Murder Simply Brewed

by Vannetta Chapman

  “Trust.” That’s what she’d said to him as he had poured out his heart, revealed his love for her. “The answer is trust.”

  But who or what was he supposed to trust?

  Her? That was easy enough.

  God? Sure. Okay. In spite of what had happened with Peggy, he was ready to trust God again.

  Himself? That was harder.

  But maybe it was time, and if he trusted himself, then he listened to that small voice. He stopped pushing it away, ignoring it, or drowning it out with the television. He listened.

  Whether it was paranoia or instinct or God’s Holy Spirit prompting him, urging him forward, he couldn’t say. But he was going to trust.

  So he started his truck, and he drove back down to her place.

  Amber didn’t come to the door when he pulled up. The storm door was closed, but the inside door was open. He was able to see through that into her home. All he could make out was the right portion of her dining room table, which still held the remains of their dinner together.

  She had said that she was going to clean up the dishes and then go to bed early. He’d offered to help, and she had refused, saying she’d like some time alone.

  But the dishes were still on the table.

  And she was plainly not in bed since the lights were still on.

  So where was she?

  Tate got out of the truck and quietly pushed the door shut.

  Something was not right here, and the last thing he wanted to do was spook anyone.

  Leo sat on the front porch, near the door but not in front of it. The top half of the storm door was glass, and the bottom half was metal. Cut into the metal was a pet door, but Leo had not gone through it. Why was he waiting?

  When Tate climbed the steps of the porch, Leo arched his back and hissed. But he didn’t back away.

  “Easy, boy. You know me.”

  He raised his hand to knock on the door, and that was when he saw her.

  He saw her, and his heart stopped beating.

  Amber was standing in the space between the kitchen and the dining room, and she had a boa constrictor wrapped around her. Eyes bigger than half dollars, she stared at him, pleading for help and warning—all in one long, terrified look.

  The boa was an adult and had wrapped around her torso.

  Tate breathed a prayer for her safety, for his own wisdom, and for deliverance.

  Then he carefully, quietly opened the door.

  Leo crept in behind him, stopping on the inside of the door as it swished shut.

  How had this happened?

  Where had the boa come from?

  And how had it managed to wrap itself around Amber?

  The questions piled up in his mind like debris in a river. He pushed them aside and walked slowly toward her.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said.

  Amber only blinked.

  There was no doubt in his mind that the snake was a boa constrictor. The pattern on its scales consisted of jagged lines, diamonds, and circles. It was a brownish color, with red markings prominent toward its tail. And most important, it looked to be over six feet long.

  “I’m going to pick up the bottom half of its body. When I do, it should uncoil.” He kept his voice low and calm. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten the animal. He also didn’t want the boa to squeeze. “Amber, you’re going to be okay.”

  She blinked again. The fear was so evident in her face that he wanted to put his arms around her. But first he needed to remove the snake.

  “Trust me?”

  Her nod was barely perceptible.

  He stepped closer and reached for the bottom two feet of the animal. He placed both hands firmly under its coils, supporting its weight, the part that had not yet tightened around Amber—though how she could remain standing with it hanging on to her he couldn’t begin to guess. He guessed the boa weighed between thirty and forty pounds.

  Now that he was closer, he saw that sweat was beading down her face.

  “I’ve got him. Now I’m going to slowly unwind.” If what he was doing worked, the snake would shift its weight to him at the same time it disengaged from Amber.

  He began to walk around her, and the snake slowly began to unwrap, slithering and sliding down her torso, then her legs. Tate lowered the end of the snake to the floor, and that was when Leo hissed.

  The snake responded immediately, its head moving toward the cat.

  Leo dashed through the pet door out into the night, and the snake moved in a straight line after it.

  The last thing they needed was a loose boa constrictor on Village property. Tate reached for the item closest to him, a glass of water, and threw it at the farthest corner of the living room, where it shattered against the wall.

  The snake stopped, changed directions, and then moved toward the water and broken glass before disappearing beneath the couch.

  He turned back to Amber as she sank to the ground.

  “Not here.” He scooped her up into his arms and headed out the back door.

  Kissing her once, he placed her in the porch swing. “I’ll be back. I need to close the front door before that boa goes after your cat.”

  Thirty-Five

  Tate wasn’t keen on circling back around the house in the dark.

  The boa could have gone out the pet door when he took Amber out the back, but it was unlikely. In all probability, the snake had wound itself into the coils of the couch. He prayed that was the case. They needed to resolve this situation tonight, and the snake complicated things.

  He stumbled to a stop when two yellow eyes blinked at him in the dark, then he realized it was Leo.

  “Glad you made it, buddy.”

  Leo blinked again, then walked over and rubbed against his legs.

  “Best stay here.” Tate reached down to scratch between the feline’s ears, then he continued around to the front porch.

  Since the cat was fine, probably the boa was in the house. He climbed the porch steps slowly and peered through the glass in the storm door, searching for any sign of the boa. He didn’t think the snake would strike, but there was no use in acting rashly. His heart thumped in a quick, steady pattern, and he had to wipe his palms on his pants.

  Slow and steady would do the job.

  The room appeared clear, so the boa was probably still under the couch. Opening the storm door as quietly as possible, he reached for the doorknob of the inside door to pull it shut. When he’d nearly closed the door, there was a distinct rustling under the couch. Not moving an inch closer, he waited, and there was the flick of the snake’s lower scales, peeking out of the back of the couch. He pulled the door shut. His heart rate slowed a fraction. One emergency dealt with, one to go.

  Certainly the boa could find a way out of the house, but if Tate remembered correctly, they preferred to hide rather than chase things. Their power—and danger—was in their ability to strike.

  And why hadn’t it struck Amber? Or crushed her?

  What would he have done if it had? If he hadn’t returned to check on her, when would he have heard that she’d died less than a mile from his home?

  His heart ached, and he had to reach up and rub at his chest. The doc had given him a clean bill of health not three months ago, so it must be fear.

  Fear of losing Amber.

  Fear of caring again and being hurt.

  Fear of trusting God.

  Tate made his way back around the house. With the light from the kitchen window, he was able to see that Amber remained precisely where he’d left her—in the swing. He couldn’t make out her expression in the darkness. Sitting next to her, he pulled her into his arms, kissed her hair, and breathed in the scent of her.

  “The boa’s locked in your house. You can relax.” She trembled against him. No doubt she was in shock. Who wouldn’t be?

  “You gave me quite the scare there.”

  “S–s–sorry.”

  “It isn’t every day a man sees his girlfriend in the
embrace of a boa.”

  “How . . .” Her teeth chattered, but she pushed the words out. He waited while she found her equilibrium. “How did you know . . . what to . . .”

  She gave up trying to speak and burrowed into the circle of his arms. His heart was pattering faster once again, but he realized it was a strong, good, healthy beat. It was the new beat of his life, of his future, and he could get used to it.

  “National Geographic,” he explained. “With some Animal Planet thrown in.”

  She nodded against his chest.

  “How did you know not to move, Amber?”

  “I did . . . didn’t. I was too frightened . . . and, and Patricia warned me to stay perfectly still.”

  “In this case, your fear might have saved your life.” Even as he spoke the words, Tate knew in his heart that he didn’t believe them. He rubbed her arms and whispered, “God saved your life, Amber, and I’ll be on my knees tonight thanking him for that.”

  She pulled away from him then, enough to stare up at him in the darkness. He could feel her gaze, the same way he could feel a pull toward her that was tangible. It was physical and emotional, and it was stronger than the pull of the moon on the tide.

  Knowing it was the right thing to do, he kissed her.

  Had he ever felt this way before?

  Had he believed he could feel this way again?

  It was as if all the ice he’d carefully packed around his heart had melted. It was as if he was experiencing life for the very first time.

  When the kiss ended, when Amber pulled away, she seemed steadier. But the first words out of her mouth weren’t what he expected.

  “Patricia. It was . . .” She pulled in a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “It was Patricia Gray, and she said she’d be coming back.”

  “Good. I’ll be at the front door waiting for her.”

  Amber reached for his hands, squeezed them with her own, adding urgency to her words. “She’s at the Village, and there’s no telling what she’ll do. Tate, she isn’t right.”

  She reached up and touched his neck, ran her hand down the front of his shirt. The physical contact seemed to calm her, and when she spoke again, Tate realized she was recovering quickly from the night’s trauma. No surprise there. He’d known she was a strong woman.

  “Remember when we visited her, and we realized something was off? She seems eccentric, but she’s not. She’s completely disconnected from this reality.”

  Tate stood and pulled Amber to her feet.

  “Do you know where she is, what part of the Village?”

  “Yes. She went to my office to try to get into the safe.”

  He grasped her hand in his, and they walked around to the front of the house, both moving automatically to his truck. Amber was halfway in the truck when she started to back out.

  “Where are you going?” Tate reached over to stop her.

  “Leo. I have to make sure—”

  “I saw him near the side of the house earlier. He’s fine. He won’t go far, will he?”

  Amber shook her head once, got in, buckled her seat belt, and they took off down the road. It might have been quicker to walk, but Tate wanted the truck in case they had to follow Patricia somewhere.

  “Here’s my phone.” He fished it out of his pocket. “Call the police department and tell them there’s a robbery in progress at the Village. Ask them to meet us in front of the restaurant building. Also tell them we need an animal control unit at your place, and let them know what they’re dealing with. The boa is curled under your couch.”

  Hannah and Jesse were on their way back into the inn and conference center, the largest building on the Village property, when the fire alarm went off.

  The pulsing blare of the alarm and the blinding red lights nearly knocked Hannah over.

  She moved closer to Jesse and shouted, “What now?”

  “Fire alarm, but I don’t see any—”

  He was cut off by a flood of guests exiting their rooms. The two employees working the front desk were calmly directing everyone to the parking lot.

  Hannah and Jesse stood frozen in the middle of the doorway as the sea of guests poured around them.

  Hannah recognized one of the guests. He had been in her shop the last two mornings. He stopped next to them and hollered, “Is this part of the mystery game?”

  Hannah shook her head no. There was no mystery game, but the more they told folks that, the more insistent they were that they had found another clue.

  “Could be real.” Hannah could barely hear her own voice, though she was shouting. “Better head out.”

  The guest shrugged. Still staring at his phone’s screen, he stumbled out into the evening.

  Jesse tugged on her hand and pointed to the back corridor, which wound through the meeting rooms. They jogged through the hall and out the back door.

  Outside the siren was still loud, but Hannah at least could think over it.

  “Why are we leaving?”

  “Because I think this is a decoy.”

  Hannah nodded.

  “Ya. Like the letter said, the ones you told me about.”

  “By Ethan?”

  “He said something like ‘I’m being stalked—’ ”

  “ ‘By the master of illusion.’ I remember.”

  Jesse’s expression was so certain, so determined, and even a little excited, that Hannah found herself believing him.

  “So why a fire alarm?”

  “Everyone comes over here, and the person causing the ruckus is free to snoop around somewhere else. We’re going to the somewhere else.”

  They’d walked around the corner of the building and now stood staring at the crowd. The scream of a fire engine pierced the night. Guests were also leaving the restaurant and the bakery and walking over to the inn to see what the commotion was about.

  “The office,” Hannah murmured. It made sense, and when she closed her eyes, she could see the events of the last few weeks falling into place. Like the quilts she sewed, the pattern was beginning to make sense. Like the specialty drinks she sold, all of the ingredients combined to make the perfect brew. “Someone is in the office.”

  Jesse held tight to her hand as they worked their way through the crowd and into the restaurant building.

  A few workers remained, but the scene struck Hannah as bizarre. Half-eaten meals at deserted tables, waitresses holding trays of food ready to be delivered. There was no one sitting at the tables. It reminded Hannah of a game of statue, the game she had practiced with Mattie, where they would freeze until someone said “Go.”

  “What’s going on out there?” Seth hustled across the room to meet them.

  “You’re not supposed to be working.”

  “I’m not—not exactly. I skipped the singing and came over to pick up one of their chocolate silk pies for my mamm. I’ve extra money from the tips I made at your shop. Mamm is feeling a bit low, and I thought it would cheer her up.” He wore traditional Amish clothing—dark pants, blue shirt, suspenders, and his wool cap, and it occurred to Hannah that he was going to make a good worker there at the Village. “Is there a fire?”

  “Not that we saw, but you should get the other employees out in case there is a real emergency.” Jesse pulled Hannah down the hall, toward the stairway that led upstairs to the offices.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To check something out.” Hannah looked back over her shoulder. “If you see Amber, tell her we went to her office.”

  “But—”

  “Hurry, Seth!”

  Jesse opened the door leading to the staircase and stopped. Hannah turned toward him to ask what they were waiting for, but Jesse clamped a hand over her mouth.

  “Quietly,” he whispered in her ear. “I see a light.”

  They crept up the stairs, rounded the corner, and heard voices arguing.

  “She gave you the wrong combination.” This from a man.

  “Try it again.” The woman’s voice sou
nded like she was irritated.

  “I’ve done it twice.”

  “I said try it again.”

  They had tiptoed to Amber’s office and were standing outside the room, waiting beside Elizabeth’s desk. There was a small circle of light from the beam of a flashlight someone was holding in Amber’s office. The strobing, pulsing light from the fire truck outside also peeked through the window. Hannah glanced over at Elizabeth’s desk, at the pictures of grandchildren and one large dog. Life was supposed to be like that—work and family. How had they ended up in the middle of this chaos?

  “Patricia, I told you it’s not working.”

  She recognized the male voice now. It was Larry. She mouthed the name to Jesse, and he nodded in agreement.

  “Then we’ll just have to use this.” The woman sounded unperturbed, maybe even amused.

  “What is that? What are you doing?”

  “It’s a small explosive device. No worries. It should blow the front off this little safe.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  In lieu of an answer, Hannah heard something smash, and then someone fell to the floor.

  She didn’t realize she was still holding Jesse’s hand, clutching it actually, until he covered her hand with his and removed the one she’d squeezed any circulation out of.

  “Who’s crazy now?” The woman didn’t even attempt to lower her voice. “Trauma to the head can cause that. Best to be careful.”

  “Larry’s down,” Jesse whispered. He had nearly jumped out of his suspenders when the body crashed to the floor. Scanning the room, he finally turned to stare at Hannah, his eyes wide and his breathing shallow.

  He somehow managed to keep his voice down, but Hannah wondered if the woman could hear their hearts beating. Hers was hammering loudly enough to be heard out in the parking lot.

  “Do you think anyone else is in there?” Jesse asked.

  Hannah didn’t need to know. Patricia was in there, and that was bad news enough. They stood there in the dark, side by side, standing perfectly still and waiting. Suddenly there was a hiss and the smell of sulphur.

  Patricia had lit a match.

  Pushing Elizabeth’s chair out of the way, she tugged on Jesse’s hand, pulling him down under Elizabeth’s desk, urging him into the safety of the only cover the room provided.