Murder Simply Brewed

by Vannetta Chapman

  He couldn’t be serious. The line sounded like something out of an Englisch romance novel. She hadn’t read any herself, but several of the girls at work did. They checked them out from the public library and enjoyed reading aloud their favorite portions when they managed to snag a few minutes alone together. Mostly they giggled at the sappiness, so why did Hannah’s heart lurch when the words were coming from Jesse rather than off a written page?

  “Thinking serious thoughts?”

  “Nein. Maybe. The past week it seems I’ve been completely caught up in Ethan’s mystery and learning my new job.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “I haven’t made much time for my freinden at the Village. We’d sometimes take our breaks together, or during our lunch break we’d occasionally look through the clearance sales in the shops.”

  Jesse moved closer, enough so that she could smell the scent of his soap. He’d cleaned up after work?

  “Tell me what you’re doing out this time of night, Jesse.”

  “Stopped by to bring a message from my dat to yours. Something about trading hay for seed.”

  “Our hay?”

  “And our seed.”

  “Dat said the first cutting was gut.” Hannah scooted over, and Jesse sat down beside her. Their shoulders touched, sending her pulse into a rapid rhythm.

  “Gotte is gut,” Jesse murmured. “We’ve been blessed with the right amount of rain and decent temperatures.”

  They sat there for a moment, watching more of the stars make their appearance, watching the darkness completely envelop the fields, the yard, and finally the steps at their feet.

  “Do you think about going anywhere else? Doing anything other than farming and working at the Village?”

  Jesse turned so he could lean against the porch post and study her. “Nein.”

  “Because of your bruder? Because he left?”

  “That’s part of the reason, I suppose. Dat needs me here to help with the crops. What I earn at the Village is useful too.”

  “But . . .”

  “But I’d stay even if Andrew hadn’t moved to Chicago.” An owl hooted from a nearby tree, its voice merging with the night sounds surrounding them. “I visited him once. Did I ever tell you about it?”

  Hannah shook her head no, then realized he might not be able to see her. “I remember you being gone last winter. I didn’t know where you went, though.”

  “Did you miss me, Hannah?” His voice was lowered, as if they were sharing a secret.

  She didn’t know how to respond to that question. She didn’t know if he actually expected an answer, so instead she asked, “What was the city like?”

  “What you’d expect—crowded, noisy, and too busy.”

  “There must be something people like there. Every year we lose one or two of those entering their rumspringa to Chicago or Fort Wayne or Indianapolis.”

  “I can’t speak regarding the other places since I haven’t been to them and don’t plan to if I can help it. Chicago was like something out of a bad dream for me. Though I’ll admit the lake was pretty. The park beside it was a place you might want to see.” He reached for her hand and twined their fingers together. “For all I know, you’d like the city, Hannah. It just wasn’t the place I’m meant to be. I found it hard to take a solid, deep breath, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do.” Hannah laughed, though her palms were sweating and her heart continued to tap an erratic rhythm. Had Jesse come to see her? Surely the message to her father could have waited. “I’ve only been to South Bend, but I didn’t like it very much either. To me, everything smelled funny.”

  “The exhaust from all those cars is worse than horse manure.”

  They sat that way for a few minutes, and Hannah returned her gaze to the stars, though her attention was split between Jesse holding her hand, the sounds of her family inside the house, and the night sky.

  He scooted closer on the step and whispered, “I believe we’re being watched.”

  She spun around and caught her two youngest brothers with their faces pressed to the window screen. Realizing they’d been caught, Dan and Noah fled, the sound of their footsteps running up the stairs causing Hannah to laugh.

  Jesse cleared his throat. “Would you like to go for a walk? We might be able to see the stars better down by the pasture fence.”

  It wasn’t far to the pasture. Probably it would be proper. It wasn’t late. Her oldest brother was still in the barn, bedding down the horses.

  “Let me check with my mamm.”

  Eunice thought it was a fine idea. She even insisted on sending warm cookies wrapped in a freshly laundered dishcloth. “Don’t be too long,” she cautioned. “We’ll be up by six in the morning. You have work at the Village, and then we have cleaning and gardening.”

  Hannah slipped the cookies into the pocket of her apron. The night was cool enough for a sweater, so she grabbed one from the mudroom.

  “Hannah has a boyfriend.” Dan was back downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table and pretending to read a book about camels. He’d been pestering their father about buying some, since ole Manasses Hochstetler had begun making a good profit on the milk from the four he owned. Dan hadn’t convinced anyone it was a wise investment though, or that he was responsible enough to care for them.

  “You’ll get more out of that book if you hold it right side up, bruder.” She leaned closer to him as he righted the book. “And spying is wrong!”

  “Wasn’t spying. Happened to walk by and look out the front window and see you two there, mooning over one another.”

  Hannah wasn’t in the mood to argue, and besides—the warm cookies were in her pocket and Jesse was waiting on the front porch.

  They walked to the pasture and leaned over the top rail as they ate the cookies and watched the sliver of moon pop out. Then they stopped by the barn to see Noah’s newest pups.

  “They’re gut dogs, Jesse. Beagles are fine hunters, and they train easily.” Noah ran his hand over the smallest in the litter. It was plain he thought the dogs were the best to be had in the county.

  “I’ll think about it, but no promises. My mamm has enough mouths to feed.”

  “Don’t wait too long, or this lot will be gone.”

  Jesse claimed her hand again as they walked back toward the front porch. He stopped at the set of swings her father had hung from the tall maple tree. “These old things still work?”

  “Try it and see.”

  “Remember when we were in the second grade? You begged your dat to put them up for us.”

  “I told him I’d help clean out the horse stalls.”

  “Which he wouldn’t let you do because you were too short—the top of your head didn’t even come up to the horse’s back.”

  “You were as short as I was!”

  They sat in the swings, side by side. The history of their friendship spread like a warm blanket over them as the night cooled.

  Hannah pushed with her feet and pumped lightly with her legs to gain a little motion on the old wooden swing. Then she straightened her arms and leaned back, staring up at the night sky. Ribbons of starlight peeked through the branches of the trees.

  The swing slowed, and she sat up, glancing toward Jesse as she smoothed her apron down over her dress. She couldn’t see his expression at all now—only his outline was visible against the two lights coming from her house. When had he grown taller than she was? When had he become a man?

  “It’s easy to forget the simple things in life,” she whispered.

  “Like swinging?”

  “Ya. And old freinden and family.”

  “Are you calling me old?” Jesse laughed and bumped her foot with his. When she didn’t respond he added, “Life isn’t so complicated as we like to believe, Hannah.”

  “I suppose.” She stood and walked toward the house.

  “This situation at the Village still has you worried.”

  “It does. Amber—” All of the worries from
the past week crashed down on her at once. She stood, frozen, halfway between the swings and the front porch.

  “Amber what?” Jesse stopped in front of her, placed a hand on each of her arms, and began to rub up and down. “It’s okay to tell me, Hannah. Everyone needs someone to speak with, and you know you can trust me.”

  She wanted to step closer, allow Jesse to enfold her in a hug, but instead she focused on the comfort of his hands warming her arms. “She doesn’t believe Ethan’s death was unintentional.”

  “Want to tell me why?”

  So she did. She told him everything, even describing the box of paint supplies Seth had stumbled over.

  “You knew Ethan as well as anyone.” Jesse spoke softly. “What do you think?”

  “I’ve been trying to go back over the last week he was alive. Honestly, I don’t think I was paying much attention. Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I should have noticed something.”

  Jesse touched her face, then leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. She wanted the moment to last forever. She wanted to burrow into his arms. Jesse trailed his fingers down her face, caressing her neck, and then stepping away. The sensation left her confused and certain every inch of her skin must be sparkling in the moonlight.

  “Don’t be blaming yourself for the evilness in this world. You were a help to Ethan, filling in when he needed you.”

  Hannah tried to focus on what he was saying, but her heart was still dancing to a triple rhythm, and she had to resist the urge to reach up and touch where his fingers had been. Jesse claimed her hand, and they walked back to the porch, back to where they had started.

  “I suppose you’re right.” Hannah made a valiant effort to refocus on their conversation, which actually was the last thing she wanted to talk about. She wanted to talk about that kiss! Had it felt to him like it felt to her? Had it been his first as it had been her first?

  “Suppose?” Jesse laughed and bumped her shoulder with his.

  “I almost feel as if I owe it to him to figure out what happened. He was sort of my neighbor.”

  “We’re separate though. We’re plain.”

  “Ya, we are. And maybe in some places Amish communities remain completely separate. Here in Middlebury though, it seems that Gotte has woven our lives together in some areas, especially at work. What if there’s a reason for that? What if we’re supposed to look out for one another?”

  “The police are looking into this—”

  “But they think it was a natural event. Amber and I don’t.” She realized then that she was partnered with Amber in a way she hadn’t realized. They were both advocates for Ethan. They were committed to solving this mystery and being a friend to him, even in his death.

  Jesse didn’t argue with her.

  He didn’t bring up the countless holes in their logic. Instead, he walked her up the porch steps and said, “Tell me how I can help.”

  Twenty-One

  Amber watched the lights of Gordon’s car blink and then disappear as he made his way out to the main road. When she could no longer follow his progress, she squared her shoulders and marched back into the house.

  Where she stopped short at the sight of Tate holding Leo in his lap.

  “When did you become a cat person?”

  “Can’t say I have, but Leo doesn’t know that.”

  “You like him. I can tell. You were smiling when I walked in.”

  “Maybe I was smiling at you.” Tate’s eyes locked on hers, and Amber had to shake her head and look away.

  “Don’t distract me,” she begged. “It’s up to us to find Ethan’s killer.”

  “Us?”

  “Yes. You’re in the thick of this already.”

  “I won’t argue with you.” Tate gently set Leo on the floor. “Mainly because this time you’re right. It was plain Avery isn’t going to be any help.”

  “Who can blame him? All we have is suspicions and a lot of—”

  “Coincidences.”

  “Exactly.” Amber had always been a practical woman. At the moment though, she was having major problems focusing on her next course of action. Tate had crossed the room and was standing directly in front of her. When he reached up and touched her face, ran a thumb down her jawline, and finally cupped his hand around her cheek, all her thoughts flew out the door and down the lane.

  When he kissed her, she was certain the purring sound was coming from her!

  It wasn’t as if she’d never been kissed.

  She’d had boyfriends throughout the years, though there’d been nothing that had lasted past a few dates. Gordon had kissed her several times, but it hadn’t been—well, it hadn’t been like this. She nearly whimpered when Tate stepped back and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

  “Maybe I should apologize for that, but I can’t say that’s what I want to do.” The grin on his face reminded her of the giant, dopey Labradoodle her sister owned.

  “We should talk about the next step.” She walked to the dining room and stared at the empty table.

  What had she eaten for dinner? She’d had fruit for lunch, but dinner was a blank in her mind.

  Or rather her mind was filled with Tate.

  When she sensed him behind her, she spun around and added, “Next step regarding Ethan, I mean. Not . . . the kiss, or . . . whatever.” A slow, warm blush started creeping up her neck and into her cheeks.

  For some reason that amused Tate. He looked away, still smiling, and then motioned to her dining room table. “Have you eaten?”

  “I was just trying to remember.”

  “Which means you probably haven’t. Let’s fix you something, and while you eat we’ll plan our next move.”

  “Good idea. I have some—”

  “Eggs. I know.”

  “I make a mean omelet. If you’re hungry.”

  “Had a sandwich at home before I came over, but I can always eat.”

  Working in her small kitchen next to Tate did nothing to calm her nerves. Or maybe nerves was the wrong word. She suddenly felt completely and totally alive. Because of one kiss? Maybe her sister was right. It could be that she needed a vacation.

  Or maybe she was falling in love with her neighbor.

  The thought snuck up on her, and she dropped the spatula she’d been using to fold the omelet onto the floor.

  “Got it.” Tate picked up the utensil and handed her another spatula from the jar where she kept her cooking gadgets.

  The one she’d dropped had been a summer green. This one was turquoise blue.

  “Interesting. Mine are all black.”

  Amber laughed. “You cook?”

  “Of course I cook. I brought you some chicken. Remember?”

  “I do.” She thought of all the food he’d brought, expecting her to eat it, and nearly laughed. “You barbecue.”

  “Same thing, except you do it outside.”

  He’d brewed a pot of decaf. Passing her a mug, with a little cream and no sugar—exactly the way she liked it—he turned and studied her. His back was to the counter, and he leaned against it but didn’t slouch. He held one of her Charlie Brown coffee mugs, and drops of water glistened on his hands from washing vegetables and slicing them for the omelets.

  How could he look so at home in her kitchen?

  What was she going to do with Tate Bowman?

  “Best turn that omelet.” He smiled over the top of the mug as he took another sip. “Want to tell me what you’re laughing about?”

  “I was thinking that mug is appropriate for you.”

  He held the mug in front of him, stared at it, and confessed, “I don’t get it.”

  “Charlie Brown? You sort of look . . .” She mimed rubbing her hand over the top of her head.

  “Oh. I see. You lump all men without hair together into one barrel.”

  Now she did laugh out loud, and the sound immediately eased the tension she’d carried all week. Laughing felt as good as an hour-long soak in the tub.

  �
��Actually, I’m not bald, you know.”

  “I never said you were.”

  “But you were thinking it.” He stepped closer, took her hand in his, and ran it over the top of his head. The sensation disoriented her again, sending goose bumps down her arm. When had she last been this close to a man? The times with Avery . . . well, she’d quickly stepped away, not wanting to encourage his advances.

  “See? Hair.”

  She turned back to the omelet, slipped it from the pan to a plate, and poured in the remaining eggs to make another. “So why do you shave it?”

  “Easier.”

  “You shave your head for convenience?”

  “Sure. Actually I don’t shave it. I have the barber in town do it.”

  “How long have you had this . . . style?”

  “Since I left the army, which would have been 1982, if you’re wondering.”

  “Did you see any conflict while you served?”

  “No, and I’m grateful for that. Those four years gave me a real appreciation for all our service members. I thought I wanted to see the world.” He shrugged as he handed her another plate for the second omelet. “It sounded good at the time, but after the end of my commitment I was ready to come home.”

  “You didn’t reenlist.”

  “Didn’t even consider it, and I never thought about living anywhere else other than Middlebury. I came home, and I’ve been on the farm since.”

  They carried their plates to the dining room.

  Amber thought about what Tate had said as they bowed their heads and prayed silently over the food. She found herself thanking God that he had brought her neighbor back to Middlebury and into her life.

  Tate’s experience in the military explained a lot. He had a no-nonsense way about him, but he also seemed to appreciate life. She’d read that having your life in jeopardy could do that to you. Military service, even during peace time, could probably change your perspective permanently. Amber realized what she was doing in 1982. A giggle escaped as she popped a forkful of egg into her mouth.

  “Tell me you’re not still laughing about my hair.”

  “No. Your hair, or rather your lack of it, is nice. It suits you.” She forked another piece of omelet, studied it a moment, and then plopped it into her mouth. The taste was rich and creamy. “I was thinking that in 1982 I was a sophomore in high school. You had already graduated and were serving overseas.”