Lethal Licorice

by Amanda Flower

  “Deacon,” Sol wiped at his sweaty face with a handkerchief, “I told you my daughter is confused, but I’m certain that she will make the right decision and stay with the Amish.”

  Clapp snorted. “She is rebellious. That is your fault, Sol.”

  The other man jerked back as if the deacon had slapped him.

  Charlotte’s sweet face came to mind. She didn’t strike me as the rebellious type. Or the murdering type, for that matter.

  Aiden opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something in return, but he was stopped when someone called out his name.

  I spun around in my hiding spot. Deputy Little skipped down the church steps holding a small plastic bag in his hand. The sheriff was nowhere to be seen, but his SUV was still there.

  “Deputy Brody! Deputy Brody!” He waved the bag over his head. There was something inside, but whatever it was, the object was far too small for me to identify from where I hid behind the buggy. I wanted to know what was in that baggie.

  Aiden hurried over to the younger officer and gently reprimanded him. “Little, let’s not wave the evidence out in the open for all to see, okay?’

  The younger deputy’s face fell. “I—I’m sorry. I thought you’d want to know right away.”

  Aiden patted him on the shoulder. “And I do, but I’m in the middle of an interview. Next time, call me on the radio to ask me to come inside to review the evidence.”

  Little looked from the deacon to Aiden and back again. “Oh, right. I’m sorry, sir.” He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his brow. I expected to see this gesture in Sol, an Amish man, but I was surprised to see Little use a handkerchief. It seemed like such an old-fashioned accessory for someone so young. He shoved the handkerchief back into the hip pocket of his uniform.

  “Why would you be calling licorice evidence?” the deacon asked.

  Licorice? My ears immediately perked up at the word.

  “Little, take the evidence back inside the church,” Aiden directed.

  “There is no use hiding it now,” the deacon huffed. “I saw the licorice in that bag as plain as day. Is that what killed Josephine?”

  Aiden’s head snapped around. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because everyone in the district knew that Josephine was allergic to licorice, more specifically anise. She made a point of letting everyone know, so that they wouldn’t include anise in their baking recipes. She was very particular. At times, she refused to eat desserts that were offered because she was afraid they might include the smallest drop of anise. She offended many ladies in our church by refusing their desserts. There is no greater insult to an Amish woman than someone refusing to eat the food that she has prepared.”

  “Then how can she be in the competition?” Aiden asked, sounding as confused as I felt. “I thought licorice was one of the categories.”

  “You mean for the confectionery competition? Her shop assistant must have made the licorice; perhaps her assistant even made it at home. I don’t think she would allow anise in her building. She was that allergic to it.”

  “And who is her shop assistant?” Aiden asked.

  I was grateful that he was asking all the questions that were coming to my mind.

  “Lindy Beiler,” the deacon said. “She and Charlotte were friends, but she has already joined the church and married. She’s followed the path that we like to see all our young members take.”

  “Where did you find that?” Clapp pointed at Little, who was still holding the bag of licorice out for all to see.

  Little rocked back and forth on his heels and looked to Aiden for guidance.

  Aiden sighed. “Where did you find the licorice, Deputy Little?”

  He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “It was in her apron pocket, sir.”

  “That’s impossible. She would never carry licorice in her pocket,” Sol said. “She absolutely would never do that.”

  Clapp nodded. “As I just told you, she was deathly allergic to it.”

  Deathly allergic. Had the licorice killed Josephine, and if it did, was it possible that this wasn’t a murder at all but a tragic and accidental allergic reaction? I suspected that was just wishful thinking on my part, especially when the image of Josephine lying on the platform inside the organ came to mind. I remembered how red, swollen, and cracked her lips were. They’d reminded me of the lips of someone with a serious fever.

  Suddenly, the wheel of the buggy that I was hiding behind shifted. The horse pulled the buggy away from me. As my presence was revealed to everyone, I found Aiden staring at me with his hands on his hips but, if I wasn’t completely mistaken, with a twinkle in his eye.

  Chapter 7

  “Well, well, Bailey King, what on earth are you doing right here?” Aiden asked. The dimple in his cheek appeared. The dimple didn’t help me in the least.

  “I—I—” No good answer came to mind. It was obvious that what I was doing was eavesdropping.

  Clapp folded his arms over his chest. “What do you think you are doing, Englischer? You have no right to listen to our conversation.”

  I bristled at his tone. Yes, I knew that I shouldn’t have been listening in on their conversation. That was wrong no matter how I rationalized it, but the tone of his voice was full of judgment, as if I had committed some sort of mortal sin and not just made a mistake. The mistake of getting caught. I knew I would do it again if the same circumstances arose.

  “Deacon,” Aiden said, “I’m sure Miss King just made an error in judgment.”

  The deacon snorted. “If you believe that, Deputy, you are much more naïve than I thought. The King girl has a reputation.”

  “The King girl?” I asked.

  Clapp narrowed his eyes. “I have heard the stories about how you tried to earn a promotion in New York by having relations with one of the board members. I would never have a woman like you in my community.”

  I felt sickened by his implication. I knew that was how my disastrous relationship with Eric Sharp had appeared to many in the New York culinary scene. They assumed the same as the deacon had. That was one of the reasons Eric and I had kept our relationship secret for so long. However, there was nothing tawdry about our relationship. I was a grown woman, and Eric was a grown man. We both knew what we were doing, and I had never asked for preferential treatment from him. “How dare you?” I took a step toward the deacon.

  There must have been some type of warning on my face, because he took a small step back, but then held his ground. “How dare I? I’m not the one barging into a community that isn’t mine and trying to corrupt its youth.”

  “Who am I corrupting?” I wanted to know.

  “Charlotte Weaver, for a start,” Clapp spat back at me.

  I threw up my hands. “I only just met the girl. I know nothing about her or what she is thinking about the rest of her life.”

  The deacon looked as if he wanted to argue. I could tell that he didn’t believe me. “Would you say the same about Josephine?”

  “I must return to the shop,” Sol called from the buggy’s driver’s seat. “I have been away from it for far too long. There is no more that we can accomplish here. Charlotte will not come with us.”

  Clapp nodded. “Very well.”

  “Wait,” I said. “What do I have to do with what’s happened to Josephine?”

  “I know that you’re not Amish, but weaseled your way into the ACC. You learned your trickery in New York and have brought it into my community. I will not allow it.” His eyes bored into me. There was so much anger there that it startled me, and despite myself, I took a small step away from him and his hatred.

  I glanced at Aiden. He watched me with renewed interest, but it wasn’t the kind of interest I wanted from him. I had seen that expression before. He looked at me the way he would at a suspect.

  “We need to remain calm,” Aiden said.

  “I am calm,” the deacon and I replied in unison; then we glared at each other.
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  “Jinx,” Little piped up.

  The deacon and I both must have given him an identical scowl, because he clutched the evidence bag of licorice to his chest. “Well, you both said the same thing at the same time, so jinx . . .”

  “Uh-huh,” Aiden said, ignoring the younger deputy’s comment. “It looks like the two of you are calm.”

  “I don’t have to stand here and listen to this,” Clapp declared. He grabbed the handrail and climbed into the buggy next to Sol. “I trust that you will notify our district of your investigation, Deputy, as it goes on.”

  “I will,” Aiden agreed.

  “Let’s go, Sol. We will deal with your daughter later.”

  Sol Weaver simply nodded and flicked the reins. The buggy rocked forward into motion. Aiden, Little, and I watched the dust settle back into the gravel parking lot.

  Aiden finally spoke. “Do you know how dangerous it is to stand beside a buggy like that? If the horse had moved just a fraction, the buggy’s wheels might have rolled over your foot—or worse. I can’t tell you how many accident reports are filed that are related to buggy injury. And you shouldn’t be eavesdropping.”

  I folded my arms. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was—” I stopped myself. I couldn’t very well tell him that I was hiding from the sheriff.

  He removed his department-issued ball cap from the top of his head and folded the brim. “And I don’t want you poking your nose into this investigation. Not again. I’m telling you this for your own safety.”

  I bristled. “If I remember correctly, the last time a person was murdered in Harvest, I had to get involved for my own safety.”

  Aiden sighed, because we both knew that this was true.

  He turned to his deputy. “Little, please go back inside.”

  “Will do, Deputy Brody, but I also have to tell you that the sheriff is here.”

  Aiden grimaced. The expression lasted only half a second, but it was unmistakable.

  “He wants to talk to you,” Little said. As he spoke, the evidence bag swung from his hand. I caught sight of the piece of licorice inside. I could have been mistaken, but I believed that I spotted a double S inscribed in it. I prayed that I was imagining things, that I was confused by the stressful events of the last hour. It couldn’t be what I thought it was. It just couldn’t be.

  “Can you go inside and tell him that I will be in as soon as possible?” Aiden asked.

  Little nodded, wove around all the vehicles blocking the way to the church steps, and ran inside.

  After his junior deputy was gone, Aiden sighed again. “Bailey, you have to trust me to protect you instead of doing things on your own.”

  “You will protect me from Sheriff Marshall? You will protect Charlotte from the sheriff? You know he will want to blame one of us for this murder because he hates me and she’s Amish, and by accusing one of us, he can make this all go away faster. I’m sure that the last thing he wants is another murder to contend with going into his reelection, even if that election is uncontested.”

  Aiden continued to bend the brim of his hat. “Yes, I will protect you both, and anyone else who might be falsely accused. Bailey, I do wish you could trust me. Not all men are the same. I think you need to remember that.”

  I blinked. How had this conversation shifted from the sheriff to all men? How had this conversation shifted from the sheriff to Eric? I knew that was the point he was trying to make. Not all men cheated like Eric. Not all men made their girlfriends feel inferior like Eric. I swallowed, unable to speak.

  “And what is your relationship with Charlotte Weaver?” Aiden asked.

  I blinked at him, surprised by the way he could change the subject so easily from my personal life to murder. I cleared my throat. My mouth felt suddenly dry. “What I said to Deacon Clapp was true. I just met her today, but apparently she’s my cousin.”

  Aiden raised his dark eyebrows into his hairline. “Your cousin?”

  “She claimed to be my grandmother’s cousin, so she must be mine as well.” I wrinkled my nose. “I suppose that means I’m related to Sol Weaver too, and maybe even Josephine.”

  “I didn’t know your grandmother had cousins.”

  I shrugged. “Neither did I.”

  Aiden’s dark eyebrows disappeared into his hairline again. His hair hung low over his forehead. He could use a trim. But I would admit, although only to myself, that his unkempt hair was appealing. Most of the time his thick, dark hair was hidden away under his baseball cap, which was truly a shame. “You two looked like you knew each other well when you were standing on the church steps.”

  I shrugged. “I was comforting a girl who just found her dead aunt in an organ. I don’t think a prior relationship is necessary for that. She needed a shoulder to cry on. Mine was available.”

  He nodded. “You get that compassionate heart from your grandparents.”

  I smiled, and not for the first time, I felt my heart softening toward Aiden. I just wasn’t sure my heart was ready to soften quite yet. Time to change the subject. “Was she really killed with licorice?” I asked.

  “How long did you look at the body?” he countered with a question.

  “I just peeked. Your mother and I had no idea what Charlotte was screaming about, so I went into the organ to see if she was all right. I never expected to find a dead person on the other side of that door. Never.”

  He brushed back his hair from his face and replaced the ball cap on his head. “Of course, you didn’t, and I am glad you and Mom were there to help Charlotte. However, this should be the end of it for you. You need to leave this alone. Can you do that for me?”

  “Bailey! Bailey!” a voice called from behind me.

  I spun around to see Emily Esh running toward me. The ribbons from her white prayer cap were flying behind her. “Bailey! You have to come. Now. They are one table away from yours in the licorice judging. If you’re not there, the shop will be disqualified.”

  I hesitated and looked back at the church. “I—”

  The deputy shook his head. “Go. I know where to find you.”

  I glanced back at the church again. “What about Charlotte . . .” I trailed off.

  “I’ll take good care of Charlotte. I promise you.” He sounded so sincere that I couldn’t help but believe him. “If I know anything about you, I know we’ll discuss this more soon.”

  “Bailey, you have to come!” Emily cried, becoming increasingly more frantic.

  That got me moving. I cared about Juliet and wanted to know what had happened to her pig, and even though I had just met her, I was concerned about Charlotte and those harsh men who’d tried to fetch her from the church. It didn’t seem that she had the support at home that she would need to deal with the trauma of finding a dead body. And not just any dead body, but the body of her aunt. What was worse, she—if Clapp had anything to say about it—would be blamed for her aunt’s death.

  “I’ll see you later, Aiden.”

  The dimple flashed again. “I’m counting on it, Bailey.”

  I spun away to contemplate what that might mean. Emily waved at me, and I ran to her, refusing to look back at Aiden as I went, no matter how much I was tempted to. As I ran away, I felt his dark eyes, the color of milk chocolate, boring into my back.

  Chapter 8

  As Emily had said, Margot Rawlings and the two Amish judges were just one table away from mine when I reached my spot on the square. Emily and I jumped behind the table together. The pretty Amish girl’s cheeks were flushed pink after her sprint from the church, and a single blond-white lock fell from the knot at the base of her neck and curled over her flawless brow. She grabbed the wild strands and then expertly twisted them back into her bun.

  At twenty years old, Emily Esh even made running across the square look graceful. She mesmerized the young men, both English and Amish, who wandered the square sampling the candies.

  I, on the other hand, was panting from the run. I told myself it was because I was stil
l in shock over the discovery of Josephine Weaver’s body, not because I was terribly out of shape. I had run after taxis and for the subway enough times during my life in New York that a simple jog across the village square shouldn’t have winded me.

  Standing at the table next to ours, a round Amish woman wearing glasses held a piece of licorice out in front of her and stared at it as if the candy held the answers to the universe. “There’s something not quite right about this piece of licorice.”

  “I agree, Beatrice,” Jeremiah said. “There’s a grainy quality to it, as if all the sugar hasn’t mingled with the other ingredients as it should.”

  Haddie Smucker, the maker of the offending licorice, looked as if she might faint. Her Lakeside Amish Treats up in Geauga County was a candy shop I’d heard of even before I moved to Ohio. She had placed ads in national candy magazines, advertising it as the best place to purchase Amish candy and sweets. When I saw the ad, I cut it from the magazine and mailed it to my grandfather with a note, urging him to also place ads like hers. The letter he sent back to me was typical Jebidiah King. He said God didn’t teach him to beg others to buy his candies, just to make the best sweets he could.

  I stared down at the plate of licorice I had set aside for the judges to sample. Because I’d gone on the wild pig chase and then found a dead body, I hadn’t had time to taste it before the judging. What if my licorice was grainy? Licorice was one of the most challenging candies to make, because the consistency needed to be both gummy and smooth in texture.

  “Your licorice is not grainy,” Emily whispered into my ear as if she’d read my mind.

  I shot her a sideways look. “Danki,” I said, using the Amish word for “thank you.”

  She smiled. “I swiped a piece while you were off searching for Juliet’s pig.”

  “How did you know that was where I was?” I whispered. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, and I never expected to be gone so long.”