Murder Freshly Baked Read online

  “I suppose they did. I saw Ryan throw the phone into the pond as we were driving up to his father’s house, and he called me on his dad’s phone this morning. If he’s selective about who he gives a new number to, he shouldn’t be bothered by them again.”

  Together they walked outside, after Amber stopped and signed the receipt that would put the cost of their meals on the company ledger. They paused outside the door of the restaurant, watching as the grounds crew added colorful touches to every conceivable surface. The race would support research for every type of cancer, and the decorations reflected that. Balloons would be delivered early the next morning.

  Amber and Pam had chosen lavender for the balloons because it represented all cancers. The ribbons and flowers were more specific: pink for breast cancer, violet for Hodgkin’s lymphoma, teal for ovarian cancer. She had never realized before how many different types of cancers there were. A quick Google search had revealed over sixty different kinds, and although she couldn’t find that many different flowers, she did her best. The American Cancer Society had provided ribbons for participants. The box that had arrived the day before held a rainbow of colors.

  It seemed to Amber that the event was bringing together people with different types of trials and difficulties, and that together they would be able to immerse themselves in two common hopes—cures and treatments for loved ones.

  “The dating debacle is over just in time.” Pam tied her scarf, which was attempting to blow away. The wind was gusting, as it had the tendency to do in the spring.

  “Now we can focus on Race for a Cure.” Hannah reached up to tug down her kapp. “Forecast is perfect for tomorrow. We should have a good crowd.” Preston clipped Mocha’s leash to her ICAN vest. She stood close to him, pressed against his leg. Her blonde coat sparkled in the afternoon sun, and her fluffy tail swished back and forth in a lackadaisical rhythm. Occasionally she would glance up at him, as if she were assuring herself he was fine.

  Amber knew the dog didn’t need the leash. She followed Preston as if she were his shadow, but Preston faithfully clipped the leash whenever they were in public. It was a good practice, as the ICAN rep—Tomas—had told them. The day they had first gone to Fort Wayne and met with Tomas and met Mocha seemed about a hundred years ago. The last few weeks had been packed with drama and heartache and uncertainty. They had been more than busy; they had been exhausting. Thank goodness it had all ended well. All except for the poison poet.

  “What are you thinking about?” Pam squinted at her. “You have that look, the one that means we’re about to find ourselves in the middle of something.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  When Preston, Hannah, and Pam all looked at her expectantly, she couldn’t help laughing. When she did, part of the tightness in her chest eased. “It’s the poison poet. I received another message this morning. I still can’t imagine what this person hopes to gain by leaving bad poetry in my mailbox or at my office or in the bakery!”

  “And why claim to put poison into pies that you then label as poisonous?” Hannah shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Especially since the lab work showed none of those pies actually contained poison.” Pam rolled her eyes.

  “But what did the e-mail say?” Preston asked.

  “It didn’t say anything about Leo, which surprised—and kind of angered—me. But it did say I didn’t have to ‘worry about poison on race day.’ That was it. It wasn’t even in the form of bad poetry. Again, Gordon seems to think this is a good sign. Maybe our poet realizes they have crossed a line poisoning a cat. Maybe this is nearly over.”

  “We still need to know who the person is, though.” Hannah crossed her arms. “We need to catch them. How do we go about our lives, when we know they’re still on the loose, waiting to wreak havoc?”

  “Gordon’s doing everything he can. He sent all the notes to the state lab, and the technicians were able to determine that they were created on a typewriter rather than a computer. Whoever owns it has to purchase ribbons for the thing, so they’re pursuing the case through that avenue.”

  “They might not purchase them at a local store,” Pam pointed out. “We order our supplies on-line. In fact, we even have a few of those typewriters around the Village. I know because I just updated the equipment inventory.”

  Amber hitched her purse strap up higher on her shoulder. “Could you get me that list?”

  “Sure, but I was headed out to oversee marking the finish line for the race. Would Monday be all right?”

  “Monday’s perfect.”

  Preston’s phone rang at that moment. He answered it, then nodded and waved at everyone as he walked away, pausing only to mutter, “Someone got the directional signs for the race messed up. I’m heading over to straighten it out.”

  And so Pam, Hannah, and Amber stood in the afternoon sun on the day before the big race. Amber, for one, was hoping the poison poet’s latest e-mail really did mean all would be well for at least one day—especially with the Ryan Duvall debacle behind them.

  Thirty-Four

  Hannah was determined to put the fear and anxiety behind her for at least one day. Jesse picked her up early the next morning. Usually they both walked to work, but since it was the day of the race they were riding in Jesse’s buggy.

  Both wanted to arrive at the Village early. Hannah stepped out onto the porch a few moments before seven. The sun was peeking over the eastern field. She took in the colors painted across the sky for a few moments, appreciating the quiet and the beauty around her. For a few brief moments, she was lost in thoughts of the future—her marriage to Jesse, her move, the children God would surely bless them with.

  The sound of clip-clops brought her attention back to the present, and she saw Jesse turning Sadie, the female half of his Morgan Shire team, into her lane.

  Sadie looked content to be pulling the buggy so early in the morning, if a horse could be content. Hannah thought they could. The mare was a cross between a Morgan and a Shire. Hannah thought she was the prettiest horse around. Her roan color was only broken by the white on her mane, and she had a habit of nodding gently as she pulled at an even trot.

  Hannah called out a good-bye to her mother, who was cooking breakfast for her dad and brothers in the kitchen, and practically skipped to the buggy.

  “You have a nice bounce in your step this morning, Hannah Bell.”

  She climbed into the buggy, leaned over, and kissed Jesse on the cheek, then wrapped the buggy blanket across her lap. At this time of morning in early May, it was still a bit cool.

  “I slept well, so I suppose I do have a little extra energy.”

  “And is that the only reason for your gut mood?”

  “I’m riding to work with you and Sadie.”

  “It’s going to be a gut day, ya?”

  “I think so, Jesse. I spoke with Martha yesterday as I was leaving the Village. She seemed so much better. It did my heart gut to see her smile for the first time since this terrible mess began a few weeks ago.”

  “So she is over her episode with Ryan?”

  “Maybe. She did say he deserves whatever happens to him, but I’m not sure what that meant.”

  “Sounds a bit ominous.”

  “I don’t think she intended it that way. She mentioned her plans to go to the singing this Sunday—”

  “A good sign.”

  “And then she said Ryan’s decisions weren’t her problem. That maybe he had changed, maybe he hadn’t, but either way whatever happens in the future is a direct result of his actions.”

  “She seems to have wiped her hands of him,” Hannah added meekly.

  “Sounds as if she is letting go.” Jesse reached over and squeezed her hand, then changed the subject. “This is the last big event of the spring, Hannah. Now we can sit back, rest, and maybe enjoy a little summer fishing.”

  She slapped his arm. “Jesse Miller, our wedding is in ten days. Have you forgotten that next week we need to del
iver our wedding invitations? Not to mention finishing the rooms you and Andrew are building on to your parents’ home. Last I checked the walls still lacked any paint.”

  Jesse’s laughter rang out through the morning air. “I have not forgotten. In fact, Andrew and I were working on the rooms last night.” He spent the rest of the short ride describing the bathroom they were putting in between their bedroom and Andrew and Mary’s.

  It was hard to believe that in less than two weeks they would all be living under the same roof. Jesse would no longer be picking her up in the morning. She’d be waking up beside him! A blush warmed her cheeks as they pulled into the parking lot of the Village. Henry Yoder waved them to a stop at the parking booth.

  “Busy morning.” Jesse glanced out over the top of Sadie. The horse didn’t seem concerned about the parking lot full of cars or the crowds of people.

  “Ya. I came in an hour early, and there were already folks parking their vehicles and walking about. The parking area is filling up fast, but I left Sadie’s favorite spot open.”

  “Danki, Henry.”

  “Amber said I could close the booth and watch the finish of the race. What time do you think I should walk over?”

  “Race starts at eight o’clock sharp. It’s only a 5k, but there are several categories, so folks will be starting at different times.”

  “How can they race each other if they start at different times?”

  “Each category starts a few minutes apart, to avoid congestion. Also, that way you don’t have teens running over the old folks. I’d say close up at eight thirty and you’ll be fine.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  Hannah leaned across Jesse so Henry could hear her. “We’ll save you a spot at the finish line, right next to The Quilting Bee.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Henry waved them on, and Jesse directed Sadie to a shaded area at the far corner of the parking lot.

  “It’s gut to see so many people, Jesse. Think how much money we’re going to be able to raise. Think what it could mean to the people with cancer.”

  Jesse set the brake on the buggy, climbed down, and walked around to Hannah’s side. “You were smiling big enough to rival the sun a few minutes ago.”

  He helped her down out of the buggy. “Now you have that somber look, which must mean that you’re thinking about Sarah.”

  She didn’t want to meet his eyes, didn’t want to start crying when she saw the sympathy there. Instead she stared at his light blue cotton shirt. He wore his dark suspenders over them, and in that moment he seemed so solid, so steady, that she wanted to throw herself in his arms and simply stay there. Instead she admitted, “Everyone says her treatments are going well, but it hurts me to see her suffer so.”

  “Suffering is a difficult part of life, but an important part all the same—as Bishop Joseph reminded us during his last sermon.”

  “Ya, though it’s not a part I care to dwell on. We deal with it when we have to, but . . .” Her voice softened as she moved toward Sadie and stroked the mare between her ears. “I remember Sarah when she was so healthy and able to do anything you or I can.”

  “Sarah is still under Gotte’s care, Hannah. No need for you to worry yourself so. But I understand how it bothers you to see her in pain.”

  “Reuben is hurting too. I wish you could see him smile each time we visit. Each time Mattie hands him some shiny rock she’s picked up or flowers she’s pulled along the walk to their house. Her gifts cost nothing, but they ease the pain in Reuben’s life. They brighten his world for a moment.”

  “And those are the things you need to think on. Store up your gut memories—Mattie’s flowers and Reuben’s smiles and days like today.” No one was near them in their corner of the parking lot. Jesse stepped closer and pulled her into the circle of his arms.

  As she stood there, feeling Jesse’s heart beat against hers, it was easy for Hannah to believe that everything was going to be fine. Martha’s heart would heal, and Letha would find what she was seeking in Pinecraft. Sarah’s treatments would be successful. Their wedding would proceed without a hitch.

  It was easy to believe this day would be filled with nothing but joy.

  Though Amber had been at the Village until nearly dark the day before, she arrived before sunup the day of the race to help oversee last-minute preparations. She was thrilled to see how everything had come together.

  The participants would begin their walk/run at the old covered bridge, then move through Middlebury before returning to the Village via the Pumpkinvine Trail. Bouquets of lavender balloons lined the path as it exited the bridge, where each person would begin their race. Across the finish line was an arch made of more balloons and plenty of streamers in the various colors that represented the different types of cancer. The bouquets of balloons seemed to stretch forever. Each had been sponsored by a different business in Middlebury. Each represented their town and how they were determined to stand together in the fight against cancer.

  Amber pivoted in a circle and stopped when she could view the spot where the race ended next to Village Fashions, Letha’s shop. A banner proclaiming VICTORY had been hung over the finish line so that each participant would cross underneath it. And above the VICTORY banner was the rainbow of streamers and more lavender balloons.

  She turned back to the registration table, which was set up on the left side of the bridge. It was already packed with workers and participants. A large poster near the table assured everyone that all proceeds for entering went to the cancer foundation, which would in turn use them for research.

  “The Survivor Table is a nice touch.” Pam offered her one of the disposable coffee cups, hot steam rising in the early morning air. The cup was also decorated in multicolored ribbons. The fresh donut her assistant pushed into her hand was wrapped in a napkin that proclaimed current cancer statistics. Amber stared down at the napkin ringed by small ribbons.

  New cases per year—1.6 million.

  Deaths each year—over half a million.

  Top cancer for men—prostate, lung, colon, bladder, skin.

  Top cancer for women—breast, lung, colon, uterus, lymphoma.

  Five-year survival rate—65.8%.

  “You’re going to eat it, right? Because you probably won’t have another chance to grab a bite until this is over.”

  Amber didn’t even hesitate. She could go back to watching her waistline tomorrow. This morning she was famished, but then again she had been up since five. Who knew there would be so much to coordinate for a race? It was their first year to serve as the host site, and she wanted everything to turn out right.

  “The Survivor Table was sponsored by one of the high school clubs.” Amber took a bite of the donut—warm, sweet, and freshly baked. Then she washed it down with a gulp of coffee. “They even created the T-shirts.”

  “I like tie-dye. I look good in bright colors, but I’m not sure they’d have one in my size.” Bright colors didn’t quite describe the outfits Pam wore. Today she had on a skirt made of bright pink and purple. The blouse she wore had mid-length sleeves and was all purple. A pink scarf around her neck pulled the outfit together.

  “You’re not a cancer survivor.”

  “True, but I survived helping you prepare for this event, and that was no easy task.”

  “It would have been easier if we hadn’t been dealing with the poison poet and the Ryan Duvall fiasco.”

  Pam nodded toward the registration table where Ryan was signing up to run in the 5k. “I wasn’t sure we’d see him today, after what Preston told us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, the whole”—Pam lowered her voice and stepped closer—“owing the mob thing.”

  Amber only smiled. It really was nice to have all the dating drama of the last few weeks behind them. In her mind, if Ryan was turning over a new leaf, then perhaps participating in a community event was a good place to start.

  Hannah and Jesse joined them
. Helen, one of Amber’s more flamboyant Englisch employees, stood handing out ribbons to participants, friends, and family members. Each ribbon had been fastened with a straight pin. Helen handed the basket of ribbons to Hannah so she could more easily help an elderly gentleman attach his orange ribbon, for skin cancer, to the bib of his overalls.

  It was such an incongruous sight—an elderly man with no hair, a large belly, and farmer clothes, next to Helen, who was dressed with her customary flair. Her denim dress stopped just above her knees. She wore long multicolored socks, which reached up past the hem of her dress, and sparkly denim tennis shoes. On Amber the entire ensemble would have looked ridiculous. On Helen it looked chic—especially with her long black hair pulled into a high ponytail and sporting ribbons of every color.

  The girl reminded Amber that the next generation was stepping up. Though they were often portrayed as self-centered and disconnected, the truth was that, when there was an opportunity to serve others, they came through.

  The old guy grunted when Helen stepped back.

  “I thought you were going to stick me.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it. Blood might ruin my outfit.”

  The old man chuckled as he turned away. It was obvious that the little bit of special attention had made his morning.

  Helen reached for the basket of colored ribbons, but Hannah shook her head. “Jesse and I can take care of this. Is there anywhere else you need to be?”

  Helen glanced at Amber, who said, “I think they could use your help signing folks in as they register.”

  Helen shrugged and turned toward the table, but she didn’t get five steps before a young boy with a bald head stopped her and asked if she was going to make balloon animals like she had at the Easter picnic. Helen pulled a balloon out of her pocket and squatted down next to him as she blew into it, then pulled and stretched the balloon into the shape of a wienie dog.

  “The girl has multiple talents,” Pam said.