Chapter Thirty
I poked Jonah in the ribs as we returned to the auction yard. “Okay, spill. Why is Tabitha’s son living with English people in Columbus. Did he run away from the Amish?”
Jonah rubbed his side. “Ow.”
“Don’t even pretend that hurts. Now, tell me what you know. Is he a rebel Amish kid?”
“Nee. He’s sick. He has leukemia. His treatment is not going well. He’s lived with the English family the last year because he was too sick to travel back and forth from here. The Nissleys must continue the auction yard to pay his medical bills.”
I winced. “How awful for them. How often do they see their son?”
He shrugged. “Every two or three weeks. I think Tabitha usually goes on her own.”
“I had no idea,” I mused.
“It is not something Amish talk about outside of the community.”
I frowned. “I suppose not.” I remembered how private my aunt had been with her own cancer. She had been diagnosed for several months before she told our family. She claimed she needed God to help her come to peace with the disease before she burdened my family hundreds of miles away from her with the news.
We reached Jonah’s wagon and said our good-byes much more solemnly than normal for lifelong friends.
After I convinced Oliver to leave the safety of Petunia’s side, we left the auction grounds and a very disappointed goat behind. I thought Dodger may have some competition in the Oliver’s bestie category. In the end, the promise of seeing his feline charge was enough to motivate Oliver to leave.
Back on Sugartree Street, Oliver was disappointed when I pulled his leash across the street away from Running Stitch. “We will see Dodger soon. I promise. We need to make another stop.”
He barked and reluctantly trotted beside me.
Linus had said that Wanda’s accounting office was above the yarn shop. I had visited Skein and Needle, the township yarn shop, several times since moving back to Ohio. The owner, Fannie Springer had been a friend to my aunt Eleanor. I had even spoken to Fannie about having joint crafting classes. She could teach knitting, and I could teach quilting during an all-day workshop for visitors who could be in town for only one day. So I was surprised when Linus said that Wanda’s office sat above the shop. I had never noticed it before.
Skein and Needle was a block down the street next to Old Ben’s woodworking shop. High on the side of the brick building was an understated sign that simply read PUBLIC ACCOUNTANTS. It’s no wonder I missed it. In even smaller writing, it said at the bottom of the sign CPA ENTRANCE AROUND BACK.
Was accounting a hush-hush business in the Amish world?
Like many of the buildings on the street, there was a small alleyway between the yarn shop and adjacent building, Old Ben’s. I pulled on Oliver’s leash. He whimpered.
“Come on, Oliver. We aren’t going to the vet. It’s an accountant’s office. Nothing is happening there except number crunching and people crying over their taxes.”
He whined, but finally followed me down the alleyway. Behind the yarn shop was the white wooden staircase that led to the second floor. A door was on the top landing with a window in the front of it. I climbed two steps and stopped when I was jerked back with the leash. Oliver wasn’t going anywhere near those steps. The stairway was open, which meant Oliver could see the open air between the slates.
He covered his nose with his paw.
“Fine. You can stay down there and be the lookout.”
Lookout for what, I wasn’t sure.
I hurried up the narrow staircase to the door. Wanda’s name was etched into the glass window beneath DAVID BOOKER, CPA. Through the window, I saw a tall man in plain dress and gray Amish beard sitting in front of a desktop computer. David Booker must be a Mennonite. I knocked on the glass.
He removed his reading glasses and placed them on the desktop before standing and walking toward me. He opened the door and stepped back. “May I help you?”
“I hope so. I’m Angie Braddock. I own Running Stitch down the street.”
“Oh, yes, you’re the young woman who inherited the shop from Eleanor.”
I nodded. “She was my aunt.”
“I had heard that. I must say I was surprised when I heard you were English.”
“My aunt converted to the Amish faith when she married Uncle Jacob.”
“I didn’t know that. She was an upstanding Amish woman. The whole community mourned her.” He gestured to the wooden chair in front of his desk. “Please come in and have a seat. How can I help you?”
The office was small and looked like a studio apartment that had been converted into an office space. I suspected we sat in what had been the living room. There was a clear demarcation in the room. David’s side was bare and had only the essentials on his desk: a desk lamp, phone, a plain white mug holding a collection of pen and pencils, and the laptop. On the other side of the room was Wanda’s desk. It was covered with knickknacks, family photographs, stacks of paper, and colorful folders. There was no computer. Perhaps Wanda’s laptop was at home. I suspected it was in the sheriff’s hands by now.
“Thank you.” I sat. “I’ve been here for a few months and never noticed your business before.”
“That’s because it’s above the yarn shop. I think the Amish woman who owns it is still uncomfortable with having us upstairs.”
I shifted on the hard seat. “Fannie?”
“You know her?”
I folded my hands in my lap. “Yes, I’ve visited her shop many times. That’s why I’m surprised you’re here. I never saw the sign.”
He smiled. “It’s a small sign, I admit. Fannie insisted, and it is her property. We are not in want of customers though, so I do not insist on a larger sign.”
“How did Wanda Hunt feel about the yarn shop?”
He grew very still when I mentioned Wanda’s name.
I cleared my throat. “Her name was etched in the door’s window.”
His face cleared. “Yes, of course it is. It bothered her. Even though she lived here all her life, there was much about the plain life Wanda didn’t understand. As a Conservative Mennonite, it is easier for me to accept.
“I knew your aunt personally. She was a very kind woman. We did her taxes the year after her husband passed. That’s always one of the most difficult years to make sense of finances for a widow. Do you need accounting help?”
“I might. Running Stitch is my first business venture. It’s been a steep learning curve.”
He nodded. “I’m happy to help you any way I can.”
“I checked out some business books from the library.”
“Those library books may help some, but they will never replace the expertise of certified public accountant.”
“I suppose they don’t.” I paused. “I knew Wanda. I’m sorry about her passing. It must be difficult to lose your business partner.”
His face fell. “Yes, it has been. It’s a terrible shame.”
“I heard she died at the auction.” I didn’t think it was a good idea to tell him I was there, especially since I was playing the clueless card.
He nodded. “She was very allergic to peanuts. She died from an allergic reaction.”
It seemed the entire county knew how Wanda died. Did the sheriff mean for that information to get out?
“You knew about her allergy.”
“Of course. Everyone who knew Wanda knew. It was no secret. I don’t understand why she didn’t use her EpiPen. She always had it with her, but I suppose all it takes is one time to forget it.”
If she forgot it.
He rolled his pen into his desk drawer. “At least it’s not tax season. That would have made it worse.”
I blinked at him. “What?”
He stacked the papers on his desk. “That’s our busiest time. Since it is still October, I should be able to find a replacement before January. That’s when the work really begins.”
I recoiled at his callousness.<
br />
His face turned beet red. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that out loud. My wife tells me that I need to think before I speak.”
“She might be right,” I muttered.
“I’m upset over Wanda’s death, and not just because of the double workload. She was my business partner for the last fifteen years. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but she was a great accountant.”
Would Wanda really want “great accountant” on her tombstone? Would anyone?
“The last fifteen years. Wanda worked with you even before her divorce?”
He frowned. “Yes, she did. I don’t understand what this has to do with Running Stitch’s accounts.”
“Were you upset at the idea of her husband requesting alimony?”
“It is not your concern, but we had a survivorship deed between us where the business was concerned. If something were to happen to either one of us, the business goes to the other.”
“So her husband has no claim to the money from the business now?”
He closed his laptop lid. “No, he does not.”
David was unaware that he had given himself a motive for murder. If Wanda had to begin paying alimony to Troy that would have impacted the CPA office. Wanda died before that decision could be made by the courts and now David owned everything outright and with little paperwork.
“Did Wanda complain to you about prank phone calls?”
He frowned. “The last couple of months we got some hang ups here at the office. I figured it was kids thinking they were being funny. Of course, Wanda thought there was more to it. She always did.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just that Wanda had a reputation for reading more into things than were actually there. She could be an anxious person.”
“Have you seen her nephew since she passed?” I suppressed the grimace as I asked the question. “Passed” sounded like such a poor choice of words, but I couldn’t think of anything better.
“No, I haven’t. I don’t expect to either. He’s been here a few months, and I’ve only seen him one time. He came with her to the office once right after he moved here. He seems like he’s a very troubled young man. I had to commend Wanda for taking him in. Her action surprised me.”
“Why?”
He blinked. “Miss Braddock, I thought you were here for accounting.”
“I am. You said you helped my aunt with taxes.”
He opened his computer again and peered at the screen. “Yes, only the one year right after her husband died. I don’t know how she managed her taxes after that.”
“I knew she paid taxes on the shop, but she paid income tax too?”
“Of course. She had income. The Amish pay taxes like the rest of us despite the English believing the contrary. Uncle Sam may let the Amish and Mennonites out of fighting wars, but he won’t let them out of contributing to the federal budget. That goes for the state too. There are sales tax, income tax, and property tax. The property tax is where the Amish pay quite a bit. Many of them own multimillion dollar farms.”
“Do you do taxes for other Amish customers?”
“We have many Amish clients. It depends on the size of their business. If they are able, they prefer to handle the taxes themselves. However, many who have large businesses come to us. The more you own, the more complicated your taxes become.”
“Like Gideon Nissley?”
He frowned. “We don’t share our clients’ names.”
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“I’m beginning to believe you did not come here to talk about your taxes.” He stood. “If you don’t have any more tax questions, I think it’s time for you to go.”
I stepped out of the accountant’s door lost in thought. Could Wanda’s death be related to her business? I peered over the side of the landing but didn’t see Oliver. Typically, he stayed where I put him unless a bird came along. I groaned. I should have tethered the dog to the stairwell. If a mourning dove happened by, he could be as far away as the auction yard by now.
I ran down the stairs two at a time. “Oliver!”
Chapter Thirty-one
“Do not fret, Angie, he’s right here,” Fannie Springer called from around the back of the building. Like Running Stitch, the yarn shop had a small yard in back.
Fannie, the proprietress of Skein and Needle, was a petite Amish woman with a husky voice. When I heard her speak I always thought she missed her calling as a lounge singer, if that was a possible occupation for an Amish woman.
Fannie knelt on the ground beside Oliver. She had a measuring tape around his middle. She noted the number on a notepad, and then ran the tape measure along his back.
He flicked his black ear in my direction but other than that didn’t move.
“Why are you measuring my dog?” I asked.
She chuckled. “I saw Oliver out here and knew it was the perfect time to measure him for his winter sweaters. I’ve never made a sweater for a dog before but have always wanted to. Oliver is the perfect candidate.”
Oliver cocked his head as if to say, “I was meant to be a model.”
I grinned. “That’s a great idea. I’m happy to buy a few from you when they are finished.”
“You will do no such thing. They will be a gift to Oliver. Also it will be a gift to me as well. It will be enjoyable to make up my own pattern for the sweaters. I need a new challenge. I can make only so many baby blankets and socks.”
“I’ll be sure to tell everyone where I got it then. At least you will accept the free advertising.”
“I always accept advertising,” she said with a smile. “What brings you here? It’s a little early to be seeing David about taxes.”
“I wasn’t here about my taxes. I wanted to talk to him about Wanda.”
The smile fell from her face. “Poor Wanda.” She stood up quickly and tucked the notepad and measuring tape into her apron pocket. “It’s hard to believe something like that could happen in our little community. It’s such a terrible accident.”
“I’m afraid not everyone believes it was an accident, including Sheriff Mitchell.”
She put a hand her mouth. “Oh my. I didn’t know that.” She bent her neck back and looked up the stairs. “You don’t think David . . .”
I shrugged.
“He’s a nice Mennonite man. I have never had any trouble from him. Wanda would complain about this or that about the building, but David has always been kind and respectful of my rules.”
“What rules are those?”
“Small things. I asked them not to work in the office on Sundays. Of course, David had no problem with that, but I knew it frustrated Wanda at times.” She shook her head. “It would not do if work was going on in my building on the Sabbath.”
“Was that the only rule that upset Wanda?”
She pulled the measuring tape out of her apron pocket again and played with the end of it. “I also asked Wanda to not have her nephew come around when the yarn shop was open. He seems to be a nice enough young man, but he would lurk around the building when he first moved here. I knew he didn’t have anywhere better to go, but he scared off several of my customers.” She dropped the tape measure back into her pocket. “He does not look as though he belongs here in Rolling Brook.”
I internally winced. I understood how Fannie must have felt if Reed in his all black attire scared off some of her customers, but I felt for the kid too. He was shipped to Holmes County. It couldn’t be farther from his life in LA. “Are you the only owner of the building?” I asked.
“My family owns the whole building. I run the yarn shop with my husband. He’s not here often. He prefers to stay in the fields on our farm. My youngest brother, Linus, has a good head for figures and he helps with the accounts when he can, although he much prefers to be at the auction.”
“Linus?” I asked. “Is Linus Raber your brother, the auctioneer?”
“Do you know him?”
“I met him at the auction Wedn
esday. He did a great job selling my aunt’s quilts.”
She beamed. “Linus is a wonderful salesman. Our father always said he could sell cow manure to a dairy farmer. As a child, he had been able to talk even our father into our ideas and schemes. Some of those were gut ideas, like buying this building. Others were less profitable.” She grimaced.
Oliver realized that he wasn’t required to play mannequin anymore and wandered around the yard. As always, he kept check on the skies for incoming chickadees or sparrows.
“What other ideas did he have?”
She laughed. “There have been so many. Since our father died, he has not been able to convince my husband and me to go along with his schemes. I don’t need more money. I am content with what I have.”
This new information about Linus made me think of Jonah. He was always thinking about ways to make his farm more viable. The flock of very loud, very angry, domestic geese he was trying to unload at the auction tomorrow was a prime example of that. I wondered if Jonah and Linus ever spoke about moneymaking ideas. Would Linus be uncomfortable to talk about his ideas to other Amish because the Amish may believe such ambitions were wrong?
“Gideon must have a lot of faith in your brother to put him in such an important position.”
“He does. Linus is young to have so much responsibility at the auction house, but I know how much Gideon relies on him to turn a profit. When Linus went to Pinecraft, Florida, for a week, Gideon called the auction himself. It didn’t make half of the money that it does when my bruder is the auctioneer.”
“It’s a real skill.”
“That’s right and people don’t know that. They believe you stand up there and wait for folks to bid on something, but you have to create excitement, so that people will start bidding. My bruder is gut at that.”
“I saw it firsthand,” I agreed.
“And it’s a matter of showing off the quilt or whatever it might be to the best advantage.”
“You are a proud sister.”
She smiled. “I know pride is not something to have, but Linus is my youngest bruder. I always had a special corner of my heart just for him.” She sighed. “I wish he would settle down and find a nice Amish girl to marry. There are many who have volunteered over the years.”
Murder, Simply Stitched: An Amish Quilt Shop Mystery Page 18
