Murder Freshly Baked Read online

  Andrew smiled as if his bride-to-be had just complimented him, which maybe she had.

  “Amber, if I know how you operate, and I think I do, then I would guess you already have a list of suspects.” Gordon waited, not very patiently, bouncing his knee and staring at her pointedly.

  “Okay. I made a list, but that doesn’t mean it contains the right names. I worked on it last night, all night, and the middle of the night doesn’t make for the clearest thinking. Plus I hate to call anyone a suspect until I have more to go on than my gut instinct.” She paused, then continued. “Some of these people I like. It hurts to even think terrible things about them. It’s actually painful to think they dislike me and the Village enough to do something this desperate.”

  “Don’t go blaming yourself,” Gordon said. “I know from past cases—and you should know by now—that someone’s reason for lashing out isn’t always logical. And often it’s completely unrelated to the person they’re threatening to harm. Many times it’s more of a wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time scenario.”

  Amber caved. She shared the five names she’d been able to come up with the night before. Each name brought a groan or gasp from one or the other corner of the barn. Then her friends started brainstorming. Within fifteen minutes her list had grown to a baker’s dozen.

  “All right. Let’s summarize before people begin to notice we’re missing.” Gordon stared down at his pad. “Amber has received three anonymous e-mails—the one I’ve seen and two others that are from the same person. I already have Jasmine working on the first e-mail communication. It hasn’t been a priority because we were focusing on the actual crime scenes, but I’ll move this to the front of her tasks.”

  “What if that spooks the person who’s doing this? What if they find out?” Amber asked.

  “The only people who are going to know are Jasmine and me. It’s good to be cautious, but let’s not get paranoid.” Gordon checked his pad again. “Pam, Amber, and Tate—you were all three in the bakery on Tuesday evening. I want you to separately make a list of everyone you can remember in the room—everyone. I’ll visit each of you tomorrow and pick it up. And no, Amber, it won’t look suspicious. This person knows there’s a crime investigation going on. It would look suspicious for me not to check in with you.”

  “What do the rest of us do?” Hannah asked.

  “Keep your eyes open. Whoever this is thinks Amber is dealing with it alone. Our perp is on a power high at this point, and we want to maintain that illusion. In truth, we’ll have nine people with eyes open and focused on Village property.”

  “Not so hard for those of us who work there,” Pam said. “In fact, a lot of us will be gathering for a quilting getaway next weekend.”

  “I was going to cancel,” Amber admitted.

  “Don’t! Some of the names on our list? They’ll be there. We might learn something.”

  “I think that’s a good idea, but I want you to proceed with caution.” Gordon glanced around the group. “Anyone else?”

  “It’s not a problem for me to visit the Village,” Andrew argued. “I don’t mind taking my best girl out for dessert . . . though I think I’ll stay away from the pie.”

  Gordon cleared his throat. “On that topic, I want you all to stay away from pies. In fact, stay away from any dessert unless you made it yourself or a family member made it.”

  Jesse groaned in mock despair, but Andrew grinned. “No worries. I can stop by for lunch.”

  After a few final words of instruction about being careful, watching their backs, and not handling evidence, Gordon called the meeting to a close.

  Each person in the room stopped to speak to Amber, assuring her that everything would be fine, that this time they were ahead of the actual crime, and that no one would get hurt.

  Only Preston didn’t predict immediate success with no casualties. Perhaps his combat experience made him more realistic, or maybe he would rather err on the side of caution. “Promise me you won’t try any heroics this time.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “If you think of a great lead, share it with Gordon or me or Tate.”

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t take off with Hannah or Pam—not alone—not dealing with this.”

  Amber pretended to be offended.

  “And go home to take a nap. You look exhausted.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I only say it because I care.” A word to Mocha, and he was gone, exiting through the back door of the barn.

  Amber spoke to the soon-to-be-married couples. “Keep your focus on your wedding. I don’t want it spoiled by this.”

  Then she hugged Tate, thanked Gordon, and walked back out into the afternoon sunlight with Pam.

  “Sorry I had to trick you to get you here.”

  “I’m glad you did. Fortunately, I was too tired to put up much of a fuss.”

  “As soon as I saw that list on the bulletin board, I knew something was wrong. Those are more habits than sins.”

  “A sin can be a habit.” Amber opened the passenger side door.

  Another benefit of the meeting was that Gordon had assured her no one was spying on her via her tablet or phone. “That type of technology is not easy to acquire or use.” Amber picked up her phone, checked her e-mail, and was relieved to see no new messages.

  Pam slipped behind the wheel. “I suppose each of those things you listed can be considered a sin. But I don’t think you’re vain because you care how you look. Your momma raised you to pay attention to your appearance, the same as mine did.”

  “Worry is a sin,” Amber countered.

  “Yeah. When it’s unwarranted. After the last investigation, I’d say it’s plain smart.”

  Pam started the car, backed it up, and turned toward the main road. They both waved at Jesse’s mom, who was hanging clothes on the line. In the distance, Amber could see Jesse’s father working in the field. Jesse had assured her they wouldn’t mention the meeting.

  “Amish are quite adept at keeping a secret when necessary.”

  Jesse had looked so much older when he’d said that. Amber had wanted to weep. These tragedies—these events—had stolen her young friend’s innocence. And yet, the scene before her was a peaceful one. It served to reinforce her hope that everything would be fine.

  “All right. You’ve got me on the first two—but what about envy? You can’t argue that isn’t a sin.”

  “Sure. I suppose. But if you were perfect God would have already called you home. And don’t start with pride and snooping. You’re proud of what others do. That isn’t a sin; it’s a kindness. As far as snooping—”

  “Yes, how are you going to legitimize snooping?” Amber was actually enjoying listening to Pam whittle away her list of sins.

  But Pam’s expression had turned grim. She wasn’t one to shy away from the facts, even when they were unpleasant. Instead, she frowned at the road and admitted, “If we don’t snoop now, someone may be killed.”

  Twenty-Six

  There were no further incidents the following week, but somehow this did not relieve the tension. They all did as Gordon had asked—paid special attention to what was going on at the Village. But they still had no idea who had been baking the pies, writing the notes, and sending the e-mails. None of Gordon’s efforts seemed to have turned up any useful clues.

  Amber thought maybe this silence was just one more way for the poison poet to mess with her.

  She wasn’t sure going to the quilting getaway was important after all. But Pam insisted, and finally she compromised and agreed to attend all day Saturday. She skipped the Friday evening activities, claiming she had a personal conflict. In fact, she and Tate had a standing date on Fridays and she looked forward to it all week long. After the stress of recent events, she felt as if she needed that quiet evening more than ever.

  Pam picked her up Saturday morning as the sun peeked over the horizon. She looked fresh and stylish—wearing a blouse covered in daisie
s.

  “Who quilts this early?”

  “You’d be surprised. These ladies are a little fanatical. I called the woman who runs the retreat earlier and she said some didn’t even go to bed last night.”

  Amber sipped from her spillproof coffee mug and stared at Pam as she pulled out onto the two-lane road. “You look awfully chipper.”

  “I’m not one of those who stayed up all night. I went to bed, though did you know that Carol snores?”

  “Carol Jennings?”

  “The same. We room-shared with two other ladies. I’m not embarrassed that I’m a full-size woman—I’m one of God’s creations. But he didn’t create me to sleep on a twin-size bed. It doesn’t really work for me. Part of my anatomy was hanging off the side no matter how I turned and fidgeted.”

  “So you didn’t sleep well?”

  “I slept like a rock. Grammy says that if you have peace with God, you’ll sleep like a baby.”

  Amber couldn’t help smiling at that. Pam’s Grammy was one person she’d like to meet.

  “Last night was interesting. You know I don’t even sew, but I had fun pretending I was interested.”

  “Isn’t that lying?”

  “Nah. It’s always good to learn something new, and I could decide to quilt one day. Maybe after I finish learning French.”

  “You’re learning French?”

  “I told you that. If I travel to Europe, I should know the languages.”

  “You’re traveling to Europe?”

  But Pam was still defending her behavior at the retreat. “I might even learn to sew like the Amish—by hand and all. A simple needle and thread I can maybe handle, but some of those machines take a college degree to understand. And I don’t mean a degree in business like you and I have. Still, I was able to listen and learn. I walked around and glanced at things while I was listening.”

  Amber considered that for a minute. “All right. So what did your snooping yield? What did you learn?”

  “How to thread a machine, for one.”

  “You don’t own a machine.”

  “And I don’t plan to, but you asked what I learned.”

  “What did you learn about the people we’re . . . you know, spying on.”

  “Mostly that women are the same everywhere. Their tongues wag even when their hands are busy.”

  “Pam Coleman! That sounds like a biased thing to say. I thought you were a supporter of women—”

  “I’m only stating a fact. You can conclude whatever you want from it. Have you ever walked in on two men watching a ball game? Or a dozen men, for that matter. If there’s any discussion it’s directed toward the television.”

  “I guess I might have noticed that.”

  “These women don’t even own a television, or at least there aren’t any at Diane’s retreat center.”

  They continued on the road out of town. The retreat was situated thirty miles south. Seemed like a long trip. It occurred to Amber that she could be home, taking care of the donkeys, napping with Leo, and spending the day with her husband.

  “Why are we even doing this? What good will it do?”

  “Sounds like someone woke up on the negative side of the bed.”

  Pam gave her a look of pity, but Amber waved it away. “I just don’t see how attending an all-day sewing event—”

  “Quilting retreat. Learn the proper terminology so you’ll fit in. I actually think it’s a good idea. We need to scope out the people on your list. The Amish ladies were there yesterday and most are returning today. It’s interesting to see how they interact with the Englisch women. I think we could learn something.”

  “So you think our perpetrator is a woman?”

  “All those pie notes? It’s a woman. I’ve never seen a man who is very handy around the kitchen. I know Tate is—no offense, but he’s the exception to the rule.”

  “He mostly barbecues, and what he’s learned to cook in the kitchen he learned while being a widower.” The caffeine was beginning to kick in and Amber’s mood was improving. Maybe they could learn something. Maybe they could crack this case today before anyone got hurt. It was critical for them to make progress because, the more she thought about it, the more Amber was concerned that the poison poet had been inactive for the last week—like the calm before a storm.

  They saw the sign for the retreat center and turned down the gravel road. The sign sported bright red letters on a white background and spelled out the word QUILTERS with an arrow below it.

  “It’s another ten minutes or so from here,” Pam said.

  The setting was beautiful, with trees overshadowing most of the gravel lane. The trees had been trimmed recently and brush lined the road to the right and left. The building itself came into view when they’d followed a gentle curve. It reminded Amber of a log cabin, but much larger. It was actually new and modern but constructed in an old-fashioned style. When she stepped inside she was surprised to see the entry opened onto a large, well-lit room that was completely filled with fabric, women, and machines.

  Diane hurried from the kitchen. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

  Amber guessed they were about the same age. She’d met the woman a couple of times when she’d stopped by to visit with Carol and then a few times at the post office. Diane was pretty, with shoulder-length, reddish hair. She wore jeans, a comfortable shirt that read, “I quilt so I don’t kill people,” and orthopedic shoes. By her side was the largest dog Amber had ever seen.

  “Her name is Liberty.”

  “She’s huge.”

  “Yes. She’s an English Mastiff and fiercely loyal. Really, she’s like one of the family.”

  Liberty gazed up at Diane with adoring brown eyes. She had a light cream-colored coat and a very dark, very large muzzle. Several cats could have fit easily in her mouth. She looked muscular and heavy, probably eighty pounds if Amber were to guess.

  “This is our gathering room.” Diane moved them into the big work area, where women were already sewing. As Pam had suggested, it looked as if some had been up all night. One was in her pajamas, and a few others were clutching mugs of coffee. “I suppose you know some of the ladies here.”

  There were several murmured hellos. Amber hoped the women knew she and Pam were attending for purely social reasons. She knew next to nothing about quilting. Lately she’d been too busy catching psychopaths to pick up a new hobby in addition to crocheting.

  “Breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes,” Diane reminded the group. “If there’s anyone still asleep, you might want to wake them.”

  The room was interesting. Design boards covered most of the walls. There was an ironing center set up in the middle of the room, holding several irons and bottles of spray starch. In opposite corners there were cutting centers with various cutting boards, rotary cutters, and rulers. The rest of the area comprised L-shaped work tables, which were currently holding a variety of machines and all manner of fabric. Within each L-shape was an ergonomic chair. The room had been well thought out, and Amber found herself wishing she could sink into one of the chairs, pull out a bundle of fabric, and begin sewing.

  She spent the next twenty minutes walking around the room and studying the quilts-in-progress. Breakfast was delicious and was followed by chat time so attendees could get to know each other. Amber found herself sitting between two women from Goshen who were avid quilters. She mainly listened, and she learned that the quilting process was more complicated than she had imagined. She didn’t learn anything that would help with the investigation.

  They spent the rest of the morning working on individual projects. Since Amber didn’t have a sewing machine, or a project for that matter, she was put to work at the ironing center—learning how to set a seam and then press it toward the darker fabric. The work soothed her anxiousness. She’d begun to relax, to forget her real purpose for being there, when Georgia banged through the front door carrying a large platter.

  “Oh, thanks so much for bringing the dessert
.” Diane was there to help her before Amber could move from her ironing table.

  Georgia cast a sour look around the group, then traipsed after Diane into the kitchen.

  “What’s she doing here?” Pam asked, appearing at Amber’s elbow. “I’ve never seen her away from the Village.”

  “Beats me. Looks like she brought dessert. Does she quilt?”

  “I don’t think so. Seems to me all she does is work.”

  Amber went back to her ironing, but her mind kept turning over what Pam had said. She couldn’t remember ever seeing Georgia in town or at church or at a community event. She actually knew very little about her. She’d had lunch with her a few weeks ago, but they’d mostly talked about the Village.

  By the time lunch was served, Carol Jennings had arrived with several of the Amish women from the Village in tow, including Hannah, Martha, and Letha.

  “Sure hope there isn’t a catfight between Martha and Letha, but we’ve managed to avoid a confrontation between all three ladies. I was just in the kitchen, and apparently Georgia already left out the back door.” Pam had held back while the group was filing into the dining room.

  “Amish don’t fight. Remember?”

  “Maybe not, but they don’t usually date the same Englisch man either.”

  Amber sighed. For at least a week, her mind had forgotten about Ryan Duvall. Why did the trouble with him have to come up at the same time as the poison poet? Could they possibly be tied together? She didn’t see how.

  The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, and she was actually sad to say good-bye. “Next year I’ll come for the entire weekend,” she promised when she thanked Diane.

  “We’ll convert you yet,” Diane said.

  “To the dark side?”

  “To the quilting side.”

  Amber, Pam, and Hannah made their way out to Pam’s car. The other Amish women had gone back with Carol thirty minutes earlier, but Hannah had begged off from joining them, saying she needed to finish Amber’s project. The quilted book bag was slung over Amber’s shoulder. Though she hadn’t sewn one seam on it, she’d pressed them all and felt as if she’d accomplished something.