Dead Broke Read online

  “I’m just saying. It’s a pretty rare thing to have a dead body pop up in our little town.” Griffin turned down the volume on her police radio. “Agatha had one in her cabin and now there’s another directly across the river.”

  Agatha mouthed, “I’ll explain later,” to Emma and Henry.

  Tony attempted to distract Griffin by discussing the particulars of the current case. “With this rain, it’s doubtful they’ll be able to gather much evidence.”

  “Convenient,” Griffin muttered, as if Agatha might have caused the storm.

  “What will happen to the goats?” Agatha hated to think of them in the rain, frightened, their owner and caregiver dead.

  “A local veterinary clinic has offered to round them up and board them until something else can be worked out.” Griffin turned onto the bridge, crossed it, then turned back toward Agatha’s place. “This rain is bad enough, but those goats probably ate any evidence we might have found.”

  Was that the murderer’s plan? Had he waited until Nathan was among the goats to kill him? Had he waited for the storm? And who would want to kill Nathan King?

  Agatha briefly closed her eyes. She was not getting involved with this investigation.

  Emma was speaking in a low voice to Henry. Agatha caught the words evidence and clues and drawing, which made no sense at all. Henry only patted his wife’s hand and whispered that they’d talk about it later.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence. When Officer Griffin dropped them off at the circle drive of Agatha’s B&B, she reminded them, “Don’t leave town. Don’t go anywhere. An officer will be here to take your statements in the next hour or so. Tony, I’m holding you responsible to make sure she stays here until we get that statement.”

  Tony didn’t respond to that. Instead he thanked her for the ride. Agatha appreciated that Tony didn’t feel the need to defend them. Where would they go? And how? Speed off across Texas in her buggy pulled by her sweet mare Doc? Tami Griffin had been watching too many crime shows, or maybe she was simply bored with issuing speeding tickets, which was the extent of the crime in Hunt, Texas. That and illegal drug possession—something Agatha didn’t even want to think about.

  She led everyone up the steps and hurried them inside. The sky had turned darker, rain continued to lash the ground, the wind was now buffeting them from the north, and she felt suddenly chilled. Agatha’s yellow cat Fonzi lay on the living room floor, pausing as he meticulously cleaned his paws to scrutinize the group. Unimpressed, he went back to licking his paw, then wiping it against the side of his face. She’d inherited the cat with the B&B and was determined that it remain an outdoor cat, but Fonzi hadn’t quite adapted to her plans.

  “Will it be all right if we go to our room and change?” Henry asked. They were staying upstairs in her nicest suite.

  “Ya. Of course. Gina will have dinner ready soon, so come down after you’ve freshened up.”

  At the mention of her name Gina strode into the front room. Gina Phillips had recently turned fifty. She had short gray hair and the body of a long distance runner, though she laughed outright when anyone asked if she participated in marathons.

  “You won’t catch me running unless you find a bear behind me,” she told the last guest who’d asked. “Even then, I’d only have to run faster than Agatha, which would amount to a medium walk. She’s even less athletic than I am.”

  Gina had started out as a housekeeper, but now she helped run the B&B. She was efficient, hardworking, and quite outspoken. She was also one of Agatha’s closest friends.

  “You’re dripping on the floor. All of you are.” She handed them towels that she’d grabbed from the laundry room. “Did you really take those kayaks out in this weather? I saw you walking down there and couldn’t believe you meant to actually—”

  “There’s been a murder.” Agatha used the towel to wipe off her arms and face.

  “What? Again?”

  Agatha dearly wished everyone would quit saying that. It wasn’t like her B&B was murder central.

  “I need to make a few calls.” Tony pulled his cell phone from his pocket and stepped back out onto the front porch.

  “We’ll be back down in a few minutes,” Emma said. “Dinner smells wunderbaar.”

  “Texas chili, fresh cornbread, and salad, with Dr. Pepper cake for dessert,” Gina called after them. When they were out of sight, she rounded on Agatha. “Are you serious about the murder? Who’s dead? And how did you end up in the middle of it?”

  “I need to change clothes. Come with me, and I’ll fill you in on all the details.”

  Ten minutes later, she had on fresh clothes and was sitting at the table. The Hochstetlers, oblivious to what had happened, were already seated, though Joey Troyer was absent. Agatha hadn’t actually seen the man all day. He’d checked in rather early, spent less than ten minutes in his room, and then he’d taken off, claiming that he meant to spend the day fishing.

  He didn’t ask to borrow fishing poles and tackle so he must have brought some with him. Agatha wasn’t sure. In fact, she hadn’t actually seen him arrive or leave.

  It had certainly been a long and traumatic day. Surprised to find she had an appetite, she hopped up to help Gina put dinner on the table.

  HENRY AND EMMA SAT upstairs, having donned fresh clothes and collapsed onto the two overstuffed chairs that faced the darkened windows. The rain continued to pound against the windowpanes, but the room was warm and cheery with cozy battery-operated lamps lit throughout.

  “I can’t believe this is happening again, Henry. What are the odds?”

  “Low. Definitely low.” He studied his wife. Emma had saved him, in more ways than one. She’d been a friend to him when he sorely needed one, and now she was so much more than a friend. Her smile was the first thing he saw in the morning. Her body snuggled against his was the last thing he felt at night. Having a wife—having a helpmate—was still a new and wondrous thing after so many years alone.

  “Are you frightened?” He tapped his fingertips against the arm of the chair. “If you’d rather cancel the rest of our stay here, I’m sure Agatha would understand.”

  “Nein. Not at all.”

  “Gut. I’m looking forward to some bird watching.”

  “Long walks along the river.”

  “Sipping coffee in the garden.”

  Emma nodded vigorously, then turned her gaze to the window, staring out at the darkness. “It is unusual though. Three murders in Monte Vista in the space of three years, and now this.”

  “A sad state of affairs.”

  “For sure and certain it is, and terrible that it would happen across from such a lovely B&B. I like Agatha. Don’t you?”

  “Ya. She seems to be a genuinely kind person.”

  “Though I’d like to hear the story of a dead guest showing up in her cabin.”

  “Indeed.”

  Emma turned in her chair, positioning herself so that she could study her husband. “You can help. You know you can.”

  “But should I?”

  “Of course you should. You heard what that nice detective said.

  “Tony...”

  “He said the rain will have washed away any evidence.”

  “No doubt.”

  “So you’ll do it? You’ll draw what you saw?”

  Henry stood, as did Emma. She stepped into the circle of his arms, and Henry reveled in the smell of her, the comfort of her there next to him. How God had blessed him these last few years—all of his life, really. He hadn’t always been able to see it. Even his gift, as Emma liked to call it, had been a blessing from God. He understood that now.

  “I’ll help if I can.” His voice sounded tentative, even to himself.

  Indulging his unusual ability had never been easy. It sometimes caused more problems than it solved. Emma had helped him embrace it, but still he understood that not everyone responded well when they saw what he could do. In Monte Vista, at least he’d had the support of his congrega
tion behind him. Here, no one knew him, and no one would understand or believe him. At least he didn’t think they would. There was a 50/50 chance they’d write him off as some kind of eccentric old man.

  But maybe he needed to try.

  Agatha seemed like a kindred spirit for certain, and even Detective Tony had been affable. Perhaps God had placed them here, at this time, for a reason.

  “Let’s go down and eat. You must be starved.”

  “I am, and I’m not sure I’ve ever had Texas chili.” Emma slipped her hand in his and they made their way down the stairs.

  The bed and breakfast was quite amazing—old, yes. In need of updating, perhaps. But it had the feel of home to it, and wasn’t that a special surprise when one was vacationing in a distant land? Henry was glad that Emma’s son had insisted they take a vacation. It really was so interesting to see how other communities within their faith lived. He’d been surprised to learn that the price of the room included breakfast and dinner.

  As they took their seats at the table, Tony walked in.

  “I’ve set you a plate, Tony.” Gina pointed to the end of the table.

  Tony looked as if he was about to protest, then apparently decided better of it. Gina seemed to have a persuasive way about her. Henry’s mamm had been like that. It was usually easier to do what she asked than to argue.

  He was surprised when Agatha cleared her throat and said, “It’s our practice to pray silently before a meal. Since you all are Plain, and Tony’s a frequent guest, I’m sure I don’t have to explain.”

  In the moment of silence that followed, something inside of Henry clicked into place. While it was true that they were in a different place, among people they barely knew, and once again involved at least peripherally in a murder investigation—God was still in control.

  A chorus of amens were heartily offered up, and then the dishes were passed around. Gina joined them once she was sure everything that could possibly be needed was on the table. Agatha and Tony took turns explaining what had happened across the river, catching everyone up, and explaining that the police would stop by later to take their statements.

  “We went straight to our rooms after you dropped us off, Tony.” Daniel Hochstetler offered a worried half-smile. His hair was a pure white, and his shoulders slumped. Overall, he looked to Henry like a man who needed a vacation. “I might be seventy, but I didn’t expect a day on the river to wear me out. We actually took a nap before dinner.”

  “I could barely keep my eyes open,” Mary admitted. She wore Amish clothes similar to Agatha and Emma’s. “Perhaps that’s because I’m more used to knitting than rowing.”

  Henry noticed a slight tremor in her hand as she reached for her water glass. Gina passed around the crock of butter. “This butter is made by one of Agatha’s Amish friends. You be sure and try it on the corn muffins. And Tony, I can vouch for the Hochstetlers. They came in at four-thirty, right after Agatha went outside to sit with Henry and Emma.”

  “Seems everyone here has a solid alibi then.” Tony meant it as a joke, but no one laughed.

  An alibi.

  Most people didn’t need an alibi while they were on vacation.

  Henry cleared his throat. “So this Nathan fellow, he was a member of your church, Agatha?”

  “Ya, he was. I still can’t believe he’s dead.” She reached for her glass of water, took a small sip, and returned it to the table. “Nathan was in his mid-fifties, and he never married.”

  Gina scoffed. “What woman would put up with those goats?”

  “You’re not wrong.” Agatha stirred her hot bowl of chili, then added a bit of shredded cheese to the top and took a bite. It tasted like cardboard to her. Why would it taste like cardboard? Were her taste buds in shock too? She noticed Gina studying her, so she smiled and said, “Delicious.”

  It was a small lie. She silently prayed for forgiveness.

  “Well, you don’t pay me to cook bad meals.”

  Agatha turned her attention back to Henry. “Nathan did love those goats. We went to dinner once, and it was all he could talk about.”

  Tony nearly choked on his chili. “You dated Nathan King?”

  “I’d hardly call it a date. We went to dinner at Sammi’s.”

  “Sammi’s is the best place in Hunt to eat,” Gina explained. “Their cooking is almost as good as mine and Agatha’s.”

  “But why would someone kill him?” Agatha’s face paled, as she carefully set her spoon down and slumped back against her chair. “It’s so hard to imagine a person doing such a thing, planning it and then carrying it through.”

  “Not all murders are premeditated,” Tony pointed out, reaching for another cornbread muffin. “He could have made someone angry. It’s quite possible it was a spur of the moment thing. There was an argument say, and the guy...”

  “Or gal.” Gina shrugged when they all turned to look at her. “Women are capable of murder. Remember that case six months ago? In San Antonio? The woman learned that her husband had another family. She waited for him to come sneaking home like an old tom cat and hit him in the back of the head with a shovel.”

  No one knew what to say to that.

  Tony cleared his throat. “Okay, so a man or woman becomes angry for whatever reason, takes off, fetches their gun, comes back and shoots Nathan. My point is that it’s not necessarily someone who had it in for Nathan for a long time and planned it. Often homicides are the result of emotions careening out of control.”

  Henry thought of the time young Albert Bontrager had tried to hitch a new horse to his buggy—a horse that even the previous owner had claimed was too wild to be of any use. Albert had trained the gelding, eventually. But there had been many madcap rides through the Monte Vista countryside. For several months, if you saw a cloud of dust, you could count on it being Albert with his wild horse.

  Henry’s mind was filled with that memory, and he felt an itching to draw it. Albert, the wild horse, a swirl of dust obscuring and confusing everything. He could draw it and name it Homicide, because as Tony pointed out, the out-of-control emotions were much the same.

  “It’s incomprehensible,” Agatha practically whispered.

  Gina scoffed. “There’s no figuring out people, Agatha. But Tony’s right about one thing. It could have been that someone was angry with Nathan and went to the youth camp specifically to murder him. Everyone knew Nathan was working that stretch of the river with his goats. There was even an article in the paper about it.”

  Tony sat back, sipping his iced tea and staring at a spot on the far wall. “Recent studies show that fifty-three percent of murders are committed by someone the victim knows.”

  “Terrible.” Emma’s voice was low and troubled.

  “Twenty-four percent of murders are committed by family members.”

  “Cain murdered Abel,” Henry reminded them.

  To which Daniel Hochstetler added, “Someday the scales of justice will be perfectly balanced.”

  “Not today though.” Agatha took a small bite of the chili, then pushed it away. “Today we mourn the passing of a friend, a gut man, and a neighbor.”

  And then their meal was interrupted by a knock on Agatha’s front door. Officer Barella had arrived, and he was ready to take statements.

  It was two hours later when Henry and Emma climbed the stairs to their room.

  They’d each been taken into the living room separately to give their testimony. Tony had assured them this was normal, that it helped to not cross-contaminate the testimony. When he’d started to explain what that meant, Henry had lifted his hand to stop him. He understood. He’d been through this before.

  Though he didn’t share that fact, not yet.

  And when his time came to give his official statement, he also didn’t share with Officer Barella what his mind knew. After all, he didn’t know what his mind was aware of. It didn’t work that way. Instead he told what he’d heard and what he’d seen, which really hadn’t been much.

 
Henry and Emma readied for bed. She pulled out a little bit of knitting she liked to work on before sleeping. She’d explained to him after they’d first wed that it helped to calm her thoughts. “I know we should pray. I do pray, but the knitting...it makes that easier too.”

  He’d nodded as if he understood, which he didn’t, having never knitted anything himself. But he loved other things that had the same effect—watching sunsets, studying birds through his binoculars, drawing.

  One of the first gifts Emma had given him was a drawing journal. Now he pulled it from his suitcase along with several pencils, kissed his wife, and sat down at the small desk.

  Pulling in a deep breath, and praying that God would use the work of his hands, he opened the journal and he began to draw.

  Chapter Three

  Agatha awoke feeling much better than she had the night before. Nathan’s death was a tragedy-for sure and certain it was. But it didn’t involve her. She had a bed and breakfast to run, and she’d focus on that. The Hunt Police Department could handle the murder of Nathan King. Perhaps they’d even call in the famous Texas Rangers to solve the mystery. What was certain was that they wouldn’t be needing the help of an Amish grossmammi.

  She smiled at that thought.

  Although all of her grandkinner were in Indiana, the oldest, Marcus, had already come to visit her in Texas. She would go to her son’s over the Christmas holiday to see everyone, and perhaps more of the grandkinner would travel from Shipshewana to spend time with her the following summer.

  It was with those cheerful thoughts filling her mind and a hymn on her lips that she made coffee and sat on the porch with Fonzi. The morning was quite cool, and the land felt freshly scrubbed from the storm the evening before. After she’d finished her first cup of coffee, she moved inside to put both the pecan streusel and breakfast quiche in the oven. She’d just shut the oven door when Henry and Emma walked into the room.

  “I hope I didn’t wake you with my rummaging around in here.”

  “Not at all,” Henry assured her as Emma headed straight for the coffee pot.