Murder, Handcrafted (Amish Quilt Shop Mystery) (5 page)

I scratched her behind her right ear. “I know that you don’t like to be away from the action, but you can’t go in the backyard and Mom will have a fit if you’re inside the house.”

She dropped her head and started eating some of my mother’s hostas that were circling the tree. I groaned, hoping my mother wouldn’t notice. She had bigger problems with the dead body in her backyard, but the munched hostas might just send her over the edge.

Across the street from my parents’ stone house, bright white sheep peppered the hillside. South of the sheep farm was a dense wood, much like the one found behind my parents’ house. Mom and Dad didn’t have any neighbors to speak of. It was the perfect place to commit a murder and not be seen. I wondered what the Amish family living on the sheep farm thought about all the flashing lights and sheriff vehicles coming from the top of the hill.

Across the street there was an enormous oak tree in the middle of the hillside. Usually, the tree was surrounded by sheep enjoying the shade it offered. The sheep were as far away from the oak tree as they could get. It wasn’t so much the lack of sheep around the tree that caught my attention, but something half hidden by the tree’s trunk. The figure rose and stood. I stared, blinked, and stared.

It looked like—I could hardly even think it—it looked like Bigfoot.

“This has to be someone’s idea of a joke,” I said.

T
he sound of an oncoming buggy momentarily distracted me from the thing hiding behind the tree. Eban Hoch drove a small pony cart up the steep hill to my parents’ home. The closer he drew to the house, the slower he went. He seemed to be taking in the scene slowly. I imagined that the ambulance, police cars, and crime scene vans were not what he expected to find when he left for my parents’ house that morning.

I turned back to the tree. The figure was gone, but I suddenly remembered seeing it in the woods behind my parents’ house the day before. I hadn’t gotten a good look at who or what that had been.

I ran over to Eban as he parked his pony cart behind a police cruiser. “Did you see that?”

Eban climbed out of his cart and tethered his pony’s reins to my parent’s mailbox post. “What is going on? Where is Jonah?”

I pointed across the street. “Did you see that?”

He pulled down on the reins to make sure they were secure. “Did I see what?”

That was a tough question to answer. “I thought I saw someone behind that tree there.” Again, I pointed at the giant oak tree that must have been at least sixty feet tall. The trunk was easily ten feet around.

“
Nee.
I didn’t see anyone.” He pointed at the house. “Why are the police here?”

I shot one more look at the tree. “I might as well tell you. There’s been an accident and the electrician Griffin Bright, who was here yesterday, is dead.”

Eban’s face paled to a deathly white. “He’s dead?”

I nodded.

“What should I do? Should I go home?” he asked.

I shook my head. “The police might want to talk to you.”

“Me? Why would they want to talk to me?” He appeared a shade paler.

“You were here yesterday when Griffin was.”

He frowned. “Maybe I should go find Jonah and ask him about working today.” He took a step in that direction.

“He’s in the backyard with the police.”

Eban hesitated.

“Jonah would like to see you, I’m sure,” I said encouragingly.

Eban nodded and walked around the side of the house.

That left me alone in the front yard with Petunia and whatever I had seen across the street. Part of me wondered if I had imagined it. I mentally cursed Deputy Anderson for putting the Bigfoot idea in my head.

But to be on the safe side, there was no way I was
leaving Petunia outside with a Sasquatch running around. Jonah entrusted her care to me. What would I say to him if I had let an imaginary creature eat his goat for breakfast?

I stared intently at the oak tree, but whatever had been there was gone. Where could it have gone? The tree stood in the middle of a pasture. There was nowhere to hide, and I hadn’t seen it run away, but then again, I had been distracted by Eban’s arrival. Whatever it had been could have dashed into the woods to the south then.

I still had to tell Mitchell about what I saw. Whoever or whatever it was lurked around my parents’ house where a murder had taken place. It might be the killer. The one thing that I knew was that it couldn’t have been Nahum Shetler. The thing was too big, and Nahum had never been shy about confronting me before.

I headed back into the house with Petunia lagging behind me eating as many of my mother’s flowers she could as she went. At the door, I ran into Deputy Anderson, whose face was still flushed. Part of me felt sorry for the guy. True, he wasn’t the most competent deputy in the world, but he idolized Mitchell and wanted only to impress the sheriff. The sad part was he failed at that, repeatedly.

“Anderson,” I said, holding on to Petunia’s lead, “I just saw something behind that oak tree across the street.” I swallowed. “I think it was whatever Jonah saw when he discovered the body. You should go over there and check it out.”

Color drained from his cheeks as if I had asked him
to jump from the top of the Empire State Building. “Why didn’t you check it out?” he asked.

I scowled. “Me? I’m not a police officer. I shouldn’t be running off after potential murderers.”

“That never stopped you before,” he countered.

He had a point. “I couldn’t leave Petunia.”

Deputy Anderson stared across the street again at the tree where I had seen the
thing.
I still had no idea where it could have gone. It was hard to guess the size because the tree was so far away.

“Well?” I asked. “Are you going over there?”

He chewed on his lip. “The sheriff sent me out here to get more evidence bags.”

“You’re wasting time. It might be getting way.”

“It?” He swallowed.

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know that it’s an it, but it’s a something. You need to go check it out.”

The young deputy shook his head with the defiance of a toddler. “I can’t. The sheriff would wonder what became of me if I didn’t return immediately.”

“Sure, Mitchell would,” I argued. “But once you explain where you were, he’d want you to do this more.”

“I’d want Anderson to do what?” Mitchell asked.

I turned to find a tired-looking sheriff standing in my parents’ wide front doorway. There were circles under his eyes that I hadn’t noticed when he’d first arrived. Maybe they had appeared after seeing Griffin Bright’s battered body. I knew every murder that happened in the county sat squarely on his shoulders. He took each death personally and investigated it to the
very end. I wondered if the extra weight this time was because the murder involved my parents.

Mom and Dad liked Mitchell and were always kind to him, but Mitchell couldn’t forget how far my mother had gone to convince me to take my ex-fiancé, Ryan Dickinson, back. Ryan was a successful corporate law attorney and member of Dallas’s high society. Mom thought he was a perfect fit for me and the life she had wanted me to live. Once upon a time, I had too. Then, I met Mitchell. I knew I was misguided in that regard. My mother disagreed with me and went as far as to bring Ryan to Ohio with her and my father my first Christmas back in Holmes County. It had all worked out in the end, but Mitchell had not been amused.

I cleared my throat, and pushed thoughts about that year’s super-awkward Christmas to the back of my mind. I had more important things to think about at the moment, such as murder and a Bigfoot on the run. “I thought I saw a person over by the side of that tree. He was watching the house.”

“A hiker?” he asked.

“Noooo.” I drew out the word. “It sort of looked like a cross between a man and a gorilla.”

He gave me a look that said,
Et tu, Angie?

I waved my hands. “I’m not saying it’s Bigfoot, but there was something there. I told Anderson he should check it out.”

Mitchell studied me. “Is this a new Angie, one not willing to run headfirst into danger?”

I frowned.

There was a little of the sparkle back in his aquamarine eyes. “Because if it is, I really like her.”

I put my hands on my hips. “I resent that remark.”

Mitchell nodded to Deputy Anderson. “Go check it out.”

The deputy hesitated.

“Anderson?” Mitchell arched his dark brow.

“Right, sir.” He straightened his spine and marched across the street and down the hillside.

Mitchell shook his head and removed his cell phone from his belt. “Send two uniforms across the street to help Anderson search for a suspect matching the description that Jonah Graber gave us at the crime scene . . . Yes,
that
description.” He ended the call without saying good-bye.

For a moment, I wondered what it would be like to have the power to bark orders like Mitchell just had and have people snap into action. I had proof that they did because two uniformed officers jogged around the side of the house. Mitchell pointed across the street and they took off down the hill much faster than Deputy Anderson had. I could see all three deputies circling the tree as if playing an odd version of Ring Around the Rosy.

“What’s that look on your face for?” he asked.

“I was just thinking that I would like people to hop to when I give the word. Even Mattie questions me when I tell her to do something at the shop, and she’s Amish.”

His shoulders sagged. “No, you don’t. Not really.”

I squeezed his upper arm. “Maybe you’re right, and it’s probably good for the county that I don’t have that
kind of power. My being a Rolling Brook township trustee is dangerous enough.”

He smiled and walked to a squad car in front of the house.

I followed him with Petunia trailing behind me. “Where are you going?”

“I have to get the extra evidence bags while Anderson is Sasquatching.”

“Sheriff James Mitchell, are you making a joke while on duty?” I chuckled.

“Don’t tell anyone.” He opened the trunk of the squad car and removed a box of evidence bags from the empty tire well.

How many did he think he’d needed? The side of the box said it was a hundred count. “You don’t think Jonah did it, do you?” I asked. “You know that he couldn’t.”

Mitchell tucked the box of bags under his arm. “I should have known you weren’t really going to stay out of this.”

I rolled my eyes. “How can I? We’re in my parents’ front yard.”

Mitchell squinted. “You know Hillary has been complaining to me that Zander has been rolling his eyes a lot lately. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Nope,” I said a little too quickly before pressing on with my real concern. “Mitchell, I’m serious. Jonah would never hurt anyone. He’s the most likable man in the county.”

“Gee, thanks.” The corner of his mouth quirked up in a half smile. “I was vying for that title.”

“You know what I mean. You’re going to be hard-pressed to find anyone, Amish or English, who doesn’t like Jonah Graber, and equally hard-pressed to find anyone he doesn’t like . . .” I trailed off on the last portion of my pronouncement because there was someone Jonah didn’t like in the least bit. Now, that one man was dead.

“Angie, do you know something about Jonah’s relationship with the deceased that you’re not telling me?” His tone was serious. Mitchell didn’t miss anything, and much to my chagrin, my face had always reflected every thought passing through my head.

I pushed my long blond curls out of my face. The haphazard knot I had thrown them in that morning as I ran from the house was beginning to unravel. I was stalling. “Not really. I don’t know the entire story.”

“But there’s something that you do know.” He wasn’t going to let me off the hook that easily.

I didn’t answer.

“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t keep secrets from each other.” His unique blue-green eyes focused on me and did whatever they could to force me to confess. Sometimes—a lot of times—they worked their magic, but not this time. This was Jonah I was protecting. It was going to take a lot more than Mitchell’s beautiful eyes to crack me.

I went on the offensive. “You keep secrets from me all the time,” I protested.

“I’m the sheriff.” He slammed the trunk closed. “I’m obligated to keep secrets from you. It’s part of the job.”

I folded my arms. “Jonah is one of my best friends, so I’m obligated to keep his confidence.”

“Did he tell you not to talk to me about whatever this is?”

“No,” I said, because it was true, but then again, I doubted Jonah thought there would be a dead body in my parents’ backyard that morning.

“So it is related to Bright.”

Drat. I should have just stopped talking altogether. That would have been the safest move. “I can’t be forced to speak against my friend.”

“That only works for spouses”—he paused—“in court.”

“Jonah will have to tell you.” I left it at that. “You know he will. He’s an honest man. It’s his story to tell.”

He shook his head. “I need to return to the scene and check in with Anderson by phone. Poor guy looked shaken up by whatever he thinks may be out there.”

The officers across the street were still circling the tree. Now it sort of looked like a game of Duck, Duck, Goose. Something had been there—I knew it—but it was just too much to believe it was anything other than a person. Maybe it had been Nahum. Maybe whatever it had been wasn’t as large as I first thought.

“Do you really think it’s, you know, Bigfoot?” I asked.

“No,” was Mitchell’s direct answer. “There’s no such thing, and even if there was, I doubt it would kill a person with electricity. That is a very human weapon.”

He had a point.

He placed his large hand on my cheek for just a moment. “I’ll do what I can for Jonah. You know that.” With that, he dropped his hand and walked around the side of the house that led to the backyard.

After he was gone, I felt the loss of his brief but warm touch.

Petunia shook me back to reality by biting the head off one of my mother’s bright red tulips lining the walk to the front door. A bloodred petal dropped from her lips while she chewed. Not one to miss a snack, Petunia bent her head, scooping it up with her tongue.

I groaned. “Petunia, Mom is going to make goat stew out of you if Miriam doesn’t first.”

She gave me a mournful sigh and blinked at me.

She always made it so hard to stay mad at her. Dodger had the same talent. Aptly named after Dickens’s Artful Dodger, he was twice as destructive as the goat.

“Fine, we’ll blame it on a passing deer, but you’re going to have to back me up on the story.”

She offered me a goaty grin as if she understood. There were plenty of deer in Holmes County to take the fall.