Murder, Simply Stitched: An Amish Quilt Shop Mystery (4 page)

I
fell to my knees beside her. Maybe I was wrong and she was still alive. “Wanda! Wanda!”

No response. I felt for a pulse on her wrist and on her neck. There was none. Flecks of the fry pie’s blueberry filling decorated her cheek. A chill ran up my spine. Did the fry pie kill her? Rachel’s fry pie? Wanda and Rachel had just had a very public argument in the merchants’ tent and now Wanda was dead holding the fry pie Rachel gave her? This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.

I ripped my cell phone out of my pocket and called 911, and then I picked up Oliver and ran full tilt back to the merchants’ tent while describing my discovery to the dispatcher.

No. I mustn’t panic. Wanda could have been ill. Women suffered from heart attacks and strokes too. Oh, no, I should’ve tried CPR. But I didn’t know the count for the breaths and heart pumps. I needed help.

Jonah grabbed my arm as I flew by. His grasp jerked me backward.

“Angie, what’s wrong? You are as white as cow’s milk. I haven’t seen you run that fast since I chased you with a garter snake when we were kids.”

I gulped air.

“Ma’am, please stay at the scene. The sheriff is already on the property and will be there in two minutes,” the dispatcher said in my ear.

Jonah stared at the phone. “Is that the police on your phone? What’s going on?” His normal teasing tone was gone.

“I—body—dead—Wanda.”

“What?” His voice was sharp.

We were about ten yards from the merchants’ tent, and I noticed people were beginning to stare. I turned my back to them. “Wanda’s dead. I found her behind the canning shed.”

“Show me.”

I nodded. Yes, that was a good idea. Jonah would stay with me until the police arrived. I had no intention of guarding Wanda’s dead body alone. I led Jonah back to the canning shed. The phone was still in my hand.

“Ma’am!” the terse voice said.

As Jonah and I hurried back to the canning shed, I put the phone to my ear. Oliver was becoming heavy tucked under my right arm, but there was no way I would put him on the ground this close to the body. “Yes,” I said into the phone. “I’m still here.”

Jonah ran ahead of me.

“Miss Braddock,” the dispatcher said. “The sheriff is on the line and asked I patch him through to you. Please hold on.”

Before I could argue or even comprehend, I was about to talk to James Mitchell, I heard his voice. “Angie, are you all right?” the sheriff of Holmes County asked.

As soon as I heard his concerned voice, my stomach fluttered. “Yes, I’m fine.”

Jonah kneeled beside Wanda’s body, looking for signs of life just like I had. I had to turn away.

“Are you still there?” The sheriff’s voice held an edge to it.

“I’m still here.”

“Anderson and I just arrived on the auction grounds. Where are you?”

“Behind the canning shed. It’s close to the Nissleys’ house, beyond the merchants’ tent—”

I was going to go on and be even more descriptive with my exact location, but he cut me off. “I know where it is. We will be there in one minute. Don’t touch anything.”

Before I could tell him it was too late for that, he hung up.

“Jo-Jo, get up. The sheriff and his deputy are on the way.”

Jonah scrambled to his feet, and we heard the whine of sirens as an ambulance approached the auction yard.

The sheriff and Deputy Anderson appeared on the far side of the shed. Mitchell looked directly at me with his beautiful aquamarine eyes. The gaze lasted for mere seconds, but I knew it would take me hours to fully recover.

His eyes dropped to poor Wanda on the ground.

“Are you thinking heart attack, boss?” Deputy Anderson asked.

Mitchell squatted beside Wanda and checked her pulse. Finding none, he sighed. “It’s the most likely cause, but it could also be a stroke. The coroner will know for sure.”

“Unless you think she was murdered,” the deputy said. “She did report just last week again that she was getting threatening calls to her home and office.”

Mitchell jumped to his feet and glared at the young deputy.

“What threatening calls?” I asked.

Mitchell’s glare at Anderson grew darker. The deputy shuffled backward.

The sheriff ignored my question and asked, “Did either of you touch anything?” He let Oliver sniff his hand. The gesture made me relax.

“Well, yeah,” I said. “We both checked to see if she was alive and if we could help her just like you did.”

The sheriff opened his mouth as if to ask another question when three paramedics ran around the building. They immediately slowed when they saw Wanda. There was nothing they could do here. The paramedics weren’t alone. Gideon Nissley was also with them. “What’s going on?” He looked down at Wanda, and placed a hand on his chest, saying something in Pennsylvania Dutch.

“Gideon, please come over here and stand with Angie and Jonah.”

Gideon stumbled in our direction. “Is she dead?”

The sheriff nodded.

“Did she have an accident?”

“That we don’t know yet.”

“What else could it be?” the auction owner asked.

The sheriff did not answer.

I swallowed.

“Angie, you found the body first, correct?” His unique blue-green eyes watched me.

With a dry mouth, I managed, “Yes.”

“Let’s talk over here.”

I followed the sheriff a few feet away into the open land between the Nissleys’ house and the canning shed. From that vantage point, I could see that the auction went on. Amish and English still moved from tent to tent, and faintly, I heard shouts coming from the auction barn as men shouted bids to Linus.

“Are you all right?” he repeated the question he had asked me over the phone.

I set Oliver on the ground keeping a tight grip on his leash and pushed my curls out of my eyes, wishing I had a hair tie to hold them at bay. “Yes. I’m fine.”

He searched my face. “Tell me everything that happened. Start with how you found her. Why were you back here?”

I bristled, taking offense at the fact he seemed to suggest I was somewhere I should not have been. “Oliver and I went for a walk. He was skittish after his encounter with Petunia the goat, so I thought it would be best to keep him away from the crowds, so he could settle down.”

He sighed. “Petunia the goat? You had better start from the beginning.”

After I had told him everything that had happened up until he arrived, I asked, “She was getting threatening calls?”

He pursed his lips. “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”

“Like I would forget something like that,” I muttered.

“I know.” He folded his arms. “The last couple of months, Wanda reported to the department she was receiving threatening phone calls.”

This put a whole new spin on Wanda’s death. Maybe it wasn’t a heart attack after all. “What does the caller say to her?”

“That was part of the issue. He or she said nothing but stayed on the line with her until she finally hung up. She dropped by the department twice to file an official complaint.”

“What did you do about it?”

The sheriff bristled and stepped back. “We listened to her complaints, but we don’t have the resources to track what appears to be prank calls from middle schoolers for everyone in the county.”

I twisted my mouth. “She’s dead now. Maybe it wasn’t a middle schooler making the call.”

His face reddened. “Yes. And we should have done more. This wasn’t the first time that Wanda complained to the department about something. It seemed like every other week she wanted to file a report against people breaking township ordinances or to claim someone was out to get her. We investigated these to the best of our ability, but after a while we stopped taking her complaints as seriously as we should have.”

“She cried wolf too many times?” I asked.

His aquamarine eyes turned sad. “That’s what we thought, but now I think that was a mistake.” Worry creased the sheriff’s forehead. “You can rest assured that I will be taking her death
very
seriously.”

Did that mean he would treat the case as a murder investigation? Thinking of the fry pie again, I wondered what that would mean for Rachel.

Mitchell led me a few yards farther away from the canning shed, out of earshot of the crime scene techs collecting evidence. He dropped my arm. “Do you have any idea of where that fry pie came from?”

“Umm . . . well . . .”

He eyes snapped on my face again. “Angie . . .”

I grimaced.

“How did she get it?

I kicked a tuft of grass with the toe of my boot. “Rachel gave it to her.”

“Why do I feel like you’re not telling me something else important?”

Because I wasn’t. I wasn’t going to tell him about Wanda and Rachel’s argument. He would have to learn about that on his own.

T
he coroner arrived not long after that, and Mitchell became preoccupied with the scene. I sidled up to Deputy Anderson, Mitchell’s young and perpetually flummoxed deputy. “Would it be all right if I take Oliver back to the merchants’ tent?”

Deputy Anderson turned to the sheriff, but Mitchell was in deep conversation with the coroner.

“He won’t go unless I go with him.” I lowered my voice as if I were trying not to alarm the dog. “He’s very skittish.”

The deputy’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he thought. “I guess that would be all right if you come straight back.”

“Okay,” I said, already leaving.

Jonah raised his eyebrows as I strode by with Oliver tucked under my arm.

I was halfway to the merchants’ tent when I heard the sheriff’s voice behind me. “Are you on your way to Rachel Miller?”

My heart leaped into my throat.

The sheriff came up alongside me.

“N-no. I’m just taking Oliver back to my setup in the merchants’ tent. All the commotion makes him nervous.”

His mouth twitched as if he were trying to fight a smile. “I’ll walk with you.”

I gritted my teeth. “Shouldn’t you be here? What if the coroner needs you?”

“I’ll just be in his way.”

I didn’t say anything more. Inside the tent, Mattie’s eyes widened when she saw the sheriff with me. I set Oliver on the ground, and he belly crawled under my table as the sheriff made a beeline for Rachel. I was on his heels.

Rachel smiled. “Good afternoon, Sheriff. Would you care for a fry pie?” She held one up to him.

I winced. That was the wrong question to ask, and Rachel did it so innocently. Clearly, she was unaware of anything going on outside.

“Rachel, there’s—”

Mitchell stepped in front of me and blocked my view of her. Although he wasn’t as tall as Linus the auctioneer, he was over six feet and could block my line of sight. “Did you give one of these to Wanda Hunt?”

“Ya,”
Rachel said. Confusion laced her voice. “Did she complain to you about it?”

I sidestepped the sheriff. “Rachel, something has happened.”

“Miss Braddock, I will ask you to go back to your table now,” Mitchell’s voice was ice-cold.

“No.”

His jaw twitched. “Fine, but don’t talk.”

I gave him my best withering glare.

Mitchell turned his attention back to Rachel. “Rachel, Wanda Hunt is dead. Her body was found behind the canning shed here at the auction.”

The sheriff didn’t tell Rachel that I was the person who found her.

Rachel gasped. “What? How? Was she sick?”

He picked up one of the fry pies in his hand as if testing the weight of it. “We don’t know yet, but a blueberry fry pie was found with her. Did you give it to her?”

“
Y-ya
, I gave it to her. I hoped she would accept it as a gift.”

“A gift for what?” Mitchell asked.

“Rachel, Wanda probably had a heart attack. I’m sure that’s what the coroner will say.” My eyes flicked to the sheriff. “But I don’t think you should say much more.”

Mitchell dropped the pie back on the table.

My Amish friend’s smooth brow wrinkled. “Why not, Angie?” She took a breath. “Wanda and I had had a small disagreement. I hope it didn’t make her so upset that she had a heart attack because of it. She was upset when she left, but I wouldn’t think enough to cause such a trauma.”

I inwardly groaned. There was no way I would be able to stop this runaway train.

“Over what?” Mitchell asked.

Rachel’s eye flitted to me. Did she finally realize she shouldn’t be volunteering all this information to Mitchell? Now retired, my father had done hundreds of high-powered negotiations over the course of his career as an executive. One of his trade secrets he told me was “Don’t offer more information than is asked.” I wished Rachel had learned that lesson. She might learn it the hard way.

“She wanted me to talk to my husband on her behalf. I told her that I couldn’t do that.”

“What did she want you to talk to him about?”

Rachel began to shake. “You don’t think our argument caused her to fall ill, do you?”

I stepped around the table and put my arm around her. “Sheriff, can’t you see she’s upset?”

“Please, answer the question, Rachel,” he said with a softer tone.

Rachel gripped my hand. “Aaron bought property on Sugartree Street and wanted to build a pie factory there. Wanda thought it was a bad idea.”

The sheriff’s face remained neutral. “Did she plan to do anything about it?”

“She said she’d stop it.”

I could almost see the glowing lightbulb shining above Mitchell’s head. Bing! Motive! I felt sick to my stomach. Rachel Miller was the last person on the planet who would hurt anyone. I stared the sheriff straight in the eye. “Does Rachel need a lawyer?”

He frowned. “Why would you ask that?”

“I’m just trying to be proactive, Sheriff. Just like you are being proactive about Wanda’s death when you don’t know it’s anything more than a heart attack or stroke.”

“Please return to your table. I would like to talk to Rachel alone.”

“Fat chance,” I snapped.

Mitchell frowned. “My questions are merely a precaution while I wait to talk to the coroner, but I still need to ask them.”

Rachel gripped the side of her apron. “It is okay, Angie. I will be able to see you across the way there.”

I frowned but did as I was asked. As soon as I walked to my table, Mattie was beside me, “What’s going on? A paramedic passed by the tent.”

“Wanda Hunt is dead, and I think the sheriff thinks Rachel had something to do with it.”

“What? How—”

I didn’t wait to hear what she was going to ask next because I saw Aaron, Rachel’s husband, coming toward the merchants’ tent at a fast, purposeful gait.

Aaron didn’t even glance at Mattie. He went straight to his wife’s side. Mattie and I followed him across the aisle.

Aaron put a hand on Rachel’s arm, but the couple did not embrace. It was not the Amish way to show public displays of affection. “What is going on here?”

Rachel shook her head, unable to speak.

Aaron turned to me. “What has happened? I was told someone died near the merchants’ tent. I’m happy to see you are all safe.” He included his sister in his announcement.

“It’s Wanda Hunt,” I said.

Aaron’s jaw twitched. “What has that
Englisch
woman done now?”

“She’s dead, Aaron.” I lowered my voice. “The sheriff has been talking to Rachel about it.”

Aaron jerked back as if I slapped him in the face. “What would she know about Wanda?”

“She was holding one of the bakery’s fry pies when she died,” Mitchell said.

Aaron dropped his hand from his wife’s arm. “That means nothing.”

“There is the disagreement that you are having with the township trustees,” the sheriff added.

Aaron glared. “That means nothing.”

Rachel touched her husband’s arm. “Aaron, please, we must control our anger.”

His features softened as he gazed down at his wife. “You are right.” He swallowed. “But I don’t care what you might say. My wife knows nothing.” He glared at the sheriff.

I guess this wasn’t the right time to tell him that if Wanda was murdered—and I prayed it was a heart attack—he was a likely suspect too. Perhaps even more likely than Rachel. Aaron did most of the baking in the bakery, and he had the most to lose if the township ordinances were enforced.

“Can you tell me about your relationship with Ms. Hunt?” the sheriff asked.

Aaron scowled. “I know her as well as I do all of the township trustees. They leave me alone for the most part, until recently.”

“Until you wanted to build this new factory.”

Aaron bristled. “I bought that land and I have the right to build on it.”

Mitchell’s expression was neutral. “Wanda disagreed.”

“She wasn’t the only one. None of the trustees were happy.”

The sheriff frowned. “I need to get back to the scene. I would appreciate it if you all would stay here until I return.”

I opened my mouth to protest.

“Even you, Angie.”

My mouth snapped shut.

He removed his department’s ball cap and bent the bill. “Like you, I hope that the coroner tells me that Wanda died from a heart attack. As horrible as that is, it is better than the alternative. I need you to stay here until the coroner makes at least a preliminary determination.”

He didn’t say it, but I knew the alternative was murder. I chewed on the inside of my lip.