As she placed each one into a bag, she studied the powdery mix inside. The blend was not pure white as you’d expect salt and sugar to be. The salt had flecks of herbs in it . . . or something more sinister. The sugar was brown and white, as Margaret had explained.
She didn’t know what was in the concoctions—not yet—but somehow she was going to find out. After making sure Margaret called someone to come and stay with her—the woman was a mess—Amber hurried out to her car.
Margaret’s grief could be an act. She could have been the one to blend together ingredients for a lethal potion and give it to Ethan.
Or it could have been Patricia.
How would they ever know? How would they prove anything?
She’d take the jars home and show them to Tate. Together they would decide if it was time to turn all they had over to the Middlebury Police Department.
Thirty-Two
Hannah sat beside Jesse in the buggy. Was she actually riding alone with him? Were they courting? “I’m sorry my bruders were staring at us when we left the house earlier.”
“I have siblings too, Hannah. I know how they can tease, but they mean no harm by it.”
“Maybe.”
“Does it embarrass you?”
“My bruders staring?”
“Our riding together, to the singing.”
“Technically we’re riding from the singing.”
Jesse winked at her and pulled down on his hat. He had winked at her! What did that mean?
“You spoke with Amber? About the things Minerva told us?”
“I walked down to the phone shack this afternoon, but she didn’t answer her phone. I left a message.” Hannah folded her hands in her lap. Jesse had offered a blanket, but she liked the cool spring air. The day had been warm, and now, with evening approaching, the temperatures were once again dropping. It all reminded her that soon she’d be wearing sandals and lighter dresses. Soon she wouldn’t need the wrap draped around her shoulders. The days passed so quickly. The month was flying by like one of the Englisch planes overhead—in sight and then gone.
“Do you think it was wrong of us to leave the singing early?”
“Wrong in what way?”
“Our parents don’t know where we’re going. They think we’re still at Amon’s.”
“Ya. We didn’t lie to them though, and we are adults now. I suppose they also snuck away while they were courting.”
“Jesse!” Hannah’s squeal came out louder than she intended. She fought to lower her voice. “Do you mean to say that we’re—”
“We can be. If you want.” He pulled his attention away from his gelding, reached over, and squeezed her hand.
When he did, sparks shot up her arm.
“I don’t know what I want,” she answered truthfully. “Everyone says all these changes are natural, but they feel awfully strange to me.”
Instead of being offended, Jesse laughed. “So you’re still thinking on it.”
“I suppose.”
“Fair enough.”
That was one thing she appreciated about Jesse. He didn’t push, but he also was up-front about his feelings. When had this happened? Less than a week ago she’d been celebrating her birthday. She remembered walking to work, relieved that the two boys who were interested in courting her had both left to help with spring harvests at their grossdaddis’ farms. Somehow, while they were gone, Jesse had slipped in under her defenses.
“What is it you’re looking for in your shop?”
“Something that I saw, or I think I saw. Now I can’t remember. Maybe I dreamed it or made it up with all this talk of poison.” The sun had set, leaving behind a kaleidoscope of color—reds, pinks, even purples. She had trouble focusing on the possibility of danger.
“But you need it tonight?”
“Ya. I think I do. Or rather Amber might need it.”
“We’ll fetch it then. And maybe we can stop by the restaurant and treat ourselves to ice cream while we’re there.”
“Ice cream sounds gut.”
Ten minutes later they were parking at the Village.
The grounds were usually quiet on Sunday evening, but even from the parking lot they could see an unusual amount of commotion.
Hannah pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “Wonder what’s going on.”
“Let’s cut through the inn and ask.”
As they passed into the employee side door using their pass key, a couple standing nearby spotted them.
“Say, they’re Amish. Maybe they have a clue.”
Jesse pushed Hannah through the door and closed it firmly behind them.
“More mystery people?” Hannah peeked back out through the glass of the door.
“Sounded like it.”
“I wonder how long it will take them to figure out that there is no mystery.”
“Actually there is, but it’s not the kind of game they’re expecting. Does Amber have any idea who is responsible for the false advertising?”
“Nein, but she explained the people who want to play the game receive messages on their phones.”
“I’ve seen the text messaging. Don’t stare at me that way, Hannah. You know many of the young people in our group have phones.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And many have text messaging on them.”
“Do you?”
“Nein. I’m saving my money for more important things.”
A ripple of pleasure passed through her for a moment. Then they came around the corner in view of the front desk and saw the chaos.
The two employees working—Jake and Beverly—were not Amish. Hannah knew that Amber insisted on scheduling Englisch employees for Sundays. She really did go out of her way to respect their traditions. Beverly had explained to her once that her church had services on Saturday evening, so she was free to work on Sunday. And as far as Hannah knew, Jake didn’t attend church anywhere.
Beverly was probably in her midtwenties, with long black hair and a slender figure. Jake also had long hair, which he kept pulled back, and was younger. He’d been on the job less than a month.
“What’s going on?” Jesse slipped behind the desk, pulling Hannah along with him.
“These mystery guests, that’s what.” Jake shook his head in disgust. “They’re making us crazy. And they won’t go to bed!”
“It’s hardly time for sleeping.” Hannah glanced at the wall clock. It wasn’t even six in the evening. Still, Jake was correct. The room was shockingly full of people milling about, and the noise level was quite loud.
“You have no idea what today has been like.” Beverly answered the phone, muttered something into it, and hung up rather abruptly. “They found their way into the storage area and the barn. Someone left the door unlatched, and animals that were supposed to be in the barn escaped.”
Jake grabbed a bottle of water and gulped half of it. “Animals that were supposed to be pastured went in the barn—made a real mess. Some of these people have been going through the stock in the restaurant store, looking for clues. They’re even digging in the gardens. It’s complete madness. No matter how we tell them there’s no mystery, they insist there is.”
“One person showed me their phone,” Beverly said. “They type in what we say, and if it’s any of a half dozen phrases—such as ‘There is no mystery’—then they receive five points. Five points! It makes no sense.”
Jesse put his fingers into his mouth and let out an attentiongetting whistle.
The room quieted instantly.
“Most Amish folk I know spend Sunday afternoons and evenings outdoors.”
That was all he said, but it was enough. There was a pause as his words sank in, and then a stampede for the door.
Beverly stared around the empty lobby and then turned on Jesse. “Why did you say that? What in the world does it even mean?”
“Figured it might help you two out if the room was clear. Enjoy your quiet.”
He laced
his fingers with Hannah’s and pulled her down the hall, out another side entry.
“Where are we going now?”
“To your shop! That’s where you wanted to go, right?”
“Ya. Sure. Do you think we can get in without a crowd following us?”
“If we keep to the shadows and cut between buildings. Do you have your key to the shop?”
“I do.”
“Let’s give it a try then.”
One person, a middle-aged man who kept holding his phone up to the sky, tried to follow them, but Jesse lost him when they ducked into an alcove between the maintenance shed and the quilt shop. From there, getting into the back of the kaffi shop was easy.
“Better keep the lights off, or we’ll have a rush of mystery guests with us.”
Hannah reached into her purse and pulled out a small flashlight.
“You came prepared.”
“It’s something Mamm gave me last Christmas. Fits on a keychain, but the only key I have is for work.” They’d entered through the back of the shop. She led Jesse down the hall and into the storage room. They paused in the doorway. She was suddenly glad Jesse was with her. Being at the shop when it was closed in the evening was a bit creepy.
She slowly crossed the room to the corner where Ethan’s desk sat.
“Tell me again why you had to see this tonight?”
“So I could sleep. I barely slept at all last night, and then this afternoon I kept remembering something in here that didn’t belong. Something that was off.” She played her flashlight over the desk, then up and over the shelves that lined the wall.
She was slowly moving from left to right, along the second shelf, when she backed up. “That’s it. The box.”
“Got it.”
Hannah would have needed a ladder. Jesse barely had to stretch. He started to hand it to her, but she motioned to the desk.
“Looks like a shoe box.”
“We don’t keep supplies in old shoe boxes.”
“Pretty old.”
“Hold this.”
Jesse positioned the light on the box as Hannah opened it.
“Huh. Ethan must have used it as a keepsake sort of thing.”
“Look at this picture.”
Jesse stepped next to her with the light, close enough that their shoulders were touching and their heads were nearly together. “Is that Ethan? As a boy?”
“Ya. But who are the girls?”
“Flip it over.”
“Over?”
“Look on the back. Englischers often write on the back of pictures, especially old ones like this, with a white trim around them. I think they call it a Polaroid.”
“How do you know that?”
“I listen to the old folks as they sit on their benches outside.”
Written on the back were three words—Ethan, Patricia, Priscilla.
“These must be his schweschders.”
“I heard he only had the one.”
There were other things in the box. A football program from high school. A handmade birthday card signed by Patricia and Priscilla.
Hannah pulled something small out of the corner. “A rock?”
“That’s not a rock. It’s an arrowhead.”
“Arrowhead?” Hannah turned it over in her hand.
“From the Native Americans. You’ve heard of arrowheads.”
“I had trouble paying attention during history. It was always right after lunch when I was sleepiest.”
Beneath it all was a single sheet of paper, folded in thirds. The writing was very old. Even studying it closely, Hannah couldn’t make out all the words.
Ethan,
You are a man now. You are the head of this (smudged).
What happened to (smudged) was not your (smudged).
Take care of your (smudged).
It’s all I ask.
Your loving pop,
(signature smudged)
“Do you think . . . do you think his other sister died?”
“Maybe, but look at the date on this letter. Over forty years ago. He couldn’t have been much over our age when this letter was written.”
Amber suddenly wasn’t so glad to have found the box. She’d seen it there one day when she’d been taking an inventory of supplies. It had looked out of place, and now she knew why. This sort of thing should be at home. Why had he brought it to work?
“Look at this.” Jesse pulled out a yellowed newspaper clipping with a date on it. Though it was older than the letter, it was easier to read since it had been printed.
“She fell through the ice.”
“He saw it.” Jesse ran his finger down the single column. “Tried to save her, apparently.”
“And Patricia was watching.”
They put everything back into the box. “I want to take this over to Amber’s. Maybe . . . maybe it will make sense when added to everything else she knows.”
Jesse played the light over the desk.
Everything seemed in order.
Everything seemed as she’d left it.
Except for—
She reached forward and pulled the single sheet of yellow paper from the back of the box.
“Looks like something from a phone book.”
“It is. He must have ripped it out and brought it back here.”
“What’s on it?”
Hannah raised her eyes to his, understanding finally dawning. “Lawyers. Divorce lawyers.”
Her pulse began to race, and she suddenly worried that Ethan’s widow might pop out of the shadows and demand the evidence back. “This is it. Don’t you see?”
“Nein.”
“Ethan was going to divorce his wife. She must have found out, and that’s why he was keeping things here. She must have found out and decided to kill him before he had the chance to leave her. She poisoned him!”
“Slow down. Englischers don’t kill one another over divorce. I suppose it’s a difficult time, but I’ve heard women say things like ‘Now I can start over.’ Or ‘We’ll both be happier.’ They sound sad and at the same time sincere, maybe even hopeful.”
“You heard women say this?”
“Ya.”
“You’re beginning to sound like an eavesdropper,” she teased.
“Nein, but they don’t seem to notice I’m there. It’s as if I become part of the shrubbery when I’m working on the landscaping. They talk away on their phones or to their freinden or family.”
“And what do the men say?”
“Couldn’t tell you. I guess the women come here to get over it. The men, I don’t know where they go. Fishing maybe.”
“You could be right, but this time something went wrong. This time someone ended up dead.”
“Don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions?”
“It makes sense, Jesse. Amber said Ethan’s wife was terribly angry, that she wasn’t grieving at all. Now we know she was mad because he was going to leave her. Maybe he would have left her without any money. Margaret was mad, and she decided to strike first.”
Thirty-Three
Tate was surprised he could eat.
He was so tired, he thought he might fall asleep at Amber’s table.
They’d both had a terrible day. The message he’d received had been from the police department, informing him there was livestock on the road near his home. Someone had opened all of his gates. He knew he hadn’t left them open. One gate? Possibly. All four? Not a chance.
He’d spent the majority of the day rounding up both donkeys, which had followed the cattle across the road to an open pasture. Fortunately only one of the horses had wandered. Still, the recovery effort took all afternoon. When he’d spied Preston walking by, he’d asked if the man could help. Tate didn’t know what he had expected, but he hadn’t expected Preston to be a hardworking, capable ranch hand.
He glanced up at Amber, and his weariness slipped away. “You didn’t have to order dinner for me.”
“I owe you! After
risking your life at Patricia’s home? Free dinners on the house for a week.”
“Can’t remember the last time I ate in the Village’s restaurant. Great chicken and dumplings.”
“Now you see why I’m a bad cook. It’s too tempting to call and ask them to bring something over.”
“Tell me about your day.”
“I will, but first I want to hear more about how you coaxed Trixie and Velvet home.”
“You would have been proud of me. Let’s leave it at that.”
“So you’re more patient with them?”
“Being impatient with a donkey is a futile exercise.”
Amber smiled, but he could tell she was distracted. Something was worrying her. He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “Tell me about your day. I see something’s bothering you.”
“I didn’t want to ruin your dinner.”
“No worries. I’m finished.” He pushed the almost-empty plate away. He’d consumed the chicken, dumplings, salad, and fresh bread, and given a few minutes, he could probably eat a piece of pie.
“My day was nearly as bad as yours.” She went on to describe the chaos at the Village. “I don’t know what we’re going to do about these mystery guest people. I’ve always wanted to maintain a full inn in the off-season, but they’re not our normal type of customer.”
“Can’t hardly kick them out.”
“Can’t let them keep running over my staff either. And the way they’re trampling around the property—searching in staffonly areas, bothering my employees, making a general nuisance of themselves. I’m going to have to do something.”
“Someone is provoking them.” Tate spun his dinner knife on the table—once, twice, three times. “I’ll be glad when Avery’s back in town.”
“Still no word from him, and when I stopped by the police department, he hadn’t checked in with them either.”
For a moment the night quieted, highlighting the sound of her wall clock ticking and Leo’s purrs. He was curled up on the rug at their feet, oblivious to the conversation going on around him.
“You went by the police department?”
Amber squirmed in her chair. She also looked everywhere but at him.
“Amber?”
“Yes?”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Murder Simply Brewed Page 26
