Material Witness (21 page)

“There was that one time,” Deborah murmured.

“Okay once. But after we were sure he could be trusted, we left you alone.”

Callie flopped onto the couch. “So you’re saying I should thank you for watching Shane kiss me.”

“He kissed you? We couldn’t see that. You were too hidden in the darkness,” Melinda said.

“Twice just now.” Callie leaned her head against the couch and tried to rest.

Esther’s heart twisted some, remembering the first kiss she’d shared with Tobias — they’d been standing in her old garden. So many of the important moments in her life had happened in her garden. “Twice is
gut
. If he hadn’t liked it he’d probably have stopped at once.”

She stood when Simon produced a nice burp.

“Is that how you know?” Martha waited in the doorway to the sitting room, holding Joshua’s hand.

Callie’s eyes popped open, and she met Deborah’s amused gaze.

“How you know what,
dochder
?” Deborah asked.

“If you’re
in lieb
. If you’ve found the man you’re to marry.”

Callie started coughing as if she’d choked on the very idea. It was the funniest sight Esther had seen in days. Melinda reached over and patted her on the back.

Deborah stood and gathered up Joshua in her arms. “It’s early to be talking about Callie and Shane marrying. They aren’t even courting yet. Now you’ve gone and embarrassed her.”

“Sorry, Miss Callie. I didn’t mean to be rude.” Martha stuck her bottom lip out, as if she were perturbed by the entire idea.

She walked farther into the room, and Esther saw — for a moment — Deborah as she looked over twenty years ago. With her long, dark brown hair brushed out and falling to her waist and her eyes serious and quizzical, Martha was the mirror image of her mother.

“I don’t understand boys, and I heard you laughing and talking. You make it sound like something fun, but it seems to me more like something to be endured.”

Callie drew in a deep breath and reached for Martha, slipping an arm around her waist. “I know the feeling, and sometimes I don’t understand men very well either.”

“I don’t understand boys at all.”

“Maybe they feel the same way about us, Martha,” Deborah suggested, as she turned to carry Joshua into the other room.

“Could be
Mamm
is right, but it doesn’t seem to bother boys nearly as much.” Martha said goodnight, then followed her mother into the children’s rooms.

After Esther put Simon in his cradle, she picked up her sewing.

“How can you girls focus on quilting when all of …” Callie’s hands waved toward the darkened windows, “
this
is going on.”

“Busy hands help push back the worries,” Deborah said, as she returned to the room and picked up their quilting.

“Huh?”

“Something my
mamm
used to say when I was fussing over boys.”

That started them all to laughing again, and Esther relaxed. Though she would rather have had Tobias inside with them, it was enough to know that he was outside, protecting their home.

“Melinda, I’m going to need to sit next to you if I’m going to restitch this border.” Esther held the quilt out in front of her. She’d never found a project to be quite this challenging before.

“
Ya
, I was thinking the same thing. Callie, scoot down a little so Esther can sit closer.”

“I can’t move. I may actually sleep here.”

Melinda nudged her, and she slid over with a groan, her eyes closed.

“What are you two talking about?” Deborah asked, studying her own quilt. “Why would you need to sit beside each other?”

Esther dropped her quilt into her lap, glanced at Melinda.

Melinda peered over her glasses at Deborah. “We forgot to tell you, didn’t we?”

“Tell me what?”

“Tell her what?” Suddenly Callie looked wide awake and was sitting up straighter.

“The quilts.” Esther glanced down at hers. The trip she’d made to Melinda’s seemed fuzzy now, seemed many days ago rather than merely hours. “We discovered the borders match up to form words.”

“In German.”

Deborah picked her quilt back up, ran her finger down the edge. “I thought it was some sort of design work. I hadn’t figured it out yet so I was waiting.”

“Same here. When I stopped by Melinda’s …” Esther tried to remember exactly when it was that they’d laid the quilts out on the floor.

“It was this morning.” Melinda shook her head. “Seems like last week, but it was less than twelve hours ago.”

“Wait a minute. These are the quilts you’re restoring, right?” Callie moved and knelt on the floor in front of them. “The quilts from Elizabeth Hochstetler’s estate?”

“Same quilts.” Esther now laid her quilt down in her lap, glanced at Melinda and Deborah for a clue. Callie was becoming animated, her face flushed.

“And we received these quilts, what, about two weeks ago?”

“Two and a half, if I remember right. It was midweek.” Melinda pushed up on her glasses.

Callie stood and began pacing back and forth. “Does anyone remember if Mrs. Hochstetler’s death was announced in the
Gazette
?”

“Yes, of course it was.” Deborah stood as well. “Callie, are you thinking Mrs. Hochstetler’s death, the man’s demand for money, and these quilts are somehow related?”

“They could be. He sees the announcement in the paper. Possibly the article mentions the estate, mentions our names and that we’ve been called to her house, and then our perpetrator shows up.”

“But there’s no money to speak of …” Esther rejected the notion. It didn’t seem possible. How could quilts cause a man to murder someone?

“There’s the account,” Melinda whispered. “I couldn’t understand why Mrs. Hochstetler set up the bank account or what its purpose was. Only Mrs. Barnwell knows that answer.”

“Callie, where are you going?” Esther’s voice rose in concern.

“To the barn, to get Shane.”

She’d reached the door before Esther called her back, disbelief filling every word. “Wait, Callie. Come back and take a closer look at these. You’re bringing Shane over here, because you think three old quilts could catch a killer?”

“I’m not sure.” She reached down, touched the stitching, traced the words Esther knew she couldn’t read because they were in German.

They were all standing now. All staring at the old German script in their hands.

Could the quilts actually hold a clue to this mess?

Could they explain what the killer was after?

Esther honestly didn’t know.

“Maybe they have something to do with this,” Callie said, her fingers lingering on the aged fabric. “Maybe Shane will know the next step. It’s better than sitting here waiting for a murderer to show up.”

M
ELINDA HAD AN UNREASONABLE URGE
to run into the boys’ room and check on Matthew and Aaron. Which was ridiculous. She could hear them in there with Deborah’s boys. Occasionally a giggle from Joseph and Jacob slipped through the walls. The twins had always been able to see the bright side of things. She was glad they were all together tonight.

There seemed to be safety in numbers.

She heard her mother’s voice in her mind, reminding her to trust in God. It seemed a hundred times she’d gently quoted the verse, “Lean not unto thine own understanding, Melinda.”

No danger there tonight. She didn’t understand any of this …

The front door opened, and she jumped, though she knew it was Shane and Callie. Knew it before the door even opened. She’d heard their voices coming up the walk.

Why were her nerves so frayed? Because some lunatic was after her son?

Lean not unto thine own understanding
.

“Callie said you think the killer’s motive might have to do with the quilts and Mrs. Hochstetler’s estate.”

“It’s another long shot,” Deborah admitted. “These are unusual quilts, and we don’t understand what they mean.”

Shane stood over two of the quilts that had been laid out on the floor. “I’ve called Trent. He’s looking up the exact wording of any articles relating to Hochstetler’s passing. He’ll send the file to my phone. In the meantime, can you tell me about the borders on the quilts?”

“They’re in German,” Esther explained. “Most quilts have a simple pattern around the entire border. I was trying to reinforce the stitching on mine, but I couldn’t understand the pattern.”

“Because there wasn’t a pattern, not an obvious one anyway.” Melinda knelt down on the floor and pointed to the area where the two quilts touched each other. It still surprised her when she looked at them. “It wasn’t until we were comparing the two side-by-side that we understood part of each border combines to create a German script. The border on Esther’s quilt is the bottom half —”

“And the border on Melinda’s is the top half.”

“What about Deborah’s quilt?”

Deborah stood and placed hers on the opposite side. “We hadn’t thought to look until just now.”

Melinda pulled in a deep breath. It was obvious to all five of them, the borders matched.

“I may be the one person in this room who doesn’t know German,” Shane said.

“No. There are two of us.” Callie knelt beside Melinda.

“Who wants to do the translation?”

Esther ran her hand along the border, her fingers touching each word as she read. “An industrious
fraa
is the best savings account.” When she reached the corner, she looked up.

“Amish proverb?” Callie asked.

“
Ya
. I remember that one from my
grossmammi
.” Deborah shrugged. “Not an unusual saying, but it is unusual to stitch it on a quilt.”

“What does the other say?”

Melinda ran her fingers down the edge in the same way Esther had, as if touching it would bestow some blessing. “A handful of patience is worth more than a bushel of brains.”

Shane rubbed at the muscle on his neck. “I’ll be honest, ladies. I don’t see any connection. So Mrs. Hochstetler stitched Amish proverbs on the borders of her quilts. How would that be related to our murderer? Why would it be related? She must have done this sewing years ago —”

“We’ve been able to date the oldest back to the mid-1900s.” Callie smoothed the fabric. “I understand your skepticism, Shane. It does seem like a jump from these old pieces of cloth to a madman’s quest for some unknown treasure.”

Shane shrugged, sat in the rocking chair Melinda had vacated.

“On the other hand, both of these quotes refer to money —”

Shane groaned. Sitting forward, he rubbed his temples with his eyes closed, then opened them wide and focused again on the quilts. “Vaguely.”

“We did receive them earlier this month.” Melinda wondered why that fact made her heart beat faster.

“Less than three weeks ago, Shane.” Callie crossed her arms stubbornly. “And then Creeper appears. Coincidence?”

“I heard from my mother two weeks ago. That doesn’t mean she’s involved in this.”

“But Callie is involved.” Melinda was warming to the idea. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe Callie’s enthusiasm was contagious. “This man singled out Callie for a reason. What else has changed in her life during the last month, other than coming into possession of the quilts?”

“But they’re quilts.” Shane didn’t exactly scoff at the word, but it was obvious he was out of his element.

The four women exchanged knowing looks.

“You tell him, Callie.” Melinda sat back on her heels.

“Tell me what?”

“Do you have any idea what these are worth, Shane?”

“No. I’ve never given it much thought.”

“I won’t divulge the financial details of people in this room —”

“Go ahead and tell him.” Esther stood and walked to the stove in the corner. Opening the small iron door, she put in another piece of wood. “We’re all
freinden
here.”

“The quilts I auctioned when I first arrived in town —”

“The ones made by Deborah and Esther and Melinda?”

“Yes. The ones we auctioned on eBay. They went for as much as four thousand dollars each.”

Shane let out a whistle. “For a blanket?”

“
Ya
, we were surprised too.” Melinda nodded at the memory. “The money was a big help, especially with Aaron’s medical costs.”

“
Englischers
don’t view them as blankets or, in many instances, even quilts. They view them as art.” Callie motioned toward Deborah. “When we went to Chicago for the textile display, the sale price went even higher.”

“So you think these would be worth that much?”

“No.” Esther sat back on the couch. “These would bring a far greater price. The stitching is more detailed than what even we can do.”

“Plus they’re antiques,” Callie explained. “It increases the value. If the seams are reinforced … The quilts have been stored in a trunk for many years, and they’ve suffered from the humidity. Quilts fare better when they’re hung.”

“How much more could these be worth?” Shane asked.

“I’d estimate they’re each worth thirty thousand dollars, possibly. If we’re lucky.”

Melinda looked at Callie in surprise. She hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on what the quilts might be worth, what it might mean as far as Aaron’s future.

“So we could be looking at ninety thousand dollars.” Shane covered his face with his hands as he peered out at the quilts
through his fingers. “That’s not it. This guy isn’t looking for quilts. He’s looking for money. He expected you to have it in a bank account or a box somewhere. That’s pretty obvious from the way he trashed your apartment and the way he’s talked to you.”

Deborah stood and began pacing back and forth.

No one spoke for several minutes. Melinda found herself listening for the sound of the boys, something she did every night. She found herself listening for Aaron’s breathing. Everything remained quiet throughout the house.

Finally Deborah returned to the middle of the room. Hands on hips, she stared down at the quilts. “Have any of you seen this design before?”

“I haven’t,” Shane muttered.

Callie slapped him on the arm, but he smiled, snatched her hand, and laced his fingers with hers.

“It reminds me of something I saw on the National Quilting webpage,” Callie said. “They’re called storybook quilts. Sometimes they’re sent to schools that set up a display of quilts. Each quilt tells a story. The display includes books with each quilt, and the idea is to encourage students to read more and appreciate the history surrounding quilting.”