Dead Wrong
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dead Wrong | An Amish Cozy Mystery | By | Vannetta Chapman | Agatha’s Amish B&B Series, Book 1
Dedicated to | Russell Dixon
Glossary
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Author’s Note
About the Author
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Also By Vannetta Chapman
Dead Wrong
An Amish Cozy Mystery
By
Vannetta Chapman
Agatha’s Amish B&B Series, Book 1
DEAD WRONG
Copyright © 2019 by Vannetta Chapman. This title is available as both an e-book and print book. Visit www.vannettachapman.com.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means— electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Requests for information should be addressed to:
VannettaChapman (at) gmail (dot) com
Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by the author, nor does the author vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.
Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Cover design: Seedlingsonline
Interior design: Henscratches.com
First printing, 2019
ASIN: B07X7HNDDG
Dedicated to
Russell Dixon
“Give, and it will be given to you.
A good measure,
pressed down, shaken together and running over,
will be poured into your lap.
For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”
Luke 6:38 (NIV)
“There is nothing on this earth more to be prized
than true friendship.”
Thomas Aquinas
Glossary
Abuela—grandmother
Boppli-baby
Bruder—brother
Dat—dad
Danki—thank you
Englischer—non-Amish person
Fraa—wife
Freinden—friends
Gotte—God
Grandkinner—grandchildren
Grossdaddi—grandfather
Gude mariye—good morning
Gut—good
Kapp—prayer covering
Kind—child
Mamm—mom
Narrisch—crazy
Nein—no
Onkel—uncle
Ordnung—unwritten rules of the community (literally “orders”)
Schweschder—sister
Ya—yes
Youngie—young adult or teenager
Prologue
AUGUST, 20__
Hunt, Texas
Agatha Lapp changed buses three times travelling from Shipshewana, Indiana to central Texas. Once she arrived in San Antonio, she hired a taxi, and finally was picked up by the bishop in the small community of Hunt.
“Long trip.” Jonas Schrock was younger than most bishops she’d known, though his beard was peppered with gray.
She guessed they were close to the same age—she’d turned fifty-five six weeks earlier.
It felt relaxing to be in a buggy again. Jonas’s horse seemed to appreciate the cloudless summer day, and the sound of its hooves against the pavement soothed her frazzled nerves.
“I’m definitely not in Indiana anymore.” She’d come down to Texas the previous spring. Of course, she had. Her youngest bruder had died, tragically, along with his wife of just two years. They hadn’t had children yet. She supposed there was mercy in that, although she would have happily taken on the responsibility of raising a niece or nephew, same as she was now taking on the business Samuel had left behind.
“Texas takes a bit of getting used to.” Jonas glanced out over the buggy horse, waved to the right and left. “But it’s gut land, and with the river...”
“What’s the name of it...something with a G?”
“Guadalupe. The river’s so close to town, it runs directly behind many of our properties, including Samuel’s. It was a gut place for us to settle.”
Agatha tried to see the beauty Jonas was describing, but the temperature had to be over a hundred and there was no breeze to speak of.
“It’s hot,” she finally admitted.
“Ya. That it is. Must have been pleasant when you left Indiana.”
“Seventy-five.” She didn’t sigh. Agatha couldn’t abide people who sighed dramatically. The weather was what it was. What Gotte had created it to be. She would learn to live with the Texas heat.
“I wanted to thank you, again, for seeing after their place until I could move. I had...some things to take care of.” It was unusual for an Amish woman, even a widowed one, to move away on her own. She didn’t intend to go into that now, though. If Jonas was worried, he’d speak with her bishop back in Shipshe, and Atlee had understood her decision and given his blessing.
“It was no bother, and I’m sure you’d do the same. My son took your buggy horse over to your place earlier today.”
“A mare?”
“Ya. Her name is Doc.”
“My bruder named a mare Doc?”
Jonas’s laugh was rich and deep. “Samuel loved Dr. Pepper.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a type of soft drink—originated here in Texas. Samuel drank it fairly often. When he and Deborah moved here, he made her a deal. She could name the children, and he’d name the horses and dogs.”
A lump formed in her throat. She had to swallow around it to say, “He never told me that.”
“He named the horse Dr. Pepper, which Deborah argued was much too long.”
“And they shortened it to Doc.”
“We made sure the barn is cleaned out and you have supplies.”
“Danki.”
“The property though...it’s going to need some cleaning up. I’d be happy to schedule a work day.”
Agatha waved away that idea. She didn’t mind hard work. Wasn’t that why she’d come down here? Knitting and quilting were good and fine, but she needed a purpose. She needed something that would wear her out and make her sleep well at night. She needed...well, she supposed she neede
d to be needed, even if it was only to strangers looking for a place to stay. Running Samuel’s bed and breakfast would provide all those things.
“The community is doing well?”
“Ya. Seems like we add a new family every month, and the Englischers—they realize we’re bringing in more tourist dollars so they’re accommodating.”
Agatha pulled a handkerchief from her purse and swiped at the sweat running down her face. “How long does this heat last?”
“Three, maybe four months.” He laughed when he said it. “Some years a little longer. We were fortunate in that we had a fairly cool May, but fall comes late here and doesn’t stick around long.”
“Surely we don’t get snow this far south.”
“Nein. Not usually, but the temperatures can drop to freezing in the winter and it can be damp.”
Anything below triple digits sounded heavenly to her.
They’d passed through the center of town and popped out the other side. The surrounding hills rose gently on all sides, and the trees were magnificent. She could see why people would want to vacation here.
“Your place is just ahead on the left.”
She craned her neck. Though she’d seen it before, had even stayed there during the funeral, she wondered if she’d perhaps imagined how pretty it was. But now, here was the lane and the long, low ranch house with a porch on three sides. It stretched invitingly across the front of the house which faced west, wrapped around to the north so that it faced her neighbor there, and then continued across the back. Yes, it was as pretty as she remembered, though as Jonas had warned it was in need of some tender, loving care.
The grass was knee high, and the place looked deserted—which it was. The sign which read Amish B&B was hanging by one chain. She’d need to fix that straight away.
Jonas pulled the buggy to a stop near the steps that led the way to the front porch. As he removed her luggage—two small bags because all she’d brought was her clothing—she stepped closer to the house and ran a hand along the peeling paint of the porch railing.
“Place needs work.” Jonas used the toe of his shoe to right a pot holding a dead plant. “Samuel and Deborah were gut people, hard workers, too, but they seemed somewhat at a loss regarding how to run a business.”
Agatha walked to the corner of the house, then stepped away from it a bit so she could see the yard gently sloping down to the river. It was peaceful and quite gorgeous—like something out of a dream. “Samuel was the youngest in our family. We spoiled him a bit. He was more likely to have his line in the water than he was to finish plowing a field.”
“He loved to fish,” Jonas agreed.
“As for Deborah...well, she was ten years younger and inexperienced in the workings of the world. Or she seemed that way to me.”
Jonas nodded, adding, “Their life was complete.”
“Indeed.”
It was the Amish way to accept death and even to celebrate it in light of eternity. And yet, it was hard when the person who died was a member of your own family. She shook away her morose thoughts. The best way to honor Samuel’s life, and Deborah’s, was by making their business successful.
“Would you like me to go inside with you? The ladies put clean linens on the bed and brought over a little food. There’s fresh milk and eggs, some bread, and basic staples.”
“I appreciate the offer very much, but I suspect that you have things to do at home. I know the life of a bishop is a busy one.”
He didn’t argue. Instead, he reached out a hand and placed it ever-so-gently on the top of her kapp. “Heavenly Father, bless this child of Yours as she goes about her work—give her strength of body, mind, and spirit. Guide and direct her, and fill her with the peace that You so freely share.”
For reasons Agatha didn’t want to examine, the blessing brought tears to her eyes. As the bishop drove away, her mind filled with the dozens of things she needed to do—check on the mare, put away her clothes, fix herself something to eat, mow the grass. But she didn’t do any of those things. Instead, she walked around the porch, still covered in leaves from last fall. A dilapidated swing looked as if it would collapse if she sat on it. Two rockers near the front window didn’t look much better.
She continued around the side of the house and sat down on the steps, looking east toward the river. Her neighbor drove his pickup truck down the lane that separated their property and into his carport. Situated on the south side of the house, the covered parking area consisted of enough space for two vehicles and a back wall that looked as if it held a closet of sorts. The entire structure was attached to the house by a short, covered walk. As he exited his pickup, Agatha saw that he was Hispanic and looked to be sixty. He glanced her way but didn’t seem surprised to see her there.
Or maybe he didn’t see her.
He didn’t raise a hand or call out. Instead, he pulled a single bag of groceries from the back seat and trudged into his house. Trudge was the only word for it. He looked as if he was carrying a dreadful weight on his shoulders.
A yellow cat poked its head out from under the porch and hissed at her.
“If you want scraps from me, you’re going to have to behave better than that.”
Instead of answering, the cat walked to a patch of sunlight, sat, and commenced cleaning itself.
Agatha sometimes had trouble believing she was fifty-five years old. She’d lost her husband ten years ago, and her children had long since married and moved away. It seemed as if the last thirty years of her life had passed in a blink. Now she was starting over in a new community doing something she’d never done before. She understood hard work, and she was fully aware that making a success from Samuel’s dream wasn’t going to be easy. In truth, she knew nothing about running a Bed-and-Breakfast.
But she knew about cleaning and feeding people and needing a place to slow down and reconnect with God. She knew all about those things.
A fish slapped the water.
Sunlight pierced the pecan trees.
A gentle breeze cooled the sweat on her brow.
“This could be a gut place.”
The cat didn’t argue.
Chapter One
Ten months later
Agatha paused a moment on the steps of her back porch. She carried fresh bed linens and towels for Cabin 3 which she shifted to her left arm, touched her kapp to be sure it was in place, and tugged on her apron. She should be in a hurry, as the sun was slanting toward the horizon and tonight her B&B was again filled to capacity.
But she wasn’t in a hurry.
A chicken casserole warmed in the oven, and fresh baked bread sat cooling on the kitchen counter.
The June day would be a long one, so she’d pushed dinner to 6:30.
And what was the point of living in the beautiful Texas Hill Country if she didn’t pause a moment to enjoy it?
Her bruder and schweschder-in-law had both been terrible business owners, but they had an eye for the perfect piece of property and that was exactly what they’d bought. The south fork of the Guadalupe River curved along the property’s eastern edge, sunlight glinting off its crystal-clear water. Rugged limestone hills surrounded them in all directions.
The home itself was two stories with a master suite downstairs that Agatha used for her own living space and office. Upstairs were four additional large rooms, each with its own private bath. She’d added three cabins along the path that ran down to the river.
The weather was warm but pleasant, and her guests seemed to be enjoying their time at her Plain & Simple Bed & Breakfast.
Agatha’s friend Rebecca had rolled her eyes at that when she’d read it at the bottom of her brochure. “Seriously? That’s the biggest cliché about the Amish—that we are plain...”
“And we’re simple.”
“Ya. So says every romance book and tourist brochure.”
“But I’m running a bed-and-breakfast, which needs to appeal to tourists—Englisch and Amish. So it helps to have a name th
at, you know, indicates what we are.”
“The horse and buggy on the sign doesn’t hurt.”
“Danki.”
Though she’d taken over the Bed-and-Breakfast less than a year ago, her customer base was rapidly growing. This second week in June was a good one. She was booked solid until August.
Mason and Paxton Cox stood fly fishing in the middle of the river.
The Willis family were enjoying themselves upriver from the fishermen, spread out on the gently sloping bank. Brooklyn was fiddling with her camera—she was always fiddling with the camera. Agatha had noticed that Englischers took a lot of pictures of their children. Perhaps it was a way to capture the baby’s moments in her heart. Baby Hudson and Stuart were asleep on a blanket with an umbrella propped up to protect them from the sun. As she watched, Brooklyn raised the camera and began snapping away.
Jasmine and Xavier Cooper were sitting in rocking chairs near the fire pit, staring at their phones.
That rounded out her Englisch guests, except for Mr. Dixon. She couldn’t remember if he’d shared his plans for the day. The man was quiet, bordering on taciturn. No matter—to each his own was Agatha’s motto.
But where were her Amish guests? She stepped off the porch and started down the path, which was when she spied the Beilers and Glicks, checking out the tennis courts—soon to be shuffleboard courts. And there were the Fishers, sitting in the gazebo and laughing about something. Ella and James had about the sunniest dispositions Agatha had ever encountered. Those two might be in their eighties, but they certainly embraced life.
Agatha hurried down the path carrying the towering pile of fresh linens. Fonzi lay in the sun, curled like the letter U. She’d inherited the yellow cat with the property.
Cabin 1, where the Fishers were staying, was in good shape. Ella Fisher had even made the bed and hung up the towels, indicating that she didn’t expect clean linens. Agatha wrote Thank You and a smiley face on the white board near the door.
Cabin 2 was a different story. The Cox brothers were staying there, no doubt because they could spread out. There were two full sized beds, a small kitchen with a table for four, and a nice-sized sitting area. It was one of Agatha’s favorite cabins because she could imagine it being a little house for someone. Only, at the moment, it was housing more fishing gear than the local sports store.
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