Murder Freshly Baked Page 2

  Her mind combed back over the verse from Genesis—“You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good.”

  Ethan Gray’s family had found some measure of peace.

  And her employees at the Village had grown even closer to one another—resembling a large family more than a workforce.

  Then there was the trouble six months ago. Amber didn’t want to focus on the murder of Owen Esch. Those memories remained fresh, like a wound not quite healed. Every day was a little better, and she no longer cringed at the sight of the Pumpkinvine Trail. However, some nights she woke with sweat running down her brow and a scream on her lips. Those nights, Tate would gather her in his arms and whisper words of comfort and prayers of healing.

  She pushed all of that away as she walked the property of the Village. Spring had arrived. Best to leave the past where it belonged—firmly behind them.

  She spoke to several members of the grounds crew as she made her way along the concrete path that circled the pond. They were busy planting pansies in a rainbow of colors—pink, white, and yellow, all with dark purple centers. Jesse Miller stood on the other side of the pond, speaking with Preston Johnstone. Jesse removed his hat, revealing brown hair that had been recently cut in the traditional Amish style, then placed it back on his head. One Amish, one Englisch, and yet it seemed they’d become good friends. Such was the way in Middlebury, or so Amber chose to believe.

  Both men raised a hand in greeting, and she waved back.

  The first shop on the path around the pond was the yarn shop, The Cat’s Meow, which happened to be her destination. She stopped in front of the store to admire the window display. Bushel baskets in their natural pale wood color were scattered throughout, and one was filled with different types of yellow yarn, another with shades of purple, and a third with soft pinks. Amber stepped closer to the window and looked at the yarn nearest the Amish-made cradle. A circular basket was filled with every shade of blue Amber could imagine.

  Yes, that was what she needed to work on next—a baby blanket for Collin and Brenda’s baby.

  She still couldn’t believe Tate was having another grandchild. Technically, she was too—though Collin had experienced trouble accepting her as his stepmom at first. Things were still not quite smooth between them, but they were less tense than they’d initially been. Collin had called over the weekend to tell Tate they’d learned the baby was a boy, and he’d insisted that Amber be on the line when he shared the news. That was a sign of improvement in their relationship—in the past she’d always received news secondhand from Tate.

  The child wasn’t due until mid-August. Even she could finish a baby afghan in that amount of time.

  She pushed open the door, and the bell over the doorway announced her entrance. Hannah and Mary were already sitting in the chairs near the back of the room, spreading their lunch out on the table in front of them. A sign at the register read, “We’re knitting in the back. Come join us.”

  “We were afraid you’d skip.” Hannah pushed back the strings of her prayer kapp and smiled.

  She would turn twenty-three in a few weeks, but to Amber she seemed older. Perhaps it was because she knew her so well, or because they’d been through so much together. In spite of the twenty-plus years between their ages, they’d become fast friends. Hannah’s chestnut brown hair peeked out from under her white kapp, and her brown eyes sparkled behind her glasses.

  “After Mary convinced you to take out your border last week, we thought you might avoid our little get-together.”

  “I needed to take out the border. I’d done it all wrong!”

  “You’re a gut student, Amber.” At first look, Mary was the exact opposite of Hannah. Thirty years old, she tended toward heavy, whereas Hannah was slim. She only recently began dressing in colors other than gray, blue, and black. Hannah preferred pastels. And every strand of Mary’s blonde hair was carefully tucked inside her kapp.

  The ways they were similar—their kindness, professionalism, and faith—were what mattered. That and the fact that both girls were to be married in six weeks caused Amber to think of them as related. They weren’t kin, but they were in the same church district. They would also become sisters soon, since they were marrying brothers—Andrew and Jesse.

  “I’m a slow learner.” Amber rattled the bakery bag in her hand. “But I bring sweets, so you all allow me to keep coming.”

  “Classes are for everyone who wants to come, but the sweets are gut too.” Mary reached for the bag and peeked inside. “Snickerdoodles. My favorite.”

  That earned a laugh as Mary said those same two words no matter what was inside a bakery bag.

  The bell over the front door tinkled again, and Martha Gingerich stepped into the store. Also Amish, Martha was tall and thin to the point of resembling an athlete. In fact, Martha did enjoy playing softball and volleyball and even ice skating. Her hair was a golden brown, and her kapp always slightly askew as if she’d just come in from enjoying some game. According to Hannah, she wasn’t ready to settle down quite yet. What mattered to Amber was that she was an excellent employee who handled the front desk of the inn like a seasoned professional.

  Carol Jennings, the manager of The Quilting Bee, rounded out their group. Older, Englisch, and quite proper in her dress and speech, Amber had been surprised when Carol joined their group.

  “Everyone’s here. Time for a hen fest!”

  “Time to teach you to read that pattern you were supposed to make progress on last week.” Mary moved to the chair next to Amber and insisted she show her what she’d done with the pastel-colored lap blanket in a ripple pattern.

  “I was thinking I could start on a baby afghan—”

  “Gut idea, but after you finish this one.”

  “Yes, except I’m not as excited about this one anymore.” Amber stared down at the yellow, purple, and green mess she’d made. Somehow her ripple looked more like a strange, geometric object.

  “The problem is that you forgot you have to count. Pull it out to here”—Mary pointed to a spot four rows down—“and we’ll go over the pattern together.”

  “But what about the baby afghan?”

  “Finish this one and I’ll be happy to sell you more yarn. Your grandbaby’s not due until the end of summer, right?”

  “Yes . . .”

  “Then start pulling out those rows.”

  Amber sighed and did as instructed. Soon she was focused on counting the way Mary had shown her. Somehow she’d forgotten to do that while she was watching the History Channel with Tate. She supposed most of these gals could crochet and pay attention to something else at the same time, but perhaps she wasn’t quite in that place yet.

  Conversations swirled around her as each woman nibbled on her lunch and worked the yarn she’d brought into a special gift. The Stitch Club, as they called it, was one of Amber’s favorite times of the week. They brought whatever they were working on—crocheting, knitting, needlework, even the occasional quilt. Not only was Amber learning something new, something useful, but she was nurturing friendships at the same time. Friends had been an area of her life she’d neglected for too long. It was sometimes difficult when you were the boss, but she was determined to accept every opportunity to meet with these special ladies who had become an important part of her life.

  She was focusing on her counting—single crochet in eight, skip two, single crochet in eight, three in the next stitch—when she realized the conversation around her had stumbled to a halt and everyone was staring at Martha, who had flushed a rosy color.

  “Ryan? Ryan Duvall?” Hannah leaned forward.

  “Ya. It’s not such a big deal. I don’t know why you’re all staring at me as if my kapp has slipped off.”

  “But Martha, Ryan is Englisch.” Hannah reached for a snickerdoodle.

  “I know he’s Englisch.”

  “And you’re going out with him?”

  “Not going out exactly. He asked if I’d like to see some of the new foals a
t his place, and I said yes. You know how I adore anything that allows me to spend time outdoors.”

  Carol tsk-tsked as her needle sped in and out of the variegated yarn that was different shades of green. “I don’t know that spending time with Ryan is a good idea, but his family has raised quality horses for the folks in our town for two generations. I pass their place every morning, and I always look over to catch a glimpse of the new foals. One is a beautiful flaxen chestnut.”

  “Ryan Duvall?” Mary shook her head and tugged on the ball of yarn she was knitting. “He’s twenty years older than you are.”

  “Eighteen, and we’re not courting. We’re looking at his horses.”

  “Ryan can be . . .” Mary paused and glanced around the circle. Finally she settled for gently saying, “He can be charming. Be careful.”

  “I’m not sure charming is what you intended to say.” Amber set her crocheting in her lap so she wouldn’t add too many stitches while she was talking. “Is he a player?”

  All three of the Amish women stared at her, but Carol nodded in understanding. “I’d say he is. That’s a good description. Nice enough guy, but he tends to mislead the ladies.”

  “That’s what player means?” Hannah nudged Mary and barely suppressed a giggle. “I thought you were going to say he plays football or, worse than that, hockey. Both games seem so violent.”

  “They wear pads. I’ve explained this to you—” Amber couldn’t resist the urge to defend her Colts.

  “Ryan is as old as your

  dat, Martha.” Mary’s tone clearly expressed her disapproval.

  “I’m not dating him, and he’s not as old as my dat, who turned fifty last month. Ryan is actually a good deal younger.”

  They seemed to realize there was no changing Martha’s mind, so the subject turned to other things and Amber resumed her counting and crocheting. When they left forty minutes later, she caught a snippet of the parting conversation between Carol and Martha. Carol, who was something of a mother hen to all the girls, had her arm looped through Martha’s and was saying, “Promise you’ll be careful. Yours wouldn’t be the first heart Ryan has broken . . .”

  Amber certainly didn’t want to see any of her employees experience heartache, but wasn’t that a part of growing up? In the last year they’d dealt with two murders, several break-ins, and an explosion in her office, not to mention that wicked creature left in her home to kill her.

  As she walked back out into the April sunshine, she thought that heartaches were something they could deal with.

  They were a normal ingredient of life, albeit an unpleasant one.

  Courting and breakups and rebounding were part of the natural cycle of human relationships.

  What was the worst thing that could happen?

  Martha would fall for Ryan, he’d move on to someone else, and they’d all go out for ice cream to mend her hurt feelings. Not a problem. That was the phrase that kept bouncing through Amber’s head as she made her way back to her office.

  She’d never met Ryan Duvall, but he was not a problem.

  Three

  The ponds situated on the south side of the Amish Village provided a peaceful invitation to the motorists hurrying along Highway 20. Preston Johnstone knelt by the drain that allowed water to flow from the large pond to the smaller one. Sun glinted off the water, causing him to squint when he looked up. He’d been working for over an hour when he felt the familiar sensations he’d come to dread.

  The sounds around him faded.

  His hand began to tremble slightly.

  His throat instantly became dry.

  Suddenly the sun was inexplicably brighter. He reached for the bricked wall and felt gravel beneath his fingers, hot and dusty. The familiar weight of his uniform and rifle brought him no comfort.

  They were coming.

  He needed to get up, move back to the observation post, and warn everyone.

  He needed to run.

  “Are you okay, Preston?” Joshua Lapp stood in the water, wearing waders several sizes too large, with a foolish grin on his face.

  All of nineteen years old, he’d probably never been out of Middlebury, Indiana. Though he wore a wool cap, it didn’t completely cover his dark brown hair, which was cut in the typical chili-bowl fashion. He had the calm, pleasant expression Preston had seen on Amish boys all his life while growing up next to them, playing ball together, even sometimes chasing after the same girl. Joshua wore a plain blue cotton shirt and black pants under the waders.

  In that moment, Preston envied Joshua his innocence and his simple life.

  Sweat poured down his back and an odd mixture of dread and relief flooded through his veins.

  He’d slipped back again.

  But he was okay.

  He was home.

  “You kind of went away for a minute there.”

  “I’m fine. Thanks.” He wasn’t fine, but saying he was seemed to relax other people. He needed a long drink of water, something to wash the desert from his mouth, from his memory. An image of Zoey popped into his mind. His thoughts wanted to brush over their most recent conversation, but now wasn’t the time. For now, he needed to push the memory away. Zoey had been so adamant, and perhaps what had just happened proved she was right, but he couldn’t make such a decision squatting next to the Village pond. He needed to focus on the task at hand.

  “This is a pretty cushy job I have.”

  Preston forced the remnants of his memories back into that locked place in his heart. He turned toward Joshua and tried to make sense out of what the boy had just said. “Yeah.”

  “It’s as if I’m getting paid to play in the water.”

  He couldn’t help smiling at the boy’s enthusiasm. “You won’t think you’re playing if a snake pops out of that drain.”

  “It’s too cool for snakes. We both know that.” Joshua used a hoe to pull more debris from the drain, which was situated near the top of the earthen wall.

  The pond they were working on was the largest on the Village property, and the shops encircled one side of it. A concrete walk continued around the far side. When the water level reached within a foot of the top, it went through the drain and filled the lower pond. Though they’d had rain most of February and the first half of March, the storms had tapered off the last few weeks. April had actually been dry, causing the water level to finally drop enough for them to be able to clean out the drain—a project they did at least twice a year to keep the water flowing from one pond to the other.

  Joshua directed the debris toward Preston, who deposited it into a ten-gallon bucket.

  “Snakes don’t always act predictably,” he reminded Joshua.

  “Snakes! You grew up here. You know how rarely we see a poisonous snake.”

  “Just trying to keep you alert.”

  “You don’t have to supervise me,” Joshua persisted. “I’ve cleaned out drains before.” He pulled out another glob of leaves, sticks, and a plastic cup.

  “Sure. I know that. But I have to do something to earn my wage, and supervising you seemed like my best option today.”

  “Rumor has it you like to get your hands dirty.”

  “That so?”

  “Folks say Amber offered you a desk job and you turned it down.”

  Preston scoffed at the idea, but he didn’t outright deny what Joshua said because it was true. Amber had tried to put him in charge of ordering, shipping, and receiving. While he didn’t mind unloading whatever supplies arrived, he didn’t want to spend all day staring at a computer screen. His flashbacks seemed to lessen when he was physically busy, and sheer exhaustion allowed him to sleep at night. He’d told Amber he was worried about staying fit, which wasn’t exactly a lie.

  Too often what he said was a half-truth. He’d spoken with Tate about that, and they’d discussed ways he could maintain his privacy but still be truthful with people.

  Amber had accepted that he didn’t want the promotion, and she hadn’t seemed all that surprised. H
e was content in his position as assistant manager of maintenance. More than likely she understood and appreciated his reasoning. She was intuitive like that, reminding Preston in many ways of his own mother. Nancy Johnstone had passed while he was overseas, and though it had been many years, he still missed her.

  If Amber had insisted, he would have taken the new job. Instead she offered the new position to someone else, and he’d continued his duties in maintenance. On some level he realized that he would do whatever Amber or Tate needed him to do. Both of them had literally saved his life. He owed them a debt he would never consider repaid.

  “Look at this.” Joshua held up the hoe. Dangling off the end was something that sparkled. He moved it carefully toward Preston, who plucked it off the end of the garden tool.

  The bracelet was covered with mud and green sludge, and a piece of gum was stuck to one end. Preston was glad both he and Joshua were wearing rubber gloves that stretched up to their elbows. The stuff people dropped into ponds—on purpose or inadvertently—wasn’t for the fainthearted.

  “A guest lost this before Christmas. She mourned it like a best friend who’d moved across the world without saying good-bye.” He picked up his canteen and rinsed off the piece of jewelry.

  “Not much to look at now—covered with all that sludge after sitting in this pond for six months.”

  “The diamonds are still good, and I suspect it’s more the sentimental value than its actual worth that had her so upset. Elizabeth kept her address in case it showed up.”

  “Take it on over. We’re practically done here.”

  Preston moved to the other side of the gravel road and studied the reverse side of the drain. The water was flowing through unobstructed. “Good work, Joshua.”

  “Danki, boss.”

  Holding out a hand, Preston pulled Joshua up onto the bank.