by Amy Lillard
He leaned in as if telling her a great secret. “My aunt made the pickles.”
“All of them?”
He gestured toward the full jars of green pickles. “She made these,” he explained. “And it would make her really happy if you would eat some of them.”
She hesitated. She had a feeling they couldn’t be very good if no one was willing to try them. Or was it just because they were green? Had she ever decided?
She really wasn’t hungry, and she had never been much of a pickle person, but she took one anyway, cupping her hand under her chin as she took a large bite. The vinegary juice dripped down her chin as the spices tickled her tongue. She swallowed the bite even as the heat intensified.
Silas handed her a paper napkin, and she cleared her throat so as not to cough.
“They’re a little . . . spicy.” She stifled another cough.
Silas smiled. “They are different. But my aunt is determined to convert everyone in the valley to green pickles.”
Kappy glanced at the empty jars where the white pickles had been. She was careful not to let her gaze linger too long. “Your aunt?”
“Bettie Hershberger.” He discreetly pointed to a group of ladies huddled together talking about after-church, Sunday afternoon things on the opposite side of the yard from where the men did the same. A tall, middle-aged woman stood out among the others. Maybe because her dress was green, not blue, and her stockings didn’t appear to be the same as the ones Kappy—and every other woman present—were wearing. The Amish of Kish Valley might dress similar to the Lancaster Amish, but Kappy could spot the differences right off.
“She’s my father’s sister,” Silas explained. “Never married.” The last two words were uttered in a hushed tone, as if Silas didn’t want everyone around to know such a family secret. Like Bettie Hershberger would be the only old maid in Blue Sky. Kappy herself was right on track to never marry. And it didn’t bother her. Not one bit.
It’s a sin to lie.
She pushed that little voice away and concentrated on what Silas was saying.
“She just moved up here . . .”
He really was handsome. And nice. Edie would say that he was a good catch, but Kappy wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. It sounded like a fishing reference. Perhaps she should ask Mose. She allowed her gaze to quickly scan the crowd for him, then once again directed her attention to Silas. The man was a distraction, for sure.
“She was living in the dawdihaus at my uncle’s in Lancaster, but his wife’s dat fell and broke his hip. He had to move in so they could care for him.” Silas shrugged.
“And she moved here.”
He nodded. “She’s a nice lady. Let me introduce you.”
Before she could utter so much as a word of protest, Kappy found herself face-to-face with Bettie Hershberger. Strange, really. Kappy felt almost pulled across the yard in Silas’s wake, even though he hadn’t laid so much as a finger on her.
“Silas.” Bettie tugged on her shirtsleeves and looked down her long nose at Kappy. Actually, the woman had no choice. She was a good six inches taller than Kappy with an imposing presence like that of Jack Jones.
“Bettie, this is my friend, Kappy King.”
Friend? They were friends? She liked the sound of that. To date, she thought that Edie was the only soul in Blue Sky she could really call friend. Well, Edie and Jimmy.
“Kappy?” One dark brow shot up almost under the edge of Bettie’s prayer kapp. And it might have, had her stern hairline not stopped it. “That’s an interesting name.”
Kappy gave her a quick nod. “It’s a nickname. Short for Kathy. I mean, Kathryn.”
“Really?”
“Kappy makes all the prayer coverings for the ladies,” Silas said.
“And that’s how you received your nickname?”
Close enough. Kappy nodded, not willing to explain that her youngest brother, Danny, couldn’t say Kathy correctly and the rest was simply part of God’s plan. “When it’s time for a new kapp, come by and see me. I can sew one just for you or I have stock always available. Special orders take a bit longer, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And be sure to go around back,” Silas said. “Kappy won’t do business on her front porch.” He grinned, and she wondered if he was poking fun at her. His dark-blue eyes sparkled like the sapphire ring Heather at the Sheriff’s Office wore. They didn’t appear to be making a joke of her, but she just couldn’t tell.
“I’ll bear that in mind.” Bettie half turned as if dismissing Kappy, her nickname, and her business practices. Kappy tried hard not to be even a little miffed that the woman ignored her like yesterday’s newspaper, but there was something about the hard set of her mouth that made Kappy realize that she probably treated everyone the same way.
Bettie Hershberger appeared settled with her lot in life in all aspects but pickles. At least as far as Kappy could see.
“It was nice to meet you,” Kappy said, turning on one heel and making her way back across the yard.
“Kappy, wait.” Once again Silas was at her side. “Don’t pay her much mind. She’s just a little put out from having to move.”
“I can understand that.”
“Good.” Silas grinned, tipped his hat, and started backing away from her. “I’ll see you in a couple of Sundays, Kappy King.”
Something in his tone was a little intense, a little familiar, and she found that she liked it. “See you then.”
She watched him walk away, thoughts of pickles taunting at the veil of her distraction. She didn’t want to think about pickles or maiden aunts, car wrecks or new kapps. She only wanted to watch Silas Hershberger walk away. Why had she never noticed how nice he was before?
“He likes you.”
She whirled around as Jimmy came up behind her.
“I would hope so.” Kappy gave a small cough to hide her joy at the thought of Silas Hershberger actually liking her.
“No,” Jimmy continued. “He likes you likes you.”
“What would you know about that?” Kappy asked, searching for a way to change the subject. “Did you eat some of the green pickles?”
Jimmy shook his head and made a face. “They’re not church pickles. Church pickles are the white ones.”
“What makes you say that?”
“It’s just the way it’s always been.”
* * *
Those words rang through Kappy’s head all the way back to Edie’s house. They ate the white pickles because they always had. Who decided that?
Then along came Bettie Hershberger, who wanted to change the system. Was it only that she was proud of her own pickle recipe? Or maybe the white pickles held less appeal for her. Kappy didn’t know.
But of this she was certain: The one way to get acceptance for one thing would be to cut the supply of the other.
Bettie’s stern face rose into her thoughts as she pulled to a stop in front of the Peachey house. The woman was . . . determined, if nothing else. Though why she couldn’t accept the white pickles as the favorite in the valley was a mystery to Kappy.
Live and let live.
Wasn’t that what Aunt Hettie was always saying?
Of course, Aunt Hettie was on the fringes more than Kappy.
But still . . .
“Are you coming?”
Kappy jerked herself out of her thoughts and centered them on Jimmy.
He had already climbed out of the buggy and was waiting for her to do something . . . go in the house . . . leave.
“Oh. Jah.” She climbed down as Jimmy secured her horse. Together they walked to the porch.
They no sooner got to the door when it was flung open. Edie reached out, wrapping a firm hand around her arm and pulling her inside the house.
“I know who killed Sally June!”
Kappy stumbled to a stop, dully aware that behind her Jimmy did the same thing.
“Someone killed Sally June? I thought she was in an accident,” Jimmy asked.
&nb
sp; Edie shook her head. “Of course she was.” She pasted on the biggest and brightest smile Kappy had ever seen. It was also the fakest.
Jimmy looked unconvinced for a moment, then he slowly nodded. “No one would hurt Sally June on purpose. Not like Mamm.”
They had done their best to shield Jimmy from the details of his mother’s murder, but since Jimmy had been the first suspect in the crime, that had been a near-impossible feat.
But that didn’t mean they couldn’t keep him from knowing so much about the accident that killed Sally June.
“That’s right,” Edie said.
Jimmy let out a long breath, his shoulders relaxing in obvious relief. “That would be terrible, jah?”
“That it would.” Kappy felt a little like one of those bobble-head dogs she had seen at Hiram’s store. She quit nodding and thankfully Edie did the same.
“I’m going to check on the ducks,” Jimmy said, bypassing the kitchen and heading toward the back door.
“That’s a great idea.” There went that strange smile again. Kappy and Edie watched and waited as Jimmy let himself out.
“I know who killed Sally June,” Edie said when he was out of earshot.
“So do I.”
Chapter 7
“What happened?” Edie dragged her into the kitchen and fairly forced her into one of the wooden chairs surrounding the table. “Tell me.”
Kappy shook her head. “You first.”
“Age before beauty.”
Kappy opened her mouth to reply, then changed her mind and closed it again. She decided to ignore Edie’s comment and tried again. “At church today, I learned that Silas Hershberger’s aunt Bettie has moved here from Lancaster.”
Edie stared at her with rapt attention. “Go on.”
“Well, she had a bunch of green pickles for the church meal.”
Edie frowned. “Green pickles?”
“You remember. Valley church pickles are white.”
“And bland.” Edie made a face.
“Well, the congregation doesn’t agree with you. She brought all those green pickles, and I don’t think anyone ate even one. But the valley pickles were gone.”
“And why would this make her want to hurt Sally June Esh?”
“Well, if I have to explain it to you . . .”
Edie smiled like a cat lapping cream and pulled her cell phone out of her jeans pocket. The garment fit so snugly that Kappy was a little curious as to how she actually fit the phone into the pocket, but that was a question for another day. “I heard from the killer again.”
Kappy gasped. “No way!”
“Oh, yes.” She waggled the phone in the air between them.
“What did he say about your text?”
Edie stopped, a frown wrinkling the space between her over-thinned eyebrows. “He didn’t.” She shook off whatever funk had overtaken her and laid her phone on the table. “He just said he saw the car that hit Sally June that day.”
“Of course he did. He was driving it.”
“Maybe.”
“It’s obvious.” Kappy gave a quick nod to reinforce her theory. “He’s feeling guilty. That’s why he didn’t mention your text. But he wants us to discover the truth so he doesn’t have to carry this burden forever.”
Edie drummed her fingers against the wooden tabletop as she stared at the opposite wall. The expression on her face was so faraway that Kappy wondered if she was really even looking at it at all. “Then we’re doing him a favor,” she mused.
“I suppose, jah.” Kappy hadn’t really thought about it that way. She had been more concerned that they had imagined the crime. But after today’s church meal, it was clear there was definitely something going on here. “And he just texted you this morning . . . out of the blue?”
Edie turned the perfect shade of pink to complement her shiny lipstick. “Well, I may have texted him first.”
“Edie.” Kappy flopped back into her seat and crossed her arms. “Why would you do that?”
“We texted him yesterday.”
“You texted him, and at least the two of us were together.”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“It could have. You could have ruined everything.”
“But I didn’t. And he told me that a blue car hit Sally June’s buggy.”
“We already know that.”
“And that a woman was driving.”
“How did he know it was a woman?”
“She had long dark hair.”
Kappy thought about it a moment. “But what about Bettie Hershberger? If she wants to corner the pickle market . . .”
“Maybe she was driving the blue car.” Edie stood, her excitement palpable.
“What would an Amish woman be doing with her hair down and driving an Englisch car?”
“I don’t know.” Edie threw up her hands in frustration. “It sounded better inside my head.” She paused, then whirled on Kappy. “Corner the pickle market?”
Kappy shrugged. “What else would you call it?”
“Good point.” Edie slipped back into her seat and propped her elbow on the table, bracing her chin in her palm. “Maybe she hired someone to hurt Sally June.”
“But why?” The stern, pinched-faced woman’s image swam before her mind’s eye. Bettie Hershberger looked mean enough, she supposed, but Kappy wasn’t sure how much hatred it took for one person to hurt another. She had no idea.
But she was overlooking one important detail. “Are pickles worth killing another?”
Edie shrugged. “Who knows what pressure this woman has been under?”
“True. I mean, Silas told me that she had to move here from Lancaster. I don’t think she was happy about the move.” Unhappy enough to commit murder?
“Maybe it was an accident,” Edie offered.
“And you still think she was driving the car?”
“He said the woman had long dark hair.”
That sort of fit Bettie Hershberger. She had mostly dark hair, and it stood to reason that it was long as well. After all, Amish women didn’t cut their hair, not even a trim.
“Pickles?” Kappy asked, not having to elaborate.
Were pickles so important? Or had Bettie been pushed past her limits? Neither seemed plausible. And yet Sally June was gone, called home and buried. And someone was texting them, pointing fingers away from himself. Or maybe herself.
“I once read a story about a woman who killed her husband because he wore a shirt from the dirty clothes.”
“Please tell me that’s not true.”
Edie shot her an apologetic look. “People are crazy.” “And we’d have to be crazy to think that Bettie could be behind this.”
“There are a lot of holes in our theories,” she mused.
“Maybe that’s a sign we’re sticking our noses where they don’t belong.” The longer the thought stayed in Kappy’s head, the less plausible it seemed until she knew it was impossible. One person couldn’t kill another young, innocent person over pickles. That sort of thing didn’t happen. Not even in the worst Englisch movies.
Edie held up her cell phone. “He texted me first.”
That was something Kappy couldn’t argue with.
“I’m hungry.” Edie pocketed her phone as if the discussion was over. “Let’s go get something to eat.”
Kappy started shaking her head before Edie even finished. “I’m not sure how the bishop would feel about me riding in a car on a Sunday, but I know he wouldn’t want me out eating in a restaurant.”
“He can only get upset if he knows.”
Kappy braced her hands on her hips and shot her friend a scathing look. At least she meant for it to be scathing. Edie didn’t blink an eye. “Really?”
“You’re not hungry?” Edie smiled in that cajoling way she had. Cajoling, that was today’s word of the day, but it wasn’t working on Kappy. Not today.
“Yes, I’m hungry, but the last thing we need is both of us shunned.”
Ed
ie crossed her arms and pouted. “That’s the dumbest thing anyone could be shunned for. Eating in a restaurant.”
“On Sunday,” Kappy reminded her.
“It matters?”
“It does to the bishop.” Sundays needed to be spent at church, home, or in quiet reflection with family and friends.
“Edie.” Jimmy opened the back door and stuck his head inside. “I’m hungry. What’s for supper?”
Kappy flashed Edie a quick smile. “Never fear, Jimmy. Your sister was just about to go get takeout.”
* * *
The valley was a very conservative area for Amish and Englischers alike. So Kappy shouldn’t have been surprised when Edie returned with a handful of sacks from the local convenience store.
“That smells good.” Jimmy rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
“What did you get?” Kappy eyed the bags with more skepticism than she wanted to show.
“Fried cheese curds, fried mozzarella sticks—and marinara sauce.” She listed each item as she unpacked the bag. Jimmy made a face at the mention of the red sauce. “Popcorn chicken, french fries, and a pretzel.”
“At least there’s one thing that isn’t fried.” Kappy reached for the pretzel, but Edie held it out of her reach and shook her head.
“This one is mine.”
Kappy looked in the sacks, scattered across the table. “Where’s mine?”
“See, that’s the thing. They only had one ready.”
Jimmy started wolfing down the fried fare, barely giving them any notice as he ate.
“But you’re going to share it, right?”
Edie made an apologetic face. “I’m kind of on a diet.” Kappy looked from the mounds of fried foods to the lone pretzel Edie held. “And a pretzel is part of this new eating plan?”
“It’s better than that.” She waved a hand at all the golden-brown coating.
“Uh-huh.” Kappy shook her head. “You have to share.”
“Kappy has a boyfriend.” Jimmy picked that moment to join the conversation.
“She does?” Edie asked.
“Jah,” Jimmy said.
“No,” Kappy countered.
“Did you see them together?” Edie wanted to know.
Jimmy nodded. “I sure did. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.”
