of people didn’t bother her.

  Her age and the fact that she was sitting in Ethan’s place did.

  “Please don’t rush through your meal. Feel free to continue eating while I explain the purpose of our meeting.” Amber pushed away her barely touched salad and stood. “I asked you to meet here today because of what happened on Monday.”

  “Ethan’s dying.” Stanley frowned at his plate. The expression looked out of place on him, and Hannah wondered if the two men had been close.

  Carol pushed her food away at the mention of Ethan’s name. She looked awfully pale to Hannah, who wondered if perhaps she wasn’t feeling well.

  “Yes, in a way.” Amber took a sip from her water bottle and then recapped it. “As you know from the email we sent out, Ethan died from a heart attack. However, we did find evidence of vandalism at his shop that morning.”

  “The bullet holes?” Harvey placed his hands palms down on the table. “You’re talking about his window being cracked by bullets.”

  “The damage to the window was not caused by bullets. Sergeant Avery assures me it was BB shot that pierced Ethan’s window, and BB shots could not have caused Ethan’s death. In fact, there was no evidence he had been hit.”

  “Kids.” Georgia practically spat the word.

  “Possibly. We don’t see many adults with BB guns walking about, but occasionally we’ve caught teenagers out in the fields—never near the shops. In the past, we’ve asked them to leave and they’ve always complied.”

  “If these . . .” Georgia hesitated, looking first to her right and then her left.

  Hannah was sure she was about to say Amish, but she didn’t.

  “If these kids were in school all day, at least until they’re eighteen, then we wouldn’t have to contend with this sort of thing.”

  “I disagree.” Harvey drummed his fingers against the table. “I’ve caught some of them myself, Georgia. They’re rarely Amish. Most of the time they’re Englisch kids skipping school. Amish kids may have a BB gun, but it’s for hunting small game.”

  “At this point we have no clues or evidence as to who is responsible for these incidents,” Amber interrupted.

  “Incidents?” Katie glanced around the table. “There’s been more? In addition to Ethan’s shop and . . . and . . . and mine?”

  Katie’s face turned as white as her prayer kapp.

  Hannah had an urge to reach across the table and pat her hand. Katie was a hard worker, and she had been terribly upset about the chaos in her shop.

  Everyone began talking at once.

  Amber held up her hand to quiet them.

  “On Monday we had the incident at Ethan’s shop. Monday evening there was vandalism on my end of the Pumpkinvine Trail, at the property boundary. Wednesday morning, Katie found her shop in complete disarray.”

  Hannah noticed Amber left out the incident at her house.

  Everyone again began talking. Amber raised her voice over theirs, and the individual conversations quickly stopped.

  “We do not know if these events are related, but it is worrisome that there have been these three occurrences in less than a week. I spoke with Brad Shipley, who you all know is a member of the family who owns the Village. Brad, as well as Sergeant Avery, feels there is no danger to employees or guests, and that in fact this probably is the mischief of teens. However, Avery suggested that we bring in a security consulting firm, and Mr. Shipley agreed.”

  “Consulting firm?” Harvey sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Yes. They have assessed our current security measures and suggested ways we can enhance them. Those changes will be made on Monday.”

  “This Monday?” Larry scowled and peered around the table. “Spring is one of our busiest times of year. The tourist surge is just beginning. Is this necessary?”

  “I believe it is, and the sooner we do it the better. The manager of M&S Security has assured me they can complete the work without interrupting the flow of what happens here at the Village. The guests shouldn’t even notice. They’ll be out of our way by Monday evening. In addition, they are going to speak with you in a few minutes about safety measures, what to watch for, and how to respond if you see anything untoward.”

  “I believe I know how to take care of a couple of punks if I see them. No worries there.” Harvey shook his head as if the meeting was a complete waste of his time.

  Stanley leaned closer to Norman and asked him a question, but Hannah couldn’t hear it. She did see Norman shake his head. He’d yet to actually speak in the meeting. Amish men were traditionally quiet, so Hannah wasn’t surprised.

  “We’ll take a five-minute break. At that time, if you’ll return to your seats, the presentation by M&S, Middlebury and Shipshewana Security, will begin.”

  Carol pushed her chair back from the table and rushed out of the room. Perhaps she was sick. Would she want to be alone, or should Hannah follow her and see if she could help? She stood and walked toward the side table, which held sodas and a pitcher of water. Perhaps it would be best to give Carol a few minutes. If her old boss didn’t come back soon, she’d go and check on her. She was pouring more water into her glass when Amber clutched the back of her arm and whispered, “I want to see you in my office. We’ll have to hurry.”

  They scooted out of the room, trying to look inconspicuous, but they needn’t have worried. Everyone was busy talking, and no one appeared to pay them any attention.

  Hannah stopped inside the doorway and studied Amber’s office. The desk was picture-perfect neat, like something out of a magazine. An Amish quilt hung on the wall, and the view out the corner window was beautiful. Amber shut the door, again grabbed her arm, and pulled her to a chair sitting opposite her desk.

  “What did he say?” Amber perched on the chair next to Hannah’s.

  “Who?”

  “Avery! Sergeant Avery! What did he say about the box of stuff you found?”

  “Oh. That.” Hannah clasped her hands in her lap. “He didn’t actually come to the shop.”

  “What?” Amber opened her tablet, which she had brought from the meeting, and studied her notes. “This could be it. This could be the key to all that is happening. And he didn’t come?”

  “He sent Cherry Brookstone.”

  “She’s a child! She wouldn’t know what to do if she stumbled over a dead body.”

  “I was also surprised how young she is.” Hannah thought back to the looks she had received in the room down the hall. “I thought you had to be older to be an officer, but perhaps not. Perhaps she is already an officer because of her skills.”

  Several things about Officer Brookstone had surprised Hannah, but then, she’d had very little interaction with the Middlebury police. As she had told Amber, problems within the Amish community were handled by their bishop—unless it was an extreme matter that put members in danger. Hannah couldn’t even remember such an occurrence.

&nb
sp; Officer Brookstone had long red hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. Her figure was thin but muscular, unlike most Amish women. They had all sizes, to be sure. But Amish women seemed softer to Hannah. Perhaps it was their clothing. Brookstone wore the full officer uniform. In fact, she practically looked like a man in it. Then there was her name—Cherry. Cherry Brookstone. Who named their child Cherry? And had they done so because of the red hair?

  Amber flopped back into her chair, her gaze traveling to the clock on the wall. “We’d better go back.”

  They walked to the office door, but Amber paused before opening it. “What did Brookstone say?”

  “That they’d try to get prints off the items. That we did the right thing to call.” Hannah ran her palm across her apron to smooth it out and to calm the fluttery feelings surging through her stomach.

  “Anything else?”

  “Ya.”

  Hannah glanced at her boss, unsure if the last part would be welcome news. “She said to tell you Avery will be in contact if he needs anything else. She said he’s too busy to deal with vandalism cases and that we should contact her or our security firm with any future problems.”

  She reached into her pocket, pulled out the officer’s business card, and handed it to Amber.

  Her boss stared at the words printed there, frowning and muttering something under her breath before accepting the card. Then she straightened her posture, pasted on a smile, and marched back toward the meeting room.

  Nineteen

  Tate remained seated as Amber walked to the door and greeted Gordon Avery.

  She had called the sergeant midafternoon and left a message on his cell phone. The meeting with the security firm had gone well, and she’d convinced Avery to stop by so they could speak to him directly, not to Cherry Brookstone. Avery had suggested seven o’clock at her house. Something told Tate the good officer had expected, or at least hoped, he would be alone with Amber. The expression on his face of real disappointment was genuine, but he covered it quickly.

  Then he crossed the room and shook Tate’s hand.