Murder Freshly Baked

by Vannetta Chapman

  Twenty-three.

  The number echoed in her mind as she prepared for church and helped Mattie dress. Twenty-three. And soon she would be Hannah Miller.

  Could life grow any sweeter?

  Could God possibly bless her more?

  Yet as they piled into the family buggy her mind turned to Amber, the Village, and their recent problems. She didn’t want to think about those things today. She wanted to focus on her blessings and on the things she had to be grateful for. She managed to do that, until after the warm greetings from friends and family, until after the singing and the sermons, until she found herself shooed outside.

  The service had taken place at Fanny and Martin Bontager’s farm. Their children were all grown and married and having children of their own, and the oldest son was helping to run the farm. Recently Fanny and Martin had built their own Dawdy Haus and moved into it. It was across the parking circle and to the south of the main home. It was a tidy farm, and Hannah realized that one day, after she and Jesse moved to a place of their own, she would be hosting church service. That thought sent her head to spinning.

  All the other girls her age were helping with the meal. The boys were setting up the baseball and volleyball games, and the younger children were attended by fathers and grandfathers. She turned in a circle and noticed Minerva Wyse sitting in a rocker on the porch of the Dawdy Haus. Hannah walked over and joined her, sitting on the porch steps.

  Minerva was one of the oldest widows in their congregation, possibly the oldest person. It was difficult for Hannah to even guess at the woman’s age, but she had great-grandchildren. It seemed she had always been among them. Now her skin was pale and wrinkled. When Hannah reached out to touch the woman’s hand and say hello, she discovered it was as soft as that of a newborn child. Minerva’s kapp was pinned precisely as ever and set to the back a little bit because she didn’t have enough hair in the front to pin it. She smiled, revealing that she was wearing only her bottom dentures—but the smile was genuine, stretching the wrinkles around her eyes and lighting up her face.

  “Happy birthday, my dear. It seems just yesterday that I was young like you, celebrating my birthday and about to marry Jacob.”

  Hannah didn’t remember Jacob. It was possible he had passed before Hannah was born. To hear Minerva talk, she’d walked in the fields with him just the day before. In the last year, the older woman’s perception of time had blurred, but in other areas, Minerva was as bright and observant as ever.

  “How are you today, Minerva?”

  “Gut. Gut. Gotte is gut to me, my dear.” She rocked for a few moments, and then thumped the cane she held across her lap against the arms of the rocker. “And he is gut to you, though I can tell you’re worried. Goodness, yes. Something is darkening your joy today.”

  Hannah realized it was true the moment Minerva pronounced it. Though she was enjoying her birthday—the cake had been exquisite, the presents from her family thoughtful, and Jesse was hinting about a special gift he wanted to give her on the way home—behind all that loomed worries about Amber and the Village.

  The names on the list—she couldn’t stop thinking about them. Amish and Englisch. Men and women. All were folks Hannah knew. There wasn’t a stranger among the names, and why would there be? Obviously the person harassing her boss was someone from within the Middlebury community. Who else could be so aware of Amber’s moves?

  But the thought that it was one of them, that it was a neighbor or friend—well, that hurt Hannah’s heart.

  “I can’t talk about it,” she admitted.

  “Understandable. Some sorrows are not to be shared publicly.” Minerva ran her hand over the cane, her eyes focused on something in the distance. “This poison thing, it must be unsettling.”

  “You know about that?”

  Minerva cackled. “I’m old, yes. But I still read the paper, and I still hear the chatter among our group.”

  “Oh.”

  “We have spoken of poisons before.”

  “Ya.” Hannah had thought of that after the meeting in the barn. Minerva had helped with the investigation into the death of Ethan Gray. In the end, Hannah had decided not to consult her because this current matter seemed so different. This person was insinuating they had poisons to place into pies, not growing herbs to hide in someone’s food.

  Arsenic? As far as Hannah knew, you couldn’t grow arsenic. And even if you could, the only reason to grow it would be to poison someone. Such a plant in your garden would look rather suspicious. It would be a definite red flag to the police, though Gordon Avery couldn’t search every garden. And he might not know an arsenic plant from thyme.

  “Baking is close to a person’s heart, be it a woman or a man. With your hands you’re creating something of sustenance, yes, but also something for pleasure. As you roll out the crust or mix the batter or fashion the frosting, you are envisioning the loved one you’re cooking for. It’s a true labor of love.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would anyone use such a thing to hurt someone else?”

  “We can’t know. It’s rare that we do understand the mind or heart of another person. Occasionally we have glimpses, yes. And you will find with Jesse, as I found with Jacob, that sometimes you feel as if your two hearts are beating as one.” Minerva planted her feet on the porch and stood, bracing her cane to the porch floor. “Just remember, my dear, that cooking and baking and sewing—those are things close to our hearts. For someone to use them to harm or injure . . . it seems to me that would also be a reflection of the heart.”

  “How so?”

  “Perhaps their heart is breaking. Perhaps they are crying out in desperation. Or maybe”—Minerva toddled to the corner of the porch, then turned and studied Hannah—“they are experiencing emotions they don’t understand. Whichever is the case, be careful. You’re not dealing with a cold-blooded killer this time. You’re dealing with an emotionally distressed person—and that can be much more dangerous.”

  Those words circled in Hannah’s mind as their congregation shared a meal, as she participated in the games, and even as she answered questions about her wedding and the progress of the room addition at Jesse’s home.

  It wasn’t until late that afternoon, as she was riding in Jesse’s buggy, that she admitted her concerns to him.

  “It’s worrisome, I know. But there’s nothing we can do about it today, and it’s your birthday. Let’s enjoy this time together.”

  So she did. Somehow she pushed her questions and worries to the back of her mind and enjoyed the afternoon buggy ride through the April sunshine. When Jesse pulled the buggy into one of the corner parks along the Pumpkinvine Trail, she started laughing.

  “Surely we’re not about to have a picnic. I ate enough at Fanny’s to last until tomorrow.”

  “No picnic, but I thought it would be nice to sit in the swings, like we used to when we were younger.”

  “Can you believe it, Jesse?” She clasped his hand as they walked toward the swings. “We’re about to be married—to be man and wife.”

  “Hannah Bell, you can’t begin to know how you satisfy my heart.”

  “I do?”

  Instead of answering, he sat in one of the swings, gently nudging it into motion with his foot. She finally moved in front of him and waited until he looked up at her.

  “I satisfy your heart?”

  “Ya.” He pulled her down, touched her face, and kissed her softly. When she sat down in the swing next to his, he said, “I’ve always dreamed of having a wife and a home and children . . . but I thought those dreams were for other people. I thought that perhaps Gotte’s plan for me was different.”

  “Ya, I was a little afraid of the same thing. I know we’re supposed to trust and have faith, but it’s hard when you can’t see which path your life will take.”

  “I’m grateful, every day, that our paths are going to be one.” He kissed her once more, then laughed lightly. “Speaking of becoming one, I have your birthday present.�
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  “You shouldn’t have.”

  “Oh, so you want me to take it back?”

  “Nein!”

  “Gut, because I made it. Taking it back would be difficult.” They stood, and together they walked back to the buggy. Jesse reached into the backseat and pulled out a wrapped box the size of a book. “For you, Hannah Bell.”

  The paper was plain, and the bow fashioned from red yarn. Still, Hannah’s heart began to beat in a triple rhythm.

  Jesse standing so close.

  Jesse smiling at her as if he’d just given her a pot of gold.

  Her and Jesse beginning their life together.

  She rested her back against the buggy and fumbled with the yarn.

  The wooden box had been carved out of maple. The edges were smooth, the corners perfectly formed. Hours of sanding had highlighted the grain in the wood.

  Jesse took it from her hands and opened it. Inside the lid he’d carefully carved her initials.

  “I thought you could use it for postcards when we travel, or maybe for your sewing notions, or even for the pens you use for your journals . . .”

  He probably had more uses for the box, but Hannah never heard them. She threw her arms around his neck, and for the first time that day she allowed all her worries to slip away.

  “I’ll make you more boxes if this is my thanks.”

  “You are a wonderful boyfriend, Jesse Miller.”

  “Ya? ”

  “And I have no doubt you’ll be a wonderful husband.”

  He kissed her then, softly at first and then more urgently. When they pulled apart the last of the sun’s rays shot between the limbs of the trees, forming a halo of light and warmth around them.

  Twenty-Nine

  Preston marveled that his life could change so quickly. He had spent most of the day before with Zoey. It was his second time to attend worship services with Mocha, who lay quietly at his feet as the pastor made the weekly announcements.

  The first week there had been a little bit of a stir. Their pastor, Mitch Dodson, had set everyone straight by adding Preston’s name to the praise report. By the time he’d suggested they make Mocha an honorary church member, everyone was laughing, and then it was as if Mocha had always been part of the congregation.

  Amber had slipped him a note later in the church service. It read, “Tell her everything.” So he’d taken Zoey to lunch after church and, in a quiet corner of the restaurant where no one could hear, shared all the details they had uncovered in their meeting in the barn. As he expected, she took it well.

  This week as he’d walked into the church, he’d received the normal greetings and a few folks had said good morning to Mocha as well. It seemed a group of folks could grow accustomed to just about anything, including having a service dog in the midst of their worship service.

  He and Zoey had talked about the Village situation several times. She came up with a couple of additional names they could add to the growing list of suspects, but other than that she could only caution him to be careful and make him promise he wouldn’t be a hero. No worries there. Preston had never felt like a hero, and he saw no reason to start trying to be one now.

  However, he would like to spend a few moments alone with whoever was harassing Amber. He’d like to share some of his thoughts with that person. When he was completely honest with himself, he admitted that what he really wanted to do was punch them in the face—but a twinge of guilt reminded him that wasn’t the Christian response. That was the old creature, the old Preston, trying to have its way.

  He struggled with that realization. What was the Christian response to someone who meant you harm?

  Tate suggested they pray, so he did, and it helped to calm his worries. It helped to convince him that God would protect Amber, as he had before. But Preston wasn’t certain that things would immediately improve. In fact, he had the distinct feeling their problems were just beginning.

  Fortunately it was the busy season at the Village. No one had time to dwell on what might happen. The spring tourists were arriving by the busload. Their charity event, Race for a Cure, was this coming Saturday. Preparations were ongoing and time-consuming, but things were coming together nicely.

  And then there was the issue of Ryan Duvall.

  Though Preston had pushed that particular situation to the back of his mind, Hannah brought it up as soon as he stepped into the Village coffee shop. As she poured his lunchtime cup of coffee, she talked nonstop about Ryan and Letha and Martha and Georgia. The names buzzed around in Preston’s mind, until he began to wish she would slow down.

  “What should we do?” Hannah fiddled with the ties of her prayer kapp and glanced repeatedly out the window.

  “About what?”

  “About Ryan. Haven’t you been listening?”

  “I don’t know that we can or should do anything, Hannah.”

  “But it’s going to be a disaster . . . right down the road from here in”—she stared at the clock on the wall—“minutes!”

  “You’re sure about this? All three of the ladies and Ryan are going to be there?”

  “Ya. Martha came by and wanted to know how her new dress looked. She was practically turning cartwheels—which is most unlike Martha. I’m telling you, she’s convinced she is in lieb.”

  “And Letha?”

  “She’s going as well! I only found out about her because Helen stopped in for coffee before heading to the dress shop to cover for her.”

  “And Helen told you Letha was going to the horse auction?”

  “Ya! Said she wanted to surprise Ryan because it was such a big day—they are showing the quarter horses. Ryan must not know Letha and Georgia are going to be in the audience. He thinks only Martha is coming.”

  Preston was beginning to see Hannah’s point. This had all the potential to turn into a disaster, but he didn’t see what they could do about it.

  “How did you learn about Georgia?”

  “One of the girls from the bakery came in and told me Georgia was all atwitter.”

  “Hard to imagine.”

  “She’d been there since three a.m., baking, so she could leave for a very important date. That’s what she called it.”

  “Could have been—”

  “And then she wanted to know if what she had on was appropriate to wear to a horse auction.”

  Preston sipped his coffee while Mocha stared longingly at Hannah.

  “Are you sure these dog treats are all right for her? I bought them at the dry goods store downtown.”

  “You’re her new best friend. Go ahead. There’s not much chance she’ll gain weight, as much walking as we do.”

  Mocha caught the treat midair and Hannah smiled, her first smile since Preston had walked into the shop. But her attention quickly turned back to her friends.

  “Anything could happen. I think they all know about each other, but apparently each thinks Ryan has stopped seeing the other two.”

  “I would have thought Ryan would have moved on by now. I meant to talk to him weeks ago, and then we got busy with this whole poison poet situation.”

  “He hasn’t moved on at all. We need to go over there and distract two of the girls or I think there’s going to be trouble.”

  “They’re bound to find out about each other eventually,” he pointed out. He also wondered how the three women all managed to get the same Monday afternoon off, but that wasn’t his business either.

  “Yes, but it doesn’t have to be in public. We should go and intervene.”

  “How are we going to do that?”

  “We’ll think of something.” Hannah was already turning the store sign to “Closed.” “I can’t walk there. You need to take me, Preston. I’ve already asked Seth to finish out the afternoon here.”

  She looked more desperate and harried than Preston had ever seen her. She was a good kid and only wanted to help her friends. He couldn’t really blame her for that. So he sent a quick text to Amber, telling her he’d be off
property for a while. He couldn’t just drop Hannah off. Who knew what was going to happen?

  He called to Mocha, and together the three of them were soon motoring down the road.

  The Duvall Complex.

  That’s what it was called, which had always seemed a little presumptuous to Preston. Mark Duvall had started out with a standard-size barn and a few quarter horses. Over the years the facility had grown until he now employed a half-dozen men to help with the horses, including his son, Ryan. As they pulled into the parking lot, Preston had to admit the place had certainly branched out. Today the auction was being held in an outdoor arena that boasted covered bleachers for the buyers as well as a tack shop, a gift shop, and a snack shop. No doubt Mark Duvall was hoping to appeal to the tourist trade as well as prospective horse owners.

  Preston wasn’t too surprised to see the bleachers were nearly full. Several of the folks were armed with cameras—no doubt there for the pictures rather than to actually bid on a horse. Other folks were studying a printed sheet of paper, which probably listed the horses and their lineage and size, as well as the order they would be shown.

  He barely had time to assess the situation before Hannah was gripping his arm and pointing to the front row.

  Martha was seated there. Ryan was standing inside the actual arena, which looked to be a good sixty feet wide and one hundred and twenty feet in length. Rails separated the onlookers from the horses and their riders. Ryan was there to help with the auction, so he was dressed in jeans, chaps, boots, and a western shirt. However, his attention was not on the show that was about to start. Instead he was completely focused on the pretty Amish girl in the front row.

  Preston recognized Martha immediately, but she didn’t see him or Hannah. She only had eyes for Ryan. She barely seemed to realize that she was in a horse arena.