Lethal Licorice

by Amanda Flower

  “Abel told me.”

  I tried to keep a neutral expression. Abel was Emily’s older brother and a few years older than I was. When we were children, he’d tried to kiss me once. I managed to dodge his attempt, but it seemed that he’d never forgiven me for the slight, even though seventeen years had passed. I hadn’t known that Abel was on the square that morning or keeping tabs on me. That didn’t sit well with me. “What’s Abel doing at the ACC?”

  She glanced at me. “Margot hired him to set up the tables and do general maintenance.”

  This surprised me. I wasn’t exactly sure what Abel did for his family. Esther worked day and night at the pretzel shop, and so did Emily. As far as I could tell, Abel floated in and out of the shop at his leisure. It was always possible he had another business, but I knew they didn’t have a working farm. The family raised just enough produce to feed themselves.

  “I swiped three pieces of your licorice while I was waiting for you. When I’m nervous, I get hungry. Your licorice is the best I ever tasted. I would have eaten even more, but I had to leave some for the judges and visitors.”

  “You were doing quality control?” I grinned at her.

  “Quality control?” she asked.

  I chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you did.” I felt my body relax. At least grainy licorice was one thing I didn’t have to worry about. That was lucky since I was already dealing with a missing pig and poor Josephine. I frowned as the dead woman came to mind again.

  “Did you ever find Jethro?” Emily whispered. “Were all those police outside the church helping you look for him?”

  I simply shook my head. The judges were headed our way, and there was no time to talk. I stood up straighter and plastered a friendly smile on my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Emily did the same. Her mimicking my pose brought a genuine smile to my face.

  Beatrice addressed Emily, “Please tell us about your licorice.”

  Emily took a step back. “It’s not mine. I’m just helping.”

  Beatrice squinted at her. “What do you mean it’s not yours? Isn’t this your booth? Whose is it?”

  Emily pointed at me. “Bailey’s. This is Bailey’s booth.”

  Beatrice stared at me openmouthed. “But—but,” she stammered, “you’re not Amish!”

  I looked down at my outfit again. Nope, still not Amish, not even close. “Swissmen Sweets, which belongs to my family, is an Amish candy shop.” I pointed across the street. “It’s right over there, if you want to verify.”

  She flipped through her clipboard. “I see Swissmen Sweets listed here, but Jebidiah King is the person who should be here.”

  “I’m Bailey King. Jebidiah King was my grandfather. He passed away recently, and I took his spot.”

  “You’re runaway Amish then.” Beatrice frowned.

  Jeremiah cleared his throat. “Beatrice, I’m sorry. It seems that Margot has neglected to tell you about the exception we made.” He shot a glance at Margot, who shrugged.

  “I see.” Beatrice pressed her lips together. I had a sneaking suspicion that she would not be a fan of my licorice.

  “I agree,” Haddie of the grainy licorice agreed. “This should be an Amish-only competition.”

  “You sound like Josephine,” Margot said.

  I swallowed. That was the moment I realized that none of them knew. Not a single person there knew that Josephine Weaver lay dead in the church just across the street from the square.

  “Haddie, please,” Jeremiah said. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  The Amish woman scowled and started packing up what was left of her licorice. Apparently, after the judges had said that it was grainy, she wasn’t planning on leaving the remainder out for the tourists to sample.

  Margot waved her hand. “We have already been over this once today. There is no reason to beat a dead horse.”

  I winced at her turn of phrase.

  Margot sniffed. “Bailey’s participation in the competition was approved well over a week ago. Beatrice, I told you that one of the contestants had passed and that his granddaughter would be taking his place.”

  Beatrice shook her finger at Margot. “But you never said the replacement was Englisch. How can we call ourselves an Amish Confectionery Competition when not everyone in the competition is Amish?”

  I looked heavenward. Here we go again.

  “The candy shops are all Amish,” Margot said smoothly. “And Bailey knows how to make all the candies in the Amish tradition. That’s what is important. We all want to do the same thing here. We want to showcase Amish confectionaries, and Swissmen Sweets is one of the most popular Amish confectionaries in all of Holmes County, if not in the entire country.”

  Beatrice folded her arms around her clipboard and hugged it to her chest. “That’s the real reason she’s here, isn’t it? You let her into the competition because her shop is in Harvest.”

  Margot pursed her lips but didn’t outright deny the accusation.

  “I see.” Beatrice narrowed her eyes.

  Jeremiah shifted his ample weight from foot to foot. “Beatrice, what’s done is done. We can’t go back on the promise we made to Swissmen Sweets about competing, not now.”

  Beatrice peered at me over her clipboard. “No, I suppose we cannot, but I am not surprised by the fact that Josephine and the other candy makers are upset by the exception you made, Margot—a very self-serving exception, I might add. You know Josephine Weaver would rather die than lose to an Englischer. She won’t let this go.”

  I grimaced. Truer words had never been spoken, but Beatrice didn’t know that. I fought the urge to tell them everything that had happened. I knew Aiden would not want me to. He would want to be the one to tell them all about Josephine’s death, so that he could witness their reactions to his announcement. It took a little bit of effort, but I held my tongue.

  “I don’t expect Josephine to let it go,” Margot said. “But it will not do to disqualify a candy shop because of a family emergency. That doesn’t seem like a very Amish gesture to me.”

  Beatrice pursed her lips. “Very well.” She shot a glance at Margot, then turned to me. “I’m Beatrice Mueller, and like Jeremiah, I’m an ACC judge. Since it seems you have already been accepted into the competition, we have no choice but to honor that decision.”

  “As an important figure in the hosting village of the Amish Confectionery Competition,” Margot said, “I’m also a judge.”

  “We’re aware of that.” Beatrice sniffed before turning to me again. “Please know we will give you no special treatment because you are Englisch. You will be judged as strictly as all the Amish contestants.”

  I folded my hands in front of me, doing my best to look demure. It wasn’t a look I came by naturally, nor did it go with my feather earrings. “I wouldn’t expect anything else. In fact, I wouldn’t want the competition to be anything but a fair and honest contest that showcases the very best in Amish candy making. That’s what my grandfather would have wanted as well.”

  Beside me, Emily shifted from foot to foot. I knew she was just as anxious as I was to get on with the judging. I couldn’t help but glance at the church again. Everything at the ACC was going on, business as usual, but a woman was dead. I wondered how long the usual activity would continue before that death disturbed it.

  “We are very happy to hear that.” Beatrice pointed to the small plate of licorice squares on my table. Each square was stamped with a double S, the logo of Swissmen Sweets. The two cursive capital S’s overlapped each other. I had created the logo years ago for my grandfather when I was taking a graphic design class. I thought it would be helpful to understand some elements of design for the times I was required to create intricate chocolate sculptures for JP Chocolates. My grandfather had never used the logo. Branding wasn’t his priority. However, slowly, as I had been adding new candies to the shop, I had begun using the logo. My grandmother was resistant at first, but I told her that brand recognition was
important, even Amish brand recognition.

  “Is that the sample for the judging?” Beatrice asked.

  I nodded. “It is. Please enjoy.”

  Beatrice held one thumb-size piece an inch from her nose and examined it as if it was a bug under a microscope. “How did you make these letters on the candies? In this competition, we accept only Amish candy-making techniques. We know the Englisch have many machines and electronic gadgets to do the hard work of candy making. We do not allow shortcuts in this competition.”

  “It’s a metal hand stamp,” I said. “It cuts the logo into the candy.”

  She nodded. Apparently, that answer was acceptable.

  “It adds a nice touch to the presentation,” Margot said.

  Jeremiah put a piece of my licorice in his mouth and savored it. He rolled it around on his tongue as if he was testing it. I suppressed a shudder as my mind traveled back to the sight of Josephine’s body inside the organ. Was that what it had been like for Josephine? Had she voluntarily put a piece of licorice in her mouth? Why would she do that when she knew what it would do to her?

  “It’s not grainy,” Beatrice said with an air of disappointment.

  “No,” Jeremiah agreed. “The texture is quite pleasant.”

  Despite myself, I glanced over at Haddie, who had received the “grainy” criticism. She glared back at me. I was earning a good number of glares today, I thought.

  Margot also tasted the licorice. “Licorice is not my favorite, but you make it almost palatable.” She picked up a second piece. “I might even have another piece.”

  Despite myself, I raised my eyebrows, surprised by the compliment. “Thank you.”

  The three judges made notes on their clipboards, and I couldn’t help but notice that Beatrice also grabbed a second piece of my licorice before she moved on to the next table.

  When they were out of earshot, I said to Emily, “Beatrice isn’t going to be eager to crown a non-Amish winner.”

  “She can’t withhold her vote for that reason,” she whispered back. “Swissmen Sweets has the very best candy, and you are doing everything by the rules. You’re bound to win. The judges will be fair and make the decisions about who wins each round and the overall competition based on the best candy. That’s all they will consider.”

  She was so naïve, but I thought it was better that I not burst her bubble. Emily had not had an easy life, but somehow, she still was able to keep a cheerful and optimistic outlook. I wasn’t going to be the one to spoil that for her.

  But I was far more cynical. Emily hadn’t lived in New York for the last six years and witnessed every kind of swindle that could be attempted against a person trying to run a business. The Upper East Side mothers were the worst.

  I glanced over at the church. The parking lot was on the far side of the building, so the police cruisers and hearse were hidden from view. I was itching to get back over there to see what was going on.

  “Bailey, should we start on the taffy while we wait for the results?” Emily asked.

  The taffy. I’d forgotten. No matter what had happened at the church, I was still in the middle of a candy-making contest. I was torn, and then there was also the fact that Jethro was still MIA.

  Before I could decide what to do, Margot floated back to my table, clipboard in hand. “That was a close call, Bailey. You almost got yourself booted out of the competition.”

  I pointed at myself. “I almost got myself booted out? I didn’t realize so many would be so upset that I wasn’t Amish. You might have warned me that my non-Amishness might be an issue with the other judges and competitors.”

  “You should have known it would be an issue. This is the Amish Confectionery Competition. The Amish are proud people.”

  I stopped just short of rolling my eyes. “I know that, but you could have warned me about people’s reactions. I didn’t know they would be so strong.”

  She laughed. “Welcome to Holmes County. Everyone has a strong opinion here, especially the Amish. You should have recognized that and been more prepared.”

  “Prepared for what? And how?” I asked.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Would it kill you to wear a plain dress during the competition? Throw on one of your grandmother’s dresses and a prayer cap. No one would know the difference.”

  Beside me I felt Emily stiffen. The movement was slight, but I felt it.

  I scowled at Margot. It was hard to believe that this woman had lived in Holmes County for so long and still had no respect for the Amish who lived there. To her, they just brought in the tourists. “I won’t masquerade as an Amish person. I could never do that.”

  She sniffed. “Then you have no hope of winning this candy-making contest. Beatrice may not kick you out of the competition, but there is no way she will hand the victory to an Englischer.” She sighed. “I suppose it wouldn’t do you much good to throw on an Amish dress now. You’ve already blown it. For heaven’s sake, feather earrings! Why don’t you just wear a sign that says you’re a hippy.”

  “I don’t think feather earrings are limited to hippies,” I commented. “If I win, I want to win because Swissmen Sweets has the best Amish candy, not because of my standing in the Amish community. I don’t see why there has to be any kind of distinction.”

  Margot gave a laugh that was just short of bitter-sounding. “You really don’t know where you live, do you? There’s always a distinction here in Holmes County between the Amish and the non-Amish. You may think you’ve crossed that line and are accepted in both communities because of your grandmother, but not every Amish person in this county will accept you—or your family, for that matter—because you are not Amish.”

  I opened my mouth to protest again, and she held up her hand to stop me. “Believe me, Bailey, I would like you to win much more than you could ever wish to win yourself. If Swissmen Sweets brought home the Amish Confectionery Competition, it could put Harvest on the map as a top Amish Country destination. Tourists would come by the busloads.”

  “But tourists already come here,” I protested.

  “Of course they do, but it’s not near the hordes that go to Berlin or Sugarcreek, and don’t even get me started on Lancaster County. That place has it made. We have no hope of ever getting that big. Our Amish communities aren’t as large, but we can do better with what we have. That’s where Swissmen Sweets comes in.”

  “You hosted the competition here purely to increase tourism?” I asked.

  She sniffed. “Yes, that’s my job as the village chairwoman. What other reason would I have? There must be viable financial gain. I would think a sophisticated woman from New York City, such as yourself, would understand that.”

  I did understand the desire to get ahead all too well, and from painful personal experience. I had hoped that it would be different in Amish Country, but apparently, the need to be number one wasn’t any different in Harvest, Ohio, than it was in Manhattan.

  However, over Margot’s shoulder, I saw something much more troublesome than her ambitions for the village. Deputy Aiden Brody and a crime scene tech strode across the square in the direction of the candy-making competition. I knew from the many times that Aiden had popped into Swissmen Sweets since I’d moved to the town that he had a terrible sweet tooth. As of yet, I hadn’t been able to find a candy he didn’t like. But I knew his approach had nothing to do with candy. Aiden and the tech walked with purpose and were headed straight for my table.

  Across the square, Aiden locked eyes with me for the briefest of seconds before moving his gaze to zero in on Margot’s back.

  With a knot in my stomach, I remembered the piece of licorice with the double S inscribed on it sitting at the bottom of the evidence bag that Deputy Little had handed to Aiden outside the church less than an hour ago. I prayed that I had imagined that double S, that my mind had been playing some kind of trick on me due to the stress of the day. The problem was that my mind didn’t play those kinds of tricks.

  Margot wri
nkled her nose. “What could Aiden Brody possibly want now?”

  I opened my mouth to answer but shut it. It was best if Margot heard about the body in the organ directly from the police.

  Aiden was only a few feet from us now. “Margot, I would like a moment of your time.”

  “Deputy Brody,” she said, “I’m in the middle of judging a candy-making competition. Whatever you have to say to me will have to wait until the licorice round is over.”

  Aiden’s brow shot up when she said “licorice.” I was tempted to hide my plate of licorice pieces under my competition table.

  “All of the competitors have licorice?” he asked, and his chocolate-colored eyes scanned up and down the line of candy makers. I took a step back, but I knew it was pointless. Aiden already knew I was there.

  Margot threw up her hands. “Of course, they do. That’s the first round of the competition. All fifteen contestants have to make a licorice candy.”

  Aiden blew out a breath as he removed his Sheriff’s Department ball cap. As he did, his eyes fell on my table behind Margot and focused on the plate of licorice pieces sitting there. His eyes narrowed.

  I had a sneaking suspicion I had in fact seen a double S on the piece of licorice discovered in Josephine’s apron pocket. I hadn’t imagined it at all.

  Chapter 9

  I inwardly groaned. I knew I should have hidden the candies or at least thrown a napkin over the plate. Aiden would have discovered the candy was mine eventually, but I would have been much better off if I’d had more time to figure out how one of my candies ended up in Josephine’s apron pocket.

  Aiden locked eyes with me, but his expression was unreadable. He replaced his hat on his head and turned back to Margot. “I’m sorry, Margot, but it looks like we should stop the judging for a moment.”

  The town chairwoman jabbed her fists into her hips. “Aiden Brody, will I have to call the sheriff on you?”

  Aiden grimaced, and I found myself wincing. Being reported to the sheriff was the last thing Aiden would want to happen.