Murder Freshly Baked

by Vannetta Chapman

  Ryan had flung his arms over the rail and was peering up at her. Martha had scooted to the edge of her seat, apparently moving closer so they could speak.

  What was he supposed to do about this?

  Why had he agreed to drive there and become involved?

  Then Hannah clutched his arm and pointed to the far end of the arena. They had come in down the middle aisle, and still stood a good ways back. To the right, hurrying toward Ryan with a look of eager anticipation on her face, was Letha Keim. She was wearing the traditional Amish dress, with tennis shoes and little white socks. Though Preston knew for a fact that Letha was forty-two—they’d talked about their respective ages during the winter—the woman looked completely different today. She had a spark in her eyes and a spring in her step.

  And she was headed straight for disaster.

  “We better hurry.” Hannah rushed down the aisle.

  Preston closed his eyes, then checked Mocha. The dog seemed alert but calm even among the large crowd. They both followed in Hannah’s wake.

  “What are you doing here?” Letha had reached Ryan and Martha. She stood there, hands on her hips, demanding an explanation as she stared at her rival.

  “It’s a free country, Letha.” Martha stood to confront the older woman, though she kept her voice low. “I suppose I can come to a horse auction if I want to.”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

  “Letha, maybe—”

  Letha Keim turned on Ryan with the fury of a twister switching course. “You stay out of this! You promised—you sat at the table last night and promised me that you were not seeing her anymore.”

  “You ate with Letha last night?” Martha turned back toward Ryan, a look of puzzlement and hurt on her young face. “But I thought you were—”

  “You both thought the same thing I did.” Georgia marched up from the left, her purse slung over her right shoulder and a bitter expression on her face. “It would seem Ryan has duped us all.”

  “No. That’s not . . . what I mean is . . .” Ryan glanced left and right, finally catching sight of Preston. He seemed to look to Preston for some kind of help, but Preston only shook his head. This was exactly the type of scene he’d been worried about, and Ryan Duvall had no one to blame but himself.

  Hannah rushed to Martha’s side as she began to cry.

  A small crowd of folks had moved closer to better hear what was going on.

  Preston pushed through with Mocha close to his side.

  “We should go, Hannah. Take Martha to the car, and I’ll give you both a ride back to the Village.”

  And it might have gone that way. It could have all ended there if not for another foolish move by Ryan. He reached out to stop Martha, putting his hand on her arm. She jerked away, and when she did, she lost her footing and bumped into Georgia, who went down in the aisle.

  Ryan vaulted over the railing to help Georgia up. When he did, she took her purse and clocked him with it. Georgia was not Amish, yet the move surprised Preston. Whatever was in the bag must have packed some weight, because Ryan stumbled backward and into Letha, who made an attempt to steady him.

  But Ryan still had his eyes on Martha, who had regained her balance and was moving away.

  “Don’t go, Martha. Let me explain.”

  “You can’t explain this!” The words exploded from Martha with the force of a heart breaking. “Just leave me alone! I never want to see you again.”

  Ryan moved toward her one more time, and that was when Preston stepped into the middle. “Don’t try it.”

  “Stay out of my way, Preston.”

  “I’ll stay out of your way when the girls are gone.”

  “Who designated you their chaperone?” Ryan reached out with both hands and shoved Preston.

  Calling on all of his restraint, Preston stood firm but didn’t raise a hand. Unfortunately, Mocha wasn’t so controlled. The yellow Labrador had been well trained, and her primary concern was Preston’s well-being. Though he hadn’t heard her so much as growl in the past two weeks, he’d also never been threatened in any way. The dog had been standing close, fairly quivering since the commotion had started. When Ryan reached out and pushed Preston, all the dog’s training and energy combined into an explosive burst. She literally threw herself at Ryan, barking and baring her teeth, her incisors a few inches from his face.

  “Get her off me. Get her off!”

  Preston called the dog to heel, and she did so immediately.

  But the damage had been done. Ryan saw his chance to change the focus of everyone there from his behavior to Mocha’s.

  “That dog is a menace!”

  “You’re the menace, and you’re the one who chose to lead on three different women at the same time.”

  Ryan interrupted with a string of oaths that probably made every woman in the stands blush.

  “Maybe you should learn to watch your mouth.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do on my property.”

  “You mean your dad’s property.”

  “Why are you even here?” Ryan’s face had turned the crimson shade of a setting sun. He glanced around at the crowd, looked for Martha, saw that she was gone, then glanced at Georgia and Letha.

  “You two saw what happened. That dog attacked me. Service dog? Yeah, right. For what? You’re not blind or deaf. You’re nothing but a loser who accepted a handout from the VA.”

  Instead of answering, Letha turned and left.

  Only Georgia remained, and Preston wasn’t sure she needed his intervention.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Why I’m fine, Preston.” The words were spoken softly, but the smile she gave could have frozen raindrops as they fell.

  “I told you to take your mutt and leave—get out of here.”

  Preston glanced up and saw Mark Duvall hurrying down the aisle. As far as he was concerned, Ryan’s father could take it from that point. So he headed back outside, the scene with Ryan forgotten as he turned his attention to the girls waiting beside his car.

  Thirty

  Wednesday morning, Amber and Pam set out for Martha’s home. The day had dawned gray but with the warmth of spring. Rain intermittently fell, reminding Amber of a shower turned on, then off, then on again. Certainly the crops in the fields could use the water, but personally she could stand a little more sunshine.

  Martha hadn’t come to work the day before, and she hadn’t called or shown up for her shift that morning.

  “So Preston filled you in on everything that happened at that horse show?” Pam cornered herself in the little red car, watching her boss and sipping her morning coffee.

  “He did. And you?”

  “Oh, honey. I heard it from so many different sources I could write the article that will surely appear in our local paper.”

  Amber cringed at the thought. She didn’t mind free publicity for the Village, but this was not what she had in mind.

  “I hate this sort of thing,” Pam admitted. “But I suppose it’s better than dealing with some nutcase who might or might not want to poison us. I’ve been afraid to eat anything besides frozen dinners, and those just don’t taste that good. I think I’m losing my womanly figure.”

  Amber smiled at her assistant. She was not overweight, but she was a big woman. Somehow Amber didn’t think she’d look right in a size ten. “We need to solve this quickly then.”

  “Exactly. But apparently whoever is doing it has backed off. Perhaps when they saw you washing dishes, their need to see you humbled was satisfied.”

  Amber focused all her attention on the road, avoiding Pam’s gaze.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “What?”

  “What yourself. You’re keeping something from me. I can tell. You get that doe-eyed look as if you’re innocent.”

  “Oh, all right. Check the glove box.”

  Pam fiddled with the latch, finally opening it, and pulled out the envelope that sat on top of everything e
lse stuffed in there. Inside were three sheets of paper.

  “More notes?”

  “And more pies. Those are copies—Gordon has the originals.”

  “Why didn’t I hear about this?”

  “Because none of the pies have contained poison. We’re keeping it on the low-down while Gordon works the case.”

  “The low-down? Honey, you need a vacation . . .” Pam’s voice drifted off as she read the first note.

  Oleander can stop the heart

  Or give you seizures from the start

  Flower petals or broken twigs

  Either way you won’t need new digs

  “Isn’t oleander that bush with pink flowers?”

  “Yes, sometimes light pink, sometimes dark. Even white.”

  “We have those all over the south. It’s a good plant for Texas because it doesn’t require much care and deer won’t eat it.”

  “They don’t eat it because it’s poisonous.”

  “So whoever is doing this could get hold of a few branches or leaves pretty easily.”

  “According to Gordon, yes.”

  Amber veered right when they reached the edge of town, following the directions on her GPS to Martha’s house. Pam reached out and touched her arm. “I could use another cup of coffee.”

  “You just had a cup.”

  “I need another. I have two more notes to read.”

  Amber pulled into the drive-through of a fast-food joint on the corner. “Will this do?”

  “Sure.”

  But Pam wasn’t paying attention; she was reading the next note.

  Antifreeze is for your car

  But mix it in pie and they won’t go far

  Seizures result from a little bit

  Up the dose and their organs will take a hit

  “I know you can purchase antifreeze anywhere. This person is sick!”

  “Gordon thinks he or she might be indulging in fantasies.”

  “Of killing people?”

  Amber accepted the coffee from the person at the window and handed it over to Pam. She’d ordered herself another as well. She tried to limit her caffeine intake, but she had a feeling she might need the extra boost today. She set her coffee into the cup holder and pulled forward into a parking space that faced the main road.

  “Those two came in last week. This last one, the third one, came in yesterday, and it’s the one that concerns Gordon the most.”

  Ricin comes from castor beans

  You won’t be needing those new blue jeans

  It’ll burn your mouth, hurt your throat

  A few beans baked can make you croak

  “I’ve heard of this one. There was a special on TV about it. That broadcaster guy who died, back in the seventies?”

  Amber nodded.

  “He was in London and had a pellet fired at him. It contained ricin—”

  “Georgi Markov. He died three days after he was hit with the pellet, even though he was in a hospital.”

  “And how did you remember those details?”

  “I didn’t. I’ve been Googling, though I’ve only been doing it at the library. I still worry that whoever is sending me notes might have a way to access my internet history.”

  “I don’t see how.” Pam removed the lid from her coffee and blew on the steaming brew. “I assume these three notes came with pies. Where did they show up?”

  “The first was left under the windshield wiper on my car. The second found its way to our back porch, pinned down with a rock, and the last one was at the sandwich shop in town.”

  “I’m surprised I didn’t hear about the last one. This town isn’t known for guarding secrets.”

  “True, but I think Gordon convinced the owner that the best way to catch this person is to keep their name and their activities out of the paper.”

  Amber restarted the engine and pulled back out onto the road. They were silent for a few moments, and then Pam asked, “So is Gordon any closer?”

  “They hit a wall with the computer search. Apparently a distorting proxy was used to hide the internet address.”

  “A what?”

  “All internet activity, including e-mails, can be traced to the point of origin. When a user accesses the internet through a proxy server, it masks or distorts that home address.”

  “I guess you found that Googling?”

  “Yup.”

  “Girl, shut down the internet and take a step away from the computer. Seriously, when this is over you must take a vacation with that good-looking man of yours. I know I would take a vacation if I had a good-looking man. In fact, I might not even wait until this incident is resolved. Go now. Go next week!”

  “Uh-huh.” Amber sipped her coffee and shot Pam the look.

  “What?”

  “You think I should go on vacation?”

  “Sure.”

  “Just take off.”

  “Absolutely.” Pam squirmed uncomfortably in her seat.

  “Because I need a break.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Then explain why you canceled your two-day property management conference in Indianapolis.”

  “That? Well, I couldn’t leave you here alone to have all the fun. I have a feeling we’re closing in on this creep. And I want to be here for the takedown.”

  “Before any takedowns, we need to figure out what we’re going to do about our girls.” Amber parked in front of Martha’s house. It was the typical Amish home—large and sprawling, with a thriving garden to the east side, fields to the south and west, and a giant barn to the north. “It would have been nice if we could have called first.”

  “Not possible. Who even knows which phone shack to call? These things confuse me, and I’ve been here nearly a year.”

  “They confuse me, and I’ve been here twenty years.”

  Walking resolutely up the steps of the front porch, Amber was about to knock when several small children appeared on the other side of the screen door. They never said a word, but somehow Martha’s mother knew they had visitors. She appeared behind them and shooed them into the sitting room.

  Martha’s mother was like many of the older Amish women Amber saw—a good thirty to forty pounds overweight, no doubt from the heavy emphasis on starch in their diets. She carried the weight well, and Amber wondered what it would be like to not count calories every day.

  “Kinner and grandkinner, they make for a full and happy house.” Martha’s mom smiled and pushed back the strings of her kapp. “You’re Amber, Martha’s boss. I’ve seen you at the Village.”

  “Yes, and this is my assistant, Pam Coleman.”

  “My name is Rachel. Danki for coming.” She bent to answer one of the children. “I suppose you’re here to talk to Martha. She prefers not to speak to anyone about this for now.”

  “Would you be willing to talk with us?”

  Rachel only hesitated a moment, then pushed open the door. “Would you like to come inside?”

  “Perhaps we could sit on the porch,” Amber suggested. Though the rain was still gently falling, the day was warm and the rockers inviting.

  “Ya, gut idea.”

  A cry split the morning like lightning crackling across the sky. “That one is not patient. Let me fetch him.”

  Rachel returned with a baby Amber estimated to be about six months old. He was sucking his thumb and tears ran down his chubby cheeks. “This little man’s mamm should return any moment. Until then, we will rock.”

  They’d barely settled into their chairs when Martha’s mom began to speak about the events that had occurred at the Duvall Complex.

  “Martha, she would barely speak of it, but of course I heard from my neighbors. Apparently it was quite the scene.”

  “We heard the same,” Amber said.

  “Martha has always been my quiet one, doing whatever was asked and causing us no problem. She’s never even had a real rumspringa as far as I could tell—other than seeing this Englischer.” Rachel rocked her grandbaby and
watched the rain. “I tend to worry more about the quiet ones—when they’ve gone through no period of trying your Englisch ways, then sometimes they later wish they had. They have regrets, and regrets are difficult to live with.”

  “So you knew about her dating Ryan Duvall?” Pam asked.

  “A mother suspects when something like this is afoot. I didn’t know Mr. Duvall’s name, but I was aware that Martha was seeing someone.” She paused and then added, “And that he wasn’t from within our community.”

  “How is Martha today?” Amber smiled at a small girl who had opened the screen door, darted out onto the porch, and now stood behind her grandmother’s chair.

  “Oh, her heart is broken. She will not eat or speak of what has happened. Her dat, he says that we shouldn’t indulge her, that she must go to work. But I remember . . . remember that age and how strongly one feels such things. I think it’s best to give Martha a few days to recover.”

  “Of course. It’s no problem for us to find someone to fill in for her at the desk. I wanted to assure you that I will hold her job.”

  Pam nodded in agreement and added, “We also wanted to ask if there’s anything we can do.”

  “Nein. There’s nothing to be done. Time will heal most wounds, and the ones not healed? Those we learn to live with.”

  Pam and Amber returned to the car and drove next to Letha’s. This time the problem wasn’t that she’d not showed up for work. Letha had come into work the day before, and today was her regularly scheduled day off. The reason they were going to Letha’s was the handwritten note she had left for Amber. She’d actually given it to Elizabeth and told her it was important.

  Indeed it was.

  Letha did not invite them in. She had walked out to the car when they first drove into the lane. Instead of asking them inside, she stood beneath the willow tree to talk. She wore her traditional dark Amish dress and kapp, and on her ankles Amber was happy to see the white socks with an embroidered border. However, the good news stopped there. Letha crossed her arms, a stubborn look on her face, and waited for the inquisition to begin.