Murder Freshly Baked

by Vannetta Chapman

  “Indeed she does.” Amber finished her coffee. “Everything looks good here. I think we’re ready for just about anything.”

  At that moment, Julie, a reporter for the Goshen News who covered Middlebury events and had interviewed Preston about Mocha, stepped out of the dress shop. Amber was pretty sure she looked their way, but then she hitched her large quilted bag up over her shoulder and turned in the opposite direction.

  “Looks like our little event is making the newspaper.”

  “Which is good,” Pam said. “Maybe even more people will contribute to the cause.”

  Hannah had been listening in on their conversation as she handed out ribbons. “Should I go cover Letha’s shop?”

  “No. We covered for anyone who wanted the morning off so they could stand with loved ones during the festivities, and technically it’s not Letha’s shop anymore. She left for Pinecraft yesterday.” Pam craned her neck to get a better look across the property. “I wonder what the reporter was doing in there—”

  “Maybe she was shopping,” Jesse offered with his customary smile.

  Amber thought Jesse and Hannah were two of the best employees she had. She certainly was glad they’d decided to attend the event, even though they weren’t required to work that morning. She’d gladly approved four extra hours’ pay for anyone who had volunteered.

  Her thoughts turned to Letha. She’d be missed, that was for certain. Amber had assigned Helen to the store temporarily. It seemed like a natural fit.

  “I was still hoping Letha would change her mind,” Amber confessed. “It all seems such an overreaction to me.”

  “It’s probably gut she isn’t here today,” Hannah said as she handed both a blue and pink ribbon to a teenage girl. “It’s best she doesn’t bump into Ryan.”

  “It is a small town, though. Unless she’s moving to Pinecraft permanently, she’s bound to see him now and then.” Amber hopped to the right just in time to avoid being creamed by a tray of bakery treats.

  Georgia brushed past them, carrying a large tray of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. She wore a long-sleeved black top and a blue jean skirt. Over that she had on her Amish Village apron. Jesse hurried over to help her set the tray on the refreshments table. Georgia scowled at the table, moved the tray to the middle, and then turned and strode off back toward the bakery.

  “I wonder where Tate is. He’s taking pictures for me today.” Amber pivoted in a circle, and that was when she spied Martha stepping out the front door of the inn.

  The young girl stopped on the edge of the crowd, looked left then right, and finally plunged in. The last thing Amber saw of her was the top of her kapp, disappearing into a sea of Middlebury folk—Amish and Englisch.

  Then she didn’t have time to worry about the girls or Ryan Duvall. Their mayor, a cancer survivor herself, had stepped up to the platform and was tapping the microphone.

  It was time for the race to begin.

  Thirty-Five

  Preston had hoped to be near the registration table when the race officially started. But he wasn’t exactly surprised that things didn’t work out that way.

  He’d received a call early that morning about an overflowing sink, which had turned into a minor flooding event in the west wing of the inn. Fortunately, it was on the first floor and limited to two rooms.

  Karen was working at the front desk, and she’d found alternate rooms for the guests. Jake helped move the two families, both with young children.

  “I’ll bet you ten bucks one of those kids stuck something down the drain that shouldn’t be there.”

  “Thank you, but I’ll keep my ten.” Preston wasn’t much of a gambler, plus Jake was probably correct. It wouldn’t have been the first time a guest’s child had stopped up the plumbing. He’d found hair ribbons, Play-Doh, even tiny Barbie shoes. Drains seemed to exert a powerful pull over children from ages two to ten.

  However, Jake’s off-the-cuff “I’ll bet you ten bucks” did start Preston to thinking about Ryan. He’d had two calls from him since the middle-of-the-night visit on his front porch. The first time was early yesterday morning, to thank him. Although Preston hadn’t stayed around to witness the entire reunion, he had lingered long enough to meet the elder Mr. Duvall and to see the look of relief in the father’s eyes. Mrs. Duvall immediately came downstairs and started cooking, as if her son might have starved over the course of the last three days. While all three invited Preston to stay, he’d decided it was best that some family reunions remained private.

  He’d loaded Mocha back into his car and headed home, too wired to sleep but pleased with how things had turned out.

  The second call from Ryan had been later that morning, regarding the gambling debt and his collectors.

  “Dad and I are in Indianapolis. He just paid the balance in full.”

  “No repercussions?”

  “Only to his bank account, but I’m going to pay that back. I’ve seen the light, Preston. I’m a different man now.”

  Perhaps.

  Preston certainly hoped so. Time would tell whether Ryan could change his ways, but he had certainly been highly motivated. He had also mentioned that he was still planning on running in the 5k.

  Preston bailed the water out of the sink, dumping it into the toilet. He’d brought his plumbing tools with him, including a new elbow pipe in case the one he was looking at was defective in some way. On inspection, the pipe looked fine. He loosened the upper and lower nuts and pulled the pipe free. He dumped the water pooled there into a pail, unsure exactly what else might come out. Holding it up to the light, he could only see a large mass. So he pulled a long screwdriver from his bag and used it to coax the material out.

  The mass fell into the bucket with a plop, but not before he had a good look at it—a metallic-colored goo that reminded him of the gel found inside a stretch-man doll. He could have been imagining that, but the sight triggered a long-forgotten memory. He’d once taken that same action figure apart, wondering what was in there to allow him to stretch and turn and bend. The glop had run down the sink before he could stop it, and yes—it had stopped up the pipe. His father had done exactly what he was doing at the moment. Remove the pipe. Clean it out with a brush. Fit the entire thing back together. The memory brought a smile even as he dropped the goo into the trash can.

  Mocha lay on the floor, head on her paws, watching him as if he were conducting a terribly complicated process. She was faithful, that much was certain. He could do no wrong in the eyes of his dog.

  He heard a roar from the crowd outside.

  The race was starting.

  He’d attended the planning meeting with Amber and the other managers. Runners would go first, then teens, followed by children and families. Seniors would bring up the rear of the group. It seemed safest. No one wanted an old guy knocked over accidentally by someone trying to make their best speed.

  He had a good twenty minutes before he needed to be at the finish line if he wanted to see the first winner. He spoke to Mocha as he worked, cleaning the pipe and then fastening it back together. “No worries, girl. We’ll be done here in plenty of time.”

  Zoey had been scheduled to work that day, and he’d promised to text her a photo of the finish line. What she didn’t know was that he had more to give her than a photograph. He’d driven over to a jewelry store in Goshen and ordered the perfect ring. Perhaps it was too soon, but Preston had decided to go with his heart on this one. Life was short, and he wasn’t going to waste another minute of it. The ring might be in today. He’d pick it up, and then he’d ask Zoey to marry him.

  Hannah and Jesse stayed at the registration area until things slowed down a bit, then they decided to walk toward the finish line. Quite a group was growing around the arch, although the race hadn’t even started yet. There had been an enthusiastic response to the mayor’s speech—shouts of approval and applause. Energy thrummed through the crowd, lifting everyone’s spirits.

  Hannah should have felt happy, but she f
elt a shadow creeping across the morning. She stepped closer to Jesse, wanting to feel his presence, assuring herself that he was close. Besides, what was there to worry about?

  Everything was going smoothly.

  Behind them groups of people were waiting to begin the walk or run—whichever they chose. In front of them, at the finish line, tables had been set up with items for the walkers, VICTORY T-shirts, bottles of water, and cups of Gatorade.

  “Things are going well, ya?” Jesse nudged her shoulder. “Big crowd. Lots of folks will visit the restaurant and the shops once the race is over.”

  When Hannah didn’t answer, he added, “And think of all those entry fees—how much was raised for the cancer research. It’s a gut day.”

  “It is.” Hannah stopped and studied the scene, slowly turning in a complete circle.

  “What’s wrong, Hannah Bell? When you become distracted like you are right now, it usually spells trouble. I’ve seen it before, and it definitely means you’re thinking hard about something.”

  “I don’t know if anything is wrong, but something feels . . . out of place.”

  “Like what?”

  Hannah scanned the crowd and noticed two men standing to the far side. They were wearing suits and dark glasses, and they stood out like red roses in a sea of daisies. She lowered her voice and nodded toward them. “Those men in suits. Why are they here?”

  “Where?”

  “Over there. See them?” She pointed, though she knew it was rude. With more people crowding into the area every minute, she didn’t think anyone would notice.

  “I see them now. Fancy Englisch clothes.” Jesse laughed, as if he had made a joke.

  “Jesse, there’s something wrong about those two.”

  “Wrong?” He squinted and stared at them with more intensity. “I don’t see anything wrong.”

  “They just seem . . . as if they don’t belong.” She was thinking they reminded her of a piece of cloth placed in the wrong quilt—not just upside down or turned incorrectly, but completely wrong.

  Jesse scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe they’re from a newspaper, wanting to cover the event.”

  “Nein. Julie covers the community events. I’ve met her a couple of times when we had events before. See? She’s standing over under the shade of that tree, and she has her camera with her.”

  “Owners of the Village?”

  “Nope. There are pictures of the Campbell family in the conference room. They’re much older.”

  Jesse didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged and said, “I’ll go and speak to them if you like.”

  “Something about them makes me naerfich.” Hannah smoothed down her light peach apron over her new, darker peach dress. She’d so looked forward to this day, but now something seemed . . . off.

  “No worries. I’ll trot over and see what their story is.”

  Before she could tell him that was a bad idea, Jesse darted left to skirt around the crowd and toward the men. As she watched him move closer, then come up behind them and introduce himself, the feeling that something was out of place grew even stronger. Anxiety suddenly flooded her heart, causing her pulse to soar.

  The men bothered her. As she watched, after Jesse stepped away from them, one pulled out his phone and spoke in it briefly, then returned it to his pocket. He never smiled. He never averted his gaze from the finish line.

  Beside him, the other man asked a question, to which he nodded curtly.

  They didn’t look like someone who worked in offices. Their shoulders were broad, like many of the football players she’d seen on television when walking through one of the restaurants in town. Seems folks were always watching some sort of sports, and that was what these men reminded Hannah of. Too big. Too muscular. Definitely not office workers.

  And why would they be wearing suits on a beautiful spring morning? Before she could think of a plausible answer, she looked up and saw Beverly, an employee who normally worked in the inn. She was waving, anxiously trying to attract Hannah’s attention. Hannah hurried over to the VICTORY display to see what could be wrong.

  “I was supposed to bring the ribbons for those who cross the VICTORY line first, second, and third.” Beverly pushed her long black hair back over her shoulder. “I forgot them, but I can’t leave right now.”

  “No worries. I’ll fetch them for you.”

  “They’re in a basket next to the inn’s computer station, at the front desk.”

  “I’ll hurry.” Hannah dodged through the crowd as she made her way around the shops and into the inn. Fortunately the race had barely begun. She didn’t think any of the runners would be finishing five kilometers in such a short time.

  Pushing through the front door of the inn, she was surprised to see Jake working alone. “Where’s Martha?”

  “She left a few minutes ago.”

  “Left where?”

  “I’m not sure. She said something had to be dealt with, and she wasn’t sure how long it would take. She told me if she couldn’t get back, she’d call Pam or Amber.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Martha.” Hannah’s mind combed over the possibilities for Martha’s sudden absence—none of them were good. “You didn’t ask her to be more specific?”

  Jake drummed his fingers on the countertop and shook his head. “It wasn’t my place to interrogate her about it.”

  “Can you handle any guests who want to check out or in by yourself? I could try to find someone—”

  Jake waved away her concerns. “Most everyone is outside milling around. There will be a rush around eleven, but Beverly is scheduled to be back at work by then.”

  “All right. I’m supposed to pick up the winner ribbons. She left them here by accident.”

  “Yeah, I saw them earlier.” He reached over past the computer and picked up the basket, pushing it into her hands. “I think everything you need is there.”

  Before she could reply, before she could ask him anything else about Martha, Jake had turned to help a customer who was requesting a late checkout.

  Hannah scooted outside.

  The weather had turned postcard-perfect beautiful. She pulled in a lungful of the late spring air and tried to quiet her worries about her friend. Perhaps she wasn’t feeling well. Or maybe she had to go home for some reason. She said a brief prayer that Martha hadn’t decided to watch the runners. Something told her she didn’t need to see Ryan so soon. She hadn’t quite healed from his betrayal, if that’s what it was.

  Hannah plunged back into the crowd, toward the finish line. She was halfway to her destination when a white kapp caught her attention. There were plenty of Amish among the crowd, but Hannah would recognize Letha Keim anywhere, even from the back. The woman had a distinctive walk, and she always wore her kapp strings pushed behind her shoulders. It was Letha all right, and Letha was supposed to be gone—on the bus to Pinecraft the day before. So why was she milling around the Village?

  But Letha was walking toward the right side of the crowd, and Beverly was waiting to the left. Hannah filed her questions away. She’d seek Letha out after the race was finished. Perhaps she had changed her mind. Maybe she’d decided to stay in Middlebury after all.

  She made it to the table, where Beverly asked her help with separating the ribbons into categories—apparently the runners were divided further, into age groups.

  “The first ones to run should arrive soon.”

  “Here they are. Take them to the finish line, and I’ll organize the rest.”

  “Thank you, Hannah.” Beverly paused to squeeze her arm, then darted off toward the balloon arch. Hannah had never envisioned that a simple race could be so hectic, but then she’d never participated in one. She didn’t run much, not anymore. When she was younger, when she had played softball out behind the schoolhouse, she’d enjoyed running the bases.

  Times were simpler then.

  She hadn’t worried about men in suits, or friends who left their work shift, or women who decided things
one moment and changed their minds the next.

  She’d share all of her concerns with Amber. Her boss would know what to do. Amber handled chaos well, at least she had in the past. Hannah was good at recognizing when something was amiss, but Amber was better at coming up with a plan of action. Perhaps that was why together they made such a good team.

  But then she looked at the crowd, ready to let up a cheer as soon as the first group arrived. She forgot all about those little things that more than likely weren’t problems after all. Instead, she finished organizing the ribbons, then stepped out from behind the table to look for Jesse. He caught her eye and pointed to an area on a small rise. Hannah glanced that way and saw Amber and Pam. They’d picked a good spot for watching the action—a place close to the finish line but where they could still easily see over the crowd.

  After checking the table one last time to be sure everything was as it should be, she hurried toward her friends. For a moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the morning and believe that all her worries were unfounded. She needed a rest; that was all that was wrong. As soon as the race was over, she would go home and enjoy the peacefulness of the day.

  Preston walked toward the front desk of the inn, his toolbox in his left hand, the now-empty pail in his right, and Mocha at his heels.

  There was a utility closet behind the desk, and he stepped in there to leave his tools and the bucket. As he did, he heard Jake, who was manning the desk, speak to a customer.

  “How was your stay, Mr. Anderson?”

  “Good. We always enjoy our stay here at the Village. In fact, we already have a reservation to return in the fall.”

  “That’s excellent. We’re glad to hear it.”

  Jake printed out the man’s receipt and set it on the countertop with a pen, instructing him where to sign.

  There was something about the scene that caused Preston to pause. Something in the back of his memory about computers and . . . It was right there, but he couldn’t seem to reach it.

  Then an Amish couple walked by the front of the inn—both dressed in traditional Amish clothing. The woman’s kapp triggered what he was remembering, what Hannah had told him the day before.