Murder Freshly Baked Read online

  As soon as she arrived at the Village, she saw the large group of people outside Letha’s dress shop, but she ignored it, heading to Katie’s to purchase her stationery.

  Katie pulled her aside as soon as she walked in the door.

  “Did you see it? Over by Letha’s shop?”

  Hannah gently removed Katie’s hand from her arm. She was clutching it hard enough to leave a bruise. “See what? I didn’t see anything other than a lot of people outside, which is normal for a Saturday.”

  “The note!” Katie lowered her voice as a customer walked by them. “The note on the bulletin board. Did you see it?”

  “Nein. I saw folks milling around there, but I didn’t notice anything else.”

  “Go and look. Then come back and tell me what we’re to do!”

  Hannah forgot about the stationery for the wedding invitations. She ducked back outside and nearly ran into Pam.

  “I thought you were off today.”

  “I am. I’m only here to buy paper.”

  Pam looked at her right and left hands. “Are you hiding it somewhere? Because I don’t see any purchases.”

  “Katie wouldn’t even sell it to me. She insisted I go and look at—”

  “The bulletin board.”

  “Ya. How did you know?”

  “Because everyone is talking about it. Everyone except Amber, who won’t say a word. I’d better go with you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Honey, I don’t either, and I thought I had seen it all.” She hesitated and then added, “Grammy once told me, ‘If you think you’ve seen it all, put on your sunglasses, because you’re about to be surprised.’ ”

  As they walked back toward Letha’s, Pam made no attempt to explain what had happened. But the look on her face told Hannah that whatever had happened was serious. Then they pushed their way to the front of the crowd, and she understood just how grave the situation was.

  What would have caused Amber to write such a thing? Hannah’s mind swirled with questions as she once again read the note from top to bottom.

  Nearly as overwhelming as the paper in the middle were the notes people were pinning to every free space on the board. They were written on the backs of business cards, on sticky notes, on receipts, even on what looked like the margin of a newspaper.

  The center note had been penned on a sheet of lined paper from a tablet, and it was in Amber’s handwriting, that was for certain. Hannah would recognize the slant and precisely formed letters anywhere. But she stepped closer to better study the sheet, because her eyes, her heart, could not believe what she was seeing.

  MY FIVE BIGGEST FAULTS BY AMBER BOWMAN

  1. Vanity. I spend an inordinate amount of time worried about how I look.

  2. Worry. Where I should trust my friends and my Lord, I often choose to fret over things instead.

  3. Envy. Often when I look at someone else’s new outfit, new purse, or even new car, I am filled with envy and desire.

  4. Pride. I do take pride in the Village, as if it is my own creation, which of course it isn’t.

  5. Snooping. I often put my nose where it doesn’t belong, perhaps for good reason. Still, I now realize that I should mind my own business and not interfere in others’ lives.

  There was no explanation to follow the list, no hint to explain her boss’s sudden need to bare her soul. No indication as to what had occurred to bring about this strange public disclosure.

  “When did she put it up?”

  “Before I arrived at work, and she usually doesn’t even come in on Saturday.”

  Hannah glanced left and then right before pulling Pam away from the crowd. “But she’s here now?”

  “She is. She’s been holed up in her office all day. She doesn’t want to speak to anyone, and she won’t explain to me what’s going on.”

  Hannah stared at the people milling around. Some were still posting notes to the board. They said things like, “We love you, Amber” and “God bless you” and “Thank you for all you do.” They were people’s reactions to this strange situation.

  “Does Tate know?”

  “Yes. I called him when she wouldn’t talk to me. After he saw the board, he went up to speak with her. Stayed about ten minutes, then left without another word.”

  “Something’s wrong.” Hannah once again surveyed the crowd. Now she had the sense of a clock ticking, counting down to a terrible moment. That instinct, more than anything else, convinced her of the need to be very careful. “Let’s walk.”

  “What is it? What are you thinking?” Pam fiddled with the buttons of her denim jacket. It had horses outlined on it, and she wore it over a matching long dress.

  The horses gave Hannah an idea. She suspected this recent turn of events had to do with the poison pies—otherwise it was a bizarre coincidence, and she no longer believed in those. To get Amber to spill, she would need to entice her away from the Village, from any possibility of being overheard or seen by the poison poet.

  Whoever that was, they apparently loved to bake and so were no doubt comfortable in a kitchen. Most of the people Hannah knew who loved cooking intensely disliked barns. They were smelly and dirty. They were the opposite of a clean, well-organized kitchen.

  She was certain Pam could be trusted, so she leaned in and spoke quietly. “It’s two now. I’m going to gather the others—”

  “Others?”

  Hannah wanted to explain, but what if someone was listening. Sweat beaded under the edge of her kapp, and she reached up to wipe it away.

  “Bring her to—” She stepped even closer to whisper the location, pretending to straighten the collar of Pam’s jacket. “In two hours. Do whatever you have to, but bring her.”

  Then she turned and walked away.

  If anyone had been watching, they would have seen nothing out of the ordinary. They wouldn’t have heard the meeting place. And they couldn’t have guessed that Hannah had decided to take action. After all, everyone knew Amish women kept to themselves and took the least controversial path. There was no chance they could have guessed that Hannah was in full support mode, even if that meant involving herself in the midst of another mystery.

  She hurried back to Katie’s, purchased her stationery, and promised to speak to her about it all the next day at their church service. As she was leaving the store, she saw a display of birthday cards. The fact that it was almost her birthday had totally escaped her attention. With her marriage, the poison poet, and the incident with Amber, growing older was the last thing on her mind.

  A birthday celebration?

  She couldn’t even think about it.

  Instead, she hurried back down the Pumpkinvine Trail and stopped at the phone shack. Once there, she set her package on the counter and made three phone calls. Each person had questions—questions Hannah couldn’t begin to answer. Each person agreed to what she suggested. When she’d finished, she realized she would barely have time to stop by her house, tell her mother she wouldn’t be there for dinner, and head to Jesse’s barn.

  It occurred to her as she hurried down the lane that she hadn’t asked Jesse first. She’d been certain he would agree to the meeting on his property. He cared for Amber as she did, and he would want to ensure that nothing terrible happened to her.

  Hannah was once again struck by how close she and Jesse had become over the last year, so much so that she could know what was in his heart without asking.

  Twenty-Five

  Amber had pulled many all-nighters when she was in college, but those days were over twenty years in her past. She’d forgotten how miserable the next day could be. At first she’d been merely groggy, then the headache began to pound at her temples, and soon her body was sore—as if she’d actually run a marathon rather than agonized over her lists.

  She’d left the house after telling Tate she needed to attend to some things—even though it was Saturday. He’d kissed her, told her he loved her, and nearly pulled a full confession from her li
ps. But she held firm, clutched her bag close as if in fear he might spy the incriminating sheets, and hurried off to the Village.

  Tacking the note to the board was easy enough.

  The problem had been what to do after that, so she’d gone to her office and waited for the fallout. It hadn’t taken long. She’d had visits from Pam, then Preston, and finally Tate.

  Each had asked her what was going on.

  Each had expressed their concern.

  But she’d turned them all away. It was what she’d vowed to do as dawn had peered through her kitchen window.

  Now Pam was once again standing in the doorway of her office.

  “We have a situation.”

  “Situation?”

  “Village business. Better grab your purse.”

  “No. I can’t—”

  “This won’t wait.” Pam actually walked behind Amber’s desk and helped her to her feet.

  “But—”

  “Have you had lunch? I bet you haven’t eaten a thing.”

  “I’m not hungry at all.”

  “Humph. Seems to me that lunch is the most important meal of the day.”

  “I didn’t have time to go to lunch, Pam.”

  “Understood, but you can’t ignore Village business, especially Village emergencies. Now, let’s go.”

  And so she’d allowed herself to be pulled away from her desk, where she was accomplishing nothing anyway.

  Pam didn’t attempt to explain any further during the drive, and Amber was too exhausted to question her. Whatever it was, she’d deal with it and then return to her office. She fully expected more “instructions” to arrive from her anonymous pen pal at any moment—not that she had ever replied to any of the e-mails. As they drove, she checked her phone several times.

  And while Pam didn’t ask questions, she repeatedly sent her a questioning look.

  Then they pulled into the lane leading to an Amish home—one Amber had never been to before. On the west side of the house, an extra room was being constructed. Possibly more than one room. The addition covered the entire length of the house.

  “Perhaps you should leave your phone here . . . and your tablet.” Pam’s expression was inscrutable, but there was a note in her voice that Amber had rarely heard before, though maybe once when they’d been accosted outside the meeting of the Indiana Survivalist Group. It was a soft, firm tone—one that left no room for argument.

  Amber did as she suggested, and still she was surprised when they passed the house and walked to the barn. What Village business could be going on here? Was this simply a ploy to get her out of the office? If so, why bring her to an Amish farm? Did she even know these people?

  Raising her eyebrows, she stopped and put her hand on Pam’s arm. “What’s this about?”

  But Pam only shook her head and opened the door to the barn.

  Stepping out of the bright sunshine and into the barn, Amber at first couldn’t see much—only silhouettes.

  Slowly her eyes adjusted.

  She saw Hannah and Jesse, holding hands and sitting on a large bale of hay near the front of those assembled. Close to them were Mary and Andrew sitting on a bench, confirming what she had suspected—they were at the Miller home and the construction she had noticed was for the two couples about to be married.

  Her fingers went to her lips when she saw Tate and Preston and Gordon, who had all stood when she and Pam walked in.

  “Why . . . why are you all here?”

  “Because we want to help.” Hannah stood as well and stepped forward, clasped her hand, and pulled her toward a crate so she could sit next to Tate.

  He reached over, rubbed her back, and whispered, “Hannah called us all together.”

  “I did, and most of you don’t even know exactly why.” She brushed her kapp strings behind her shoulder. “But you came anyway. You came because you care about Amber and you care about the Village. Danki.”

  “We’re happy to do it, Hannah.” Mary glanced at Andrew and then continued. “Why are we here, though? What’s this all about?”

  “I’m not entirely sure I know. What I do know is that Amber’s in trouble and we need to help her.”

  Amber began to protest, but Pam stopped her. She’d sat down beside Amber, and now she reached over and pulled Amber’s hand into her lap. Their fingers interlaced, white and brown, a symbol of their friendship that had strengthened over the past six months. It seemed to Amber that they had been friends all of her life. It seemed as if Pam was more her sister than her employee.

  “You don’t have to deny it anymore,” Pam said. “You can trust every person in this room, and no one outside this room can hear you—which is why I had you leave your phone and tablet in the car. In case you still think somehow someone is able to listen in on your conversations.”

  Gordon was still standing, his feet slightly apart and his arms crossed. He wasn’t in uniform, but that did nothing to mitigate his authority. He was her friend, and he was here because of it, but he still had an official capacity. “You need to tell us what’s going on.”

  She didn’t know where to start, and she wasn’t entirely convinced she should. She hesitated, and in that moment she thought of Preston and Mocha and their need for one another. That image alone persuaded her to speak. If she thought she could handle this on her own, well then, she was as deluded as Preston had been before accepting his service dog. Everyone needed help. A wise person realized it before disaster struck, and Amber could feel disaster breathing over her shoulder.

  And if she couldn’t trust these people, whom could she trust?

  Mocha whined once and then settled on the ground next to Preston, but not before looking at Amber as if she understood.

  So she told them everything. She described in detail the private e-mails from the anonymous person. She told them all she knew and everything she feared. Then finally she explained why she’d posted her note to the Village bulletin board. She recited the note word for word, ending with what she’d been told to do.

  Make a list of your five biggest faults. Tack it to the display board outside the dress shop. Place it high where everyone can see. Be sure to sign your name.

  And Amber, convince me that you are doing some soul-searching. Otherwise, I might have to take the next step.

  “Someone wants to humiliate you.” Pam scowled. “Why, though? What are they getting out of it?”

  “Some sort of satisfaction.” Tate had scooted closer to Amber as she spoke. Now she turned to him, studying his face closely. “You’re not angry with me, for keeping all of this from you?”

  “No. I might have done the same thing in your shoes. Our instinct to protect one another is strong and natural.”

  Relief flooded through Amber at those words and at the show of support around her. Though she was still tired and unsure of what their next step should be, she had a glimmering hope that together they could and would catch whoever was doing all this.

  “You all have to be sure no one discovers that you know.” Amber tried not to imagine what might happen if word of their meeting reached the crazy person tormenting her. “If this person finds out, they’re going to do something desperate.”

  “The perp will know nothing about this meeting.” Gordon fetched a crate and set it front and center before sitting down. The group had formed in a semicircle, and now all eyes were on him. “Four of the people in this room live here. Tate and I came in through the back pasture, which is why you didn’t see our cars, and Preston hiked down the trail. For all anyone knows, you’re here to help the girls with some aspect of their wedding preparation.”

  “All right.” Amber pulled in a wobbly breath and tried to relax her shoulders. She felt as if the tight knot inside her stomach was finally loosening to a manageable ache.

  “Let’s start with what we know.” Gordon pulled out the small pad he kept notes on, which made Amber smile—she’d done the same thing the night before. In fact, her sheets of paper were still in her p
urse in Pam’s car. She didn’t need to fetch them, though. She’d agonized over every line. The names, suspicions, and events were etched in her memory.

  “The same person who is threatening Amber is leaving the pies and notes.” Jesse removed the piece of hay he’d been chewing on. “It has to be the same person. There can’t be two crazy people who are . . . you know, the same kind of crazy.”

  “Agreed, though there’s always the possibility that this person is not working alone.” It felt good for Amber to confess her deepest fears. “What if it’s a team or a couple or two family members?”

  “Honey, I don’t think there are two crazy people left in Middlebury.” Pam traced the outline of a horse on the cuff of her jacket. “I’m pretty sure we’ve put all but one in jail already.”

  “Technically prison, but I agree with Pam.” Tate reached over and gently rubbed Amber’s shoulders.

  She wanted to allow herself to completely relax, to melt under his hands. But suddenly she felt as if she’d found her second wind. Energy and thoughts zipped through her body and mind. Amber felt as if she’d just consumed an energy drink. It was amazing what having a support group did for one’s morale, and a higher morale always meant more zip as far as she was concerned.

  “This person is also probably associated with the Village, at least peripherally,” Tate said.

  Hannah agreed. “How else could she have known that you spoke with me about the first e-mail? She must have been walking by the coffee shop and seen us huddled over your tablet.”

  “We don’t even know this person is a she.” Amber stared around the room, wondering if she should share the list of suspects she had compiled the night before. “Men bake too.”

  “She or he also knew what you’d told Tate, when you were standing in the bakery dealing with the threat on Tuesday evening.” Andrew gave them a what look. “I’ve heard all the rumors, and I’ve been listening to what everyone said today. I still have the habits of a reporter—such as remembering dates and events.”

  Mary nodded. “He remembers all sorts of things that I forget. It’s like a steel trap lies in his brain, waiting to capture bits of information.”