Murder Tightly Knit

by Vannetta Chapman

  “Let’s see.” Elizabeth removed her glasses and wiped them clean with the hem of her skirt. “We know she became a sort of go-between for Amish teens who left home.”

  “Ya. While they were away, they would call her to receive information about local events within their community. According to Hannah and Jesse, most of those who leave do come back.”

  “Why Mary?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I suspect she stepped into the role because she wasn’t courting or married, which I still don’t understand. She’s a pretty girl in her own way.”

  “That’s exactly what my momma used to say about my homely cousin.”

  “Still, she would make someone a good wife, and the Amish focus less on appearances.”

  “Or so we hear. It seems to me that it’s more a matter of a girl’s opinion of herself. If she feels good about herself, then she has a different posture and attitude.”

  “True. Mary’s attitude is mostly defensive—at least it has been lately.”

  “That sometimes happens when you don’t follow the role that’s been carved out for you.”

  “Marrying young?”

  Elizabeth folded her glasses carefully and allowed them to hang from the chain around her neck. This one was made of tiny maroon and gold beads that twinkled each time she moved.

  “Since most Amish girls do marry young, perhaps she felt some pressure because she hadn’t. For whatever reason, Mary immersed herself in her job here and in helping Amish breakaways.” Elizabeth sipped her coffee and stared out at the rain. “She became close friends with Owen, close enough that he was calling her the morning he was killed.”

  “Why would he be calling her on the morning he died? What could have been his reasons?”

  “To talk about his morning? To share tidbits about someone else? To talk about ISG? Maybe to talk about a girlfriend—get some relationship advice? Who knows? Kids are on those phones all the time. Have you seen the studies about how many texts they send?”

  Amber nodded. She received less than a dozen texts a week, and usually those were work-related. Occasionally she’d receive one from her sister. She and Tate rarely texted, probably because her work was so close to home. One or the other could drop in if necessary. But she had seen the numbers on teen texting. “Most teens send an average of sixty texts per day. That was on the news the other night.”

  “I wonder if Owen sent any texts on that phone of his.”

  “Good question. I’m sure the police know. They still have the phone. Also, why didn’t the killer pick up the phone? He had to know it could provide some evidence.”

  “Maybe not.” Elizabeth tapped her fingernail against the side of her glass. “Older Amish, especially, aren’t always aware of the existing technology. He—we can assume it was a he—might not even be aware that the phone call record was available to police.”

  “That makes sense. A teenager or young adult probably would have nabbed the phone and disposed of it.”

  “Unless they were too afraid.”

  “Remember Ethan’s killer?” Amber shook her head. “No fear there.”

  “No touch with reality either.”

  “True, but my point is, to be able to do something as atrocious as killing someone, the person’s emotions must be turned off to some extent.”

  “Unless it’s a crime of passion.” Elizabeth stood and collected the remains of their midmorning snack, dumping it all into the trash. “So Hannah and Jesse are helping you on this?”

  “They are, though both are at the funeral today. Which reminds me that I need to go and talk to someone.”

  “Business or a murder lead?”

  “Possibly both.”

  “All right. But be careful.”

  “Will do, my friend.” She said the last word with a smile and then walked around the desk to hug Elizabeth. The woman was a combination of best friend and mother, and Amber thanked the Lord every morning that she walked into their offices and saw her smiling face. “I should be back in half an hour. Be sure to let me know when Pam checks in. I need her to be my sidekick tonight, if she’s willing.”

  “If I’ve learned one thing about Pam Coleman since she came to work here, it’s that she’s usually willing.”

  Amber stepped into The Cat’s Meow, pausing to shake the rain off her umbrella and close it before allowing the door to shut behind her. Immediately her tension level dropped. Who could remain anxious around so much yarn? Every color she could imagine winked at her from the myriad bins that filled the store.

  Oh, but she wished she knew how to use some of it. Mary had once offered to teach her, but Amber had never had time to take her up on it. Perhaps she should make time. She couldn’t spend all her hours working and chasing murderers. Television rarely appealed to her. If she knew how to knit or crochet, perhaps those evenings when Tate was away, though they were few and far between, wouldn’t stretch on interminably.

  “Can I help you, Mrs. Bowman?” Helen Stinson stood behind the counter. The girl was so short that folks often mistook her for a young teenager.

  Amber guessed she topped out at five foot two. Her long, dark hair slid down her back like a beautiful mane. Indeed, Helen was a very pretty young girl, though her style of dress often drew odd looks from the Amish employees. Today she was wearing blue jeans with a bright pink T-shirt that read “Keep Calm and Carry On.”

  Amber had considered insisting the staff wear uniforms, but with so many of her employees being Amish it had seemed like a waste of time. Although Helen’s choice of clothing was often unusual, there was nothing wrong with the jeans or T-shirts she wore. They were always clean and even—as Amber could see when she stepped closer—pressed. The crease lines were evident on the shoulders of her T-shirt. Amber had never brought up the subject of Helen’s appearance, and she was glad she hadn’t.

  As usual Helen wore a fashionable pair of glasses, this time with bright-red frames. She had several pairs that she switched out regularly. Helen’s mother was the optometrist in town, so Helen probably received the glasses at a discounted price. The mom had confessed to Amber that she’d hoped Helen would work for her selling eyeglasses, but Helen had other plans. With her ambition, no doubt she would be vying for Pam’s job in a few years—or Amber’s.

  The girl was all attitude, energy, and goals. Helen set the bottle of water she’d been drinking down on the counter, and Amber noticed her nails were painted a bright-pink color with a dash of shiny silver across each nail. Helen had her own style. That was certain. Would she go to college? Or would she decide experience was more important? Helen was at the point in her life when anything seemed possible, but then, weren’t they all? It only took a decision to act and the will to follow it through.

  “Actually, you might be able to help me. How’s business today?”

  “Comes in spurts, as usual, but no problems. Mary trained me well, once she understood I was her replacement whether she liked me or not.”

  “Now, Helen. I can’t imagine Mary disliking anyone.”

  Helen cocked her head, a gesture that reminded Amber of Leo when he was considering how best to pounce on a mouse. Finally she shook the thought away and shrugged.

  “How has Mary been lately?”

  “You mean since her arrest?” Helen tapped a long nail against her lips.

  “She wasn’t arrested, exactly. She was questioned and released.”

  “Do you mind if I ask, like, why you want to know? I wouldn’t want to tattle on anyone.”

  “Of course not. It’s only that I’m worried about her. She missed a meeting and she seems . . . troubled.”

  “Yeah. That’s a good way to put it.”

  “So you have noticed something?”

  Helen plopped down on the stool behind the counter. Amber was a big proponent of stools, as long as her clerks didn’t use them while customers were in the store. She actually was for anything that would keep her employees happy without compromising the professionalism of the Villa
ge. Happy employees equaled longtime employees, and longtime employees meant less expense spent on training.

  “I guess. She seems, you know, distracted. A couple of times she left for lunch and forgot to take her lunch bag with her.” Helen rolled her eyes. “Stuff like that.”

  “Oh.” What had Amber expected? That Mary might have left a journal sitting around, detailing her activities?

  “Then there’s that guy who has been hanging around.”

  “What guy?”

  Helen shrugged. “I don’t know his name. He won’t come into the shop. He knocks on the back door and then waits until Mary can step away for a moment. Not that she takes too many breaks or anything. That’s only happened a few times, but three of them were since that guy’s murder. Do you think it’s related?”

  “I doubt it, but could you describe this person to me?”

  Helen stared up at the ceiling, as if that would help her remember. “Average height, wears a ball cap and blue jeans—and boots. He always has on those boots.”

  Where had she heard that description before? From Hannah! It had to be the same guy.

  “You’re saying he’s Englisch?” she asked.

  “I guess, but how can you be sure? Amish kids on their rumspringa often dress like us. When they dress like us, they look like us—except for the haircut, and I couldn’t see that because of the ball cap.”

  Amber suppressed a smile. “They are like us, Helen. They’re people. It’s only that they live a little differently.”

  “A little? The no-cars thing I could maybe deal with. Cars are a big expense, and we could all do with a little more walking or public transit. But no makeup? No nail polish? I’d die.”

  “Hmm.” Amber waited a moment, trying to envision an autopsy report stating cause of death as “lack of beauty supplies.” “So this person, you don’t know his name?”

  “Nope. He’s never introduced himself. He asks for Mary and that’s about all he says.”

  “How does she act when he comes by?”

  “Worried, but then, that’s her go-to disposition.”

  Amber wanted to reprimand the girl, to tell her not to be so judgmental, but then again, her analysis was pretty accurate. Mary was a worrier.

  “You’ve been very helpful. Thank you, and I appreciate your filling in all day today while Mary’s out.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “By the way, Helen”—Amber had been walking to the front door, but now she turned and studied the girl—“has anyone ever mentioned that you have a very attractive style?”

  Helen looked at Amber as if she was clueless to what she was saying.

  “The T-shirts, matching nail colors, pressed jeans . . . and choice of glasses. It all blends together nicely, and you make it look as if you effortlessly threw it together. That kind of coordination takes a little work. I’m sure customers feel energized when they come in and are waited on by you.”

  A blush had started to creep up Helen’s cheeks, and a smile was tugging at the corners of her lips. “Uh . . . thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  As Amber stepped back out into the rain, she made a mental note to compliment the girl more often. A little honest praise was a powerful thing.

  Twenty-Seven

  Amber wanted answers. She decided to stop by the employee break room. She didn’t do that too often, as she wanted it to be a place where employees could rest and not worry about their boss hanging around. But today she was still thinking about a cinnamon roll, and she knew that Georgia often placed the day-old bakery items in the room for employees.

  The rain had weakened her resolve to watch her sugar intake. Plus, another cup of hot coffee sounded fabulous. Soon she’d have so much sugar and caffeine in her system, she’d speed through her to-do list like Wonder Woman.

  The break room was set up in the back of the inn, next to the maintenance rooms. What had started out as a plain room, twelve by fifteen feet with a single window, had turned into a small haven. Two couches sat against the walls. The flat-screen television positioned on top of the bookcase was on but muted. Some of the girls had sewn curtains for the window, which softened the room considerably. An employee bulletin board was filled with everything from items for sale to birth announcements. A mishmash of lamps, tables, and chairs finished up the room.

  Two of the grounds employees sat in a corner playing checkers. Amber had noticed that both Amish and Englisch were enjoying the board games they added. It was nice to see young people actually interacting with one another, not mesmerized by some electronic device. But then she noticed Bradley, sitting in a corner chair, long legs spread out in front of him, red hair falling into eyes glued to the screen of his phone.

  She had hired him to handle technology. It should not come as a surprise that he was mesmerized by electronic things. She was pretty sure his eyes were dilated as he stared at the screen, his thumbs pushing buttons. Texting or gaming. Amber did not understand the fascination with online gaming.

  The three employees offered a hello but didn’t seem overly interested in her. Amber sidled up to the treats table to see what was available—buttermilk sugar cookies, snickerdoodles, and two cinnamon rolls. Score!

  She plopped one of the rolls onto a napkin and poured herself a cup of coffee. She intended to take it back to her office, but when she turned around, she noticed Preston Johnstone had walked into the room.

  “Preston, it’s so good to see you.”

  “Morning.” Her assistant manager of maintenance was a soft-spoken man, tall, clean shaven, and extremely conscientious about his work. He was a bright spot in Amber’s employee files.

  “Do you have a minute to talk? I’d love to hear how you’re doing.”

  “Sure. I stopped in to grab some coffee and check the bulletin board. I’m considering buying a car, if I find the right used one.”

  “I’ll wait over at the table. You do what you need to do, then grab the last of Georgia’s cinnamon rolls. They’re the perfect snack for a rainy day.”

  Five minutes later they were settled at a table on the far side of the room. “Any luck on the car?”

  “No. I’m not in a hurry, though. I’ve gone this long without one. In fact, I rather like walking, but it might be nice to be able to drive out of town for the day.”

  She couldn’t help shaking her head as she studied Preston.

  “Is my hair sticking up again?” He patted down his hair at the top, but they both knew it was shaved too close to actually stick up. She could hardly tell it was brown, he wore it so short. That was probably a habit left over from his stint in Afghanistan.

  “I was thinking that you hardly resemble the man I met six months ago.”

  “Which is a good thing.” He took a giant bite of the sweet roll.

  “Now, you didn’t look so bad even then.”

  “Maybe you should have seen the expression on your face when we first met.”

  “I’d never met a homeless man before. You could cut me some slack.”

  “I suppose I could, especially since you gave me this job.”

  “You earned this job, Preston. You started out on a conditional three-month trial, same as everyone else.”

  “But you didn’t allow everyone else to sleep in your barn.”

  “It was only for a few weeks. Special circumstances call for . . . you know.”

  “I do.” Preston took a sip of his coffee. “But you did let me stay until Norman offered me a room at his place, and I appreciate that.”

  “What was it like . . . living with an Amish person?” Amber sat forward, her hands clasped around her coffee cup. “I know Norman’s a good guy. He makes amazing toys, and his shop here at the Village is one of our most popular. But what was it like living with him?”

  “About like you’d imagine.” Preston’s slow smile lit up his face. “Sort of like living with my grandparents when they had a home back in the woods.”

  “And now you’re living in our d
awdy haus. I think it’s perfect!”

  He sat back, glancing around the room before he said, “I owe a lot of folks. Without my friends and this community, I might not have found my way back. I want to thank you for all you’ve done for me—all you and Tate have done.”

  “And I would like to thank you for how hard you work. How do you like the dawdy haus? I enjoyed it while I was living there.”

  “Fine. Staying there has been very convenient, especially since I don’t have transportation at this point.”

  Amber wrapped up the rest of her cinnamon roll. “You’re helping us out by doing it. Now we have someone on the property all night, which takes a big worry off my shoulders.”

  “It’s rare that I receive a call in the middle of the night.”

  “Not too many coons loose in the inn?”

  “Not this month.”

  It was remarkable how much Preston had changed. When she’d met him, when she’d been trying to solve Ethan Gray’s murder, Preston had looked like a completely different man. He’d sported a beard then and had always worn an old army coat. Preston had been homeless, living wherever he could catch some sleep without being harassed. The evening Tate took Amber to meet him, Preston had been staying near Krider Gardens, under a giant statue of a mushroom.

  Amber was only forty-five, and Preston had recently turned thirty. But in many ways, he felt like the son she’d never had. In many ways, she was closer to him than she was to Tate’s children. That wasn’t something she had expected, but then, life sometimes took unforeseen twists and turns.

  “You were a big help to me when we were trying to figure out who killed Ethan.”

  “Which was the job of the police. I’m still not clear on how you became entangled in that mess.” The words sounded like a reprimand, but the look on Preston’s face was one of pure concern.

  “Well, the police were working the case. I certainly didn’t plan to become involved, but since he was my employee, more clues fell into my lap than theirs.”

  “I hope you’re not planning on a future in law enforcement.”