“Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Tate almost laughed. Avery reminded him of his children, when they would wake up the week before Christmas and realize the grand day hadn’t yet arrived.
“Amber asked me to stop by.”
“So much has happened so quickly.” She opened the storm door again so Leo could saunter in, though he could have pushed through the pet door.
Spoiled, that’s what her cat was. Tate found it amusing.
Finally Amber turned toward them. “I didn’t want to leave anything out, and Tate has witnessed most of what I’ve seen.”
Avery removed his hat—a ball cap. He’d stopped by his home and changed out of his uniform and into jeans. The thought crossed Tate’s mind that perhaps he had considered Amber’s request a date, until he’d learned there were three of them. No wonder he had looked so disappointed!
“All right.” Avery sat down on the small couch, sighing dramatically.
Tate popped out of the recliner and motioned for Amber to sit in it. He pulled a chair from the dining room and placed it in front of the bookcase. They made an odd sort of triangle. Tate wasn’t sure why Amber had wanted him there. Perhaps for moral support. She kept detailed notes of everything on her tablet. He’d seen them. She’d even asked him to read over them when he had arrived at six thirty. Yes, she’d asked him to come thirty minutes before the meeting.
Together they had somehow become a team.
Against what, he had no idea.
“First I want to say that you should not have been offended when I handed this over to Brookstone. She’s an excellent addition to our force, and she can take care of whatever you need.”
“But, Gordon, you know me. You know the Village. I don’t want some new kid on the block showing up in her recently issued uniform. This is serious. Let her take care of monitoring the speed trap on the north side of town.”
“That’s not fair, and you know it. Cherry’s youth doesn’t prevent her from doing a good job, and your bad attitude toward her—and Jasmine—isn’t helping things.”
“I have a bad attitude?”
“You do.” Avery waited until Amber shrugged and nodded in agreement. “So let’s hear it. Whatcha got?”
“From the beginning?” Amber asked.
“Why not?” Avery sat back and placed his ball cap beside him on the couch. “From the beginning.”
Amber picked up her tablet from off the end table, opened it, and began reading. “Hannah found Ethan on Monday morning. The glass was shot through by what you think was a BB gun.”
“It was a BB gun.”
“That same evening, there was a warning of sorts left at my end of the Village property. ‘Iron breaks and smashes everything,’ which is from the Old Testament.”
“Left in red paint,” Tate added. It seemed significant to him. Red was the color of danger, plus it had a gruesome similarity to blood. The choice could not have been accidental.
Avery only nodded. None of this was new to him so far, and Tate could tell that his patience was wearing thin.
“Since then I’ve learned that Ethan had recently argued with several local boys—”
“Do you know their names?” Avery asked.
“No. Hannah didn’t see them. She heard yelling, but when she stepped outside to see what the commotion was, the boys were walking away. Teenaged and dressed in jeans. They could have been Amish or Englisch, since some Amish boys do wear jeans.”
Avery moved his hand in a circular motion, as if to say continue.
“Ethan had also argued with Larry Sharp, my assistant manager. I spoke with Larry. He claims, quite adamantly, that no disagreement took place. They did discuss work the grounds crew had done around the coffee shop. Larry said he and Ethan disagreed, but it did not grow into an argument. He claims that whoever said he had threatened Ethan was not remembering correctly.”
Avery’s eyebrow arched. “But you don’t believe him?”
“I’m not sure. I saw Ethan race out of here that afternoon. Usually he treated that old truck with kid gloves. He even named it—Nell. Who names their truck?”
Avery shrugged and held out his hands, palms up.
Amber shook her head, causing her hair to bounce and shimmer in the lamplight. “He must have been more than a little upset to blow off steam like that.”
“Didn’t you say that Ethan did his own grounds work?” Tate asked.
“True. He always swept his own walk, carried his trash to the large Dumpster, and even cleaned his windows.” Amber forgot her list for a moment, staring out her front window into the darkness, as if she might find answers there. “It’s possible Larry was lying.”
“Why?” Avery asked. “Why would he do that? What motive would he have?”
“I don’t know. Guilt, maybe. He could have felt guilty about what happened to Ethan, about pushing him over the edge. Or maybe he was embarrassed to admit he’d had an argument with an employee of the Village. It’s not exactly professional. It's also not exactly a motive for . . .”
Avery ran his hand up and around the back of his neck. “For what, Amber? Are you still worried this wasn’t simply a heart attack caused by a fright?”
Instead of answering him, she blinked twice and then continued reading from her list.
“Hannah reported that Carol had an odd response to Ethan’s death. As did the person who delivers supplies to the coffee shop. His name is Karl, and he was very belligerent, according to Hannah. She remembered his parting words exactly”—Amber ran her finger across her tablet—“ ‘Ethan told me what you people were doing. Don’t think that you can get away with it.’ ”
Tate noticed that Avery had no response to that. He did sit forward and rest his forearms against his thighs. Perhaps they had finally gained his complete attention.
Amber continued. “In fact, the word around town is that Ethan was acting strangely. For someone who didn’t interact with others much, he drew a lot of attention the last week of his life.”
“Is that it?” Avery allowed his gaze to shift from Amber to Tate and back again.
“No. There’s the odd response of his wife, Margaret, plus the BB gun you spotted in her home. The vandalism at Katie’s shop, including the cross-stitched warning, the box Hannah found in the back of the coffee shop yesterday, and finally—” She hesitated, glanced at Tate, and then continued. “Finally there’s the visit to see Patricia earlier today.”
“Patricia?”
“Ethan’s sister. His wife called the office and asked that we take his truck out to her.”
“You went alone?” Avery’s voice took on a sharp edge.
“Actually, I didn’t. Tate went with me, so he could drive me back. Would it have been a problem if I’d gone alone?”
Avery ignored the question and asked, “What happened at Patricia’s?”
“It was a very . . . odd situation. She vacillated between anger, curiosity, and even happiness that she was receiving the truck. But here’s the thing. She also had a BB gun—”
“Many people do.”
“And one of the rooms in her duplex is locked.”
“How would you know that?”
“I had asked to use her bathroom, and she warned me. She said, ‘Don’t open the second door, or you’ll be sorry.’ ”
“And you did?” Avery’s voice held a note of accusation.
“I tried, but it was locked! Who locks one of their bedroom doors?”
“She actually warned both of us. When we first went into her house, she said, ‘People should be nice. If you’re not nice, something bad can happen to you.’ ” Tate crossed his arms tightly as the words and the tone of Patricia’s voice came back to him. “At the time I thought it was odd, but then, the entire visit was off. She also said that herbs can be dangerous.”
“And there was a room, like a chemist’s lab, in her duplex. It was probably a large closet but had been turned into a workroom—complete with a long table, flasks, and e
ven one of those bowls you crush things in.”
“A crucible?” Tate asked.
“No. I remember using one of those in high school. This was a—” She opened her left hand, palm up. With her right hand holding an imaginary tool, she made a grinding motion.
“Mortar.” Avery scrubbed his hand over his face. “It’s called a mortar and pestle.”
“Yes. That’s what I saw.” Amber closed the cover on her tablet and sat forward. “Don’t you think all of this adds up to something, something more sinister than a natural heart attack?”
“Like what?” Avery reached down to shoo away Leo, who was attempting to rub against his legs. “What is it you think this is all proof of? Murder?”
“Maybe. Probably. Yes, yes, I am beginning to think Ethan was murdered.”
“Beginning to think?”
“Don’t look at me that way. You have to admit everything I’ve laid out sounds suspicious.”
Tate knew in that moment that Avery didn’t believe them. He wasn’t going to believe them unless they brought him the culprit, holding the murder weapon and babbling a confession.
That was a snap judgment and probably uncalled for. He realized that, but he was feeling protective toward Amber.
“There are different types of murder, and frankly I don’t see any of those in this situation.” Avery began to tick the items off on the fingers of his left hand. “Intentional murder is what it sounds like, and none of the evidence points to that. If someone had wanted to kill him, they could have used a shotgun or a handgun.”
“But—”
“Even a knife or a rope. None of those items were involved in this case.”
Amber tried to protest, but Avery plodded on.
“There are also situations where death is a result of the intent to do serious bodily injury—the person was aiming to injure, not kill. This doesn’t fit Ethan’s situation either. There is no evidence that anyone intended to cause him serious bodily injury when he died.”
“Because he seems to have been alone?” Tate asked.
“Yes. There’s also killing that results from extreme recklessness, for instance, irresponsible use of a firearm. Nothing like that here.”
He’d reached his fourth finger. “And finally, murder committed by an accomplice during the course of other felonies—like robbery. The cash drawer was full, and nothing else seemed to be missing. So this doesn’t apply either.”
“I don’t need a law course, Avery.” Amber reached down for Leo and pulled him into her lap.
“Maybe you do, because plainly you’re confused about what might have happened. I see no motive from the people you have described. We’ve found no murder weapon, and most important—Ethan died of natural causes.”
“How do you know that? Because of an emergency medical worker’s report? There wasn’t even an autopsy.”
“We’ve been through that with Ethan’s wife. The case doesn’t warrant an autopsy.”
Amber set Leo on the floor and stood, pacing in the small area between the front door and her chair. “What if it wasn’t a heart attack? What if it was something made to look like a heart attack? Someone could have drugged him.”
“But all evidence points to the fact that he was alone. And why would anyone do that? What would their motive have been?”
The clock ticked loudly as they all considered Avery’s last question.
“What is the situation with Patricia?” Tate tried to find a way to tactfully phrase his question. “She seemed—different. Peggy once told me she had a high IQ and that she never recovered from experimenting with drugs. Do you know anything about that? Is it even possible?”
Avery again ran his hand over the back of his neck.
“What’s with the way she pulls on her hair?” Amber’s hand went to the top of her head and she mimicked pulling and twisting.
Tate tried not to smile, but Amber’s imitation of Patricia was spot on. “We saw a sign when entering her street. It said ‘Helping Hands.’ ”
Avery sighed and sat back. “I can’t go into details about residents. I can tell you that Helping Hands is an assisted living facility, or neighborhood, which helps adults with physical, emotional, and mental disabilities to lead independent lives.”
Again the room fell silent.
“I pulled up the old newspaper files during our security meeting.”
Tate stared at her with his best “You didn’t!” expression.
“I’ve already been through that training, so don’t look at me that way. I pulled up the old articles. They said the drug dealer was never caught.”
“There are drugs in Middlebury, Amber. Like any town, the best we can do is educate citizens on their danger and try to catch the bad guys. But a new dealer replaces the one we catch every time.”
“The article also highlighted the dangers of LSD.”
“It’s a terrible drug. Fortunately usage has dropped over the years.”
“According to a site I found, people who use LSD occasionally manifest long-lasting psychoses, such as schizophrenia or severe depression.” She was reading from her tablet again. When she finished, she closed the tablet, rested both hands on top of it, and stared first at Avery and then at Tate.
Avery didn’t comment on the article, and Tate didn’t know what to say. Finally Amber picked up the conversation.
“What of the other events we’ve had this week? The warning on the sidewalk, the red paint in the coffee shop, the rumors about Ethan, and all these guests who are showing up for a ‘Who Killed Ethan?’ special?”
“I did check into the website you forwarded to me.” Avery smiled for the first time since he’d arrived. “From what I can tell, they scour newspapers. When they find a death near a tourist destination, a new mystery quest pops up on their website.”
“Who owns the website?” Amber asked.
“We’re still researching. Even if we found them, the most we could charge them with is false advertising. I looked at the ad closely though, and the wording is a bit ambiguous. Probably we wouldn’t be able to prosecute. It’s a scam. Folks making a buck—”
“How?” Tate rubbed the top of his head. “I’ve never understood how these sorts of web scams make money.”
“In this case, every time you access a clue, you’re charged a couple of bucks. Over time, they could make a fair amount, depending on how many scams they’re running.”
“Creeps,” Amber muttered.
“I agree, but they’re not your real problem. You could place a sign at the desk that alerts guests to the scam, or even run a disclaimer on the Village’s website. Or you could ignore it and the whole thing will go away within a month. Three to four weeks was the maximum amount of time we could find for any quests.” He held up his fingers to place the last word in quotation marks. Tate shook his head. “No, your real problem is vandalism. We’ve discussed that, and I’m pleased that you had M&S Security in to speak with your staff.”
“You trust them to assess the security needs and then come up with viable solutions?” Tate knew the name though he’d never had a need for a security firm.
“Yes. Several businesses in town have used them, and they did a very good job.” Amber studied Avery. “You still believe it’s kids?”
“I do. They could have found a way into Ethan’s shop and left the box of paint supplies. Maybe they were afraid of being caught, especially with the increased attention.”
“And the rumors? The arguments and odd behavior?”
“Who’s to say what’s odd and what’s not? You think you knew Ethan. Maybe you didn’t.” Avery hesitated and then continued. “I’m afraid you’re feeling guilty because one of your employees died at work, but that’s not your fault.”
Tate noticed that Amber stared down at her lap. Her straight brown hair fell forward and obscured her expression.
“As far as the rumors, towns talk. Small towns talk more than most, because something like this is unusual. It doesn’t mean tha
t the talk is true, only that folks want to explain what’s happening. They want their sense of security back.”
Amber nodded, tucked her hair behind her ears, and stood. “I guess we’re done then. Thank you for stopping by.”
Avery stood, the expression on his face a combination of surprise and relief.
Tate remained seated while Amber walked him out onto the porch. He wasn’t spying or eavesdropping, but the house was small. He couldn’t help but see Avery reach out and touch her face. The same way he couldn’t help but hear him say, “You know I’m on your side. I’d do anything to protect you, but there’s no need for you to worry.”
Twenty
Hannah relaxed on her family’s front porch step and watched the stars come out one by one as the afternoon light faded. This might be her favorite time of day, the minutes before evening. The time when life slowed and the day’s work was complete.
She could see the field across from their porch, the flight of birds headed for their nests or hunting for insects, the colors in the night sky deepening from blue to black. To her, it felt like Gotte’s final blessing upon their day.
“Those stars are quite a sight.”
Hannah had been staring up at the sky and hadn’t seen Jesse step out onto the path leading up to their home. She hadn’t even heard him. She could barely make out the smile on his face from the light that shone through the front window. Her mamm was in the sitting room reading to Mattie by the gas lantern. The sound of her voice coming through the window seemed like a lullaby.
“The night sky is nearly as pretty as you are, Hannah Troyer.”
Was he teasing her? Was he flirting?
She wasn’t sure, but with those words he’d dispelled her worries that she looked like a four-eyed, plain Amish girl. Jesse Miller thought she was pretty. Matter settled.
Hannah thought for a moment about both of the boys who had seemed interested in the last few months. They’d asked her to singings, taken her to town for ice cream, even brought flowers once. But as she looked at Jesse, she realized she was not interested in those boys.
Was she interested in Jesse?
Was he interested in her?
“The night sky is nearly as pretty as you are . . .”
Murder Simply Brewed Page 17
