Murder Freshly Baked Read online

His arms began to shake.

  He stayed where he was, waiting for the episode to pass and for his heartbeat to return to normal. It took several moments to realize he was holding his bedside lamp across his chest, clutching it as if it were the rifle that could save his life—their lives.

  Slowly his breathing evened out.

  He closed his eyes and prayed for the peace God promised. Prayed this was the last time. Prayed that he would find a way to leave that other life, that other world behind.

  Finally he stood, his legs wobbly from crouching for so long. How many minutes had he been there, in a defensive position in the corner of his bedroom? He walked to the light switch on the wall and counted to three before he switched it on.

  The scene that met his eyes was one of destruction.

  His bed was a shambles, the mattress on its side and the sheets a pile on the floor. The nightstand, the one he’d grabbed the lamp from, was knocked over, and one of the legs had broken in the process. The battery-operated alarm clock had skittered across the floor. The sole picture in the room, a print of an Indiana sunrise over a farmer’s field, had been knocked crooked.

  With his back to the wall, he slid to the floor and studied the chaos in front of him. He didn’t remember any of it. He remembered the battle well enough—the smell of gunfire was still strong, causing bile to rise up in his throat. He could see the image of Toby—what was left of Toby—and he could remember now that what remained on the trail of his commander and friend was more than the piece of pack he’d seen in his dream.

  He covered his face and allowed the emotion to pour out of him, until his shoulders shook and his throat ached. He cried for Frank and for Toby, but also for every soldier who had endured that terrible battle. He wept for the ones who made it and the ones who didn’t.

  And when he thought he had no tears left, he cried for the normal life that he’d never have—the life he longed to share with Zoey but knew he couldn’t.

  How could he ask her to endure scenes like this night after night? How could he be sure he wouldn’t hurt her while he was lost in the past?

  He was home, but a part of him was still over there. And he wasn’t sure he could ever bury the part that had died. He wasn’t sure he would ever be truly free of his past.

  Seven

  More coffee was what Amber needed. Turning right, she bypassed the building that held her office and headed toward A Simple Blend. She’d received a text from Pam, and they were meeting at eight thirty to talk about the poison poetry e-mail. In the light of an Indiana spring morning, it all seemed rather silly. So Amber decided to start her day in her favorite way.

  Tate made excellent coffee, so she didn’t need to visit the Village shop to receive her daily dose of caffeine, though she wouldn’t turn down an extra cup. No, that wasn’t the reason she went. She went because she liked stopping in to see Hannah before their day began. She’d grown close to the young girl in the last year. In her mind, it was like taking a moment to wish her younger sister a good day.

  Which was somewhat ironic since she had a younger sister—Madison, to whom she was quite close. Madison was married and living in Biloxi, Mississippi. She had visited over the Christmas holidays, bringing her two daughters, though her husband couldn’t take off the extra time from work. Chase was a pastor at one of the larger churches in Biloxi. He received vacation time, but they tried to save it up for family trips during spring break and the summer.

  Madison had agreed that Hannah was like the baby sister they’d never had.

  They had laughed about that, remembering how they’d dress their mother’s Chihuahua in clothes meant for their dolls. The poor dog had suffered mightily at their hands, though they’d always rewarded him with extra treats. That could have been the reason he’d been nearly as round as he was tall.

  Amber walked into the shop and was greeted by the smell of recently brewed coffee and the sight of freshly baked pastries. When Hannah had first taken over the shop, the pastries were delivered by an outside firm. Hannah had asked why they didn’t use what was in the bakery. Amber had broached the subject with Georgia, who readily agreed as long as she could have one extra employee to help in the early morning hours.

  The move had netted them a bigger profit as well as happier customers.

  “Tell me you have one of Georgia’s apple Danishes left.”

  “We’re barely open. Of course I have one.” Hannah laughed as she pulled it from the display case, then poured her a cup of her favorite blend. “And if we’d started running out, I would have saved one for you.”

  “Am I that predictable?”

  “Nein. The days you don’t stop by for a fresh Danish, I sell the one I set back to Jesse.”

  Three customers stepped into the shop, and Amber carried her Danish and coffee to a corner table. She enjoyed watching customers come in and out of the shop, and she also liked the way Hannah interacted with them. Some of the tourists were bold and asked Hannah questions about her dress and way of life. Others stole overt glances when Hannah had her back turned, as if by looking closer they would understand what it meant to be plain. Hannah withstood it all in good humor.

  Hannah was about Amber’s size—five and a half feet, with a slight build and chestnut brown hair. They could have passed for sisters, except Amber was an inch shorter and her hair was naturally curly. For most of her life she had fought those curls, but days before they were married Tate told her how much he liked her “natural” look. She decided to experiment with wearing it that way. Once she did, she couldn’t remember why she’d ever spent so much time trying to rope her hair into a hairstyle that wasn’t hers naturally. She loved having a good haircut, but she wouldn’t spend another minute on straighteners, blow dryers, or flatirons.

  She’d been set free.

  When the customers left, Hannah grabbed a mug of hot tea and joined Amber at the table.

  “What did you think of yesterday’s knitting class?” Hannah clasped her hands around the warm mug.

  “I liked it. I like seeing what other people are making. It’s encouraging, even though I’m crocheting and most of you are knitting.”

  “One needle or two, that’s the only difference.”

  “So you say, but remember when I tried knitting? It looked like I was making a tube sock, the way it curled.”

  Hannah started to laugh. “Ya, your crocheting is much better.”

  “It’s faster too.”

  “For you it is, and probably for me. My mamm, though? She knits faster than I can crochet.”

  “Your mamm is an amazing woman.”

  Hannah blushed as if she were the one who had been complimented, but she also nodded in agreement. Then she cleared her throat and sat up straighter. “I saw Preston yesterday as I was leaving the yarn shop. I asked him if he would maybe speak with Ryan.”

  “About Martha?”

  “Ya. I don’t think she understands that Ryan isn’t serious about having a relationship. I don’t want her to get hurt. Also, Jesse told me he saw Letha get out of Ryan’s car.”

  “Our Letha?”

  “The very same. Surely Ryan isn’t dating them both.”

  “Letha is closer to my age, and as far as I can remember is not very interested in dating.”

  “Except now maybe she is. Maybe Ryan is thinking of the Village as a one-stop shop for his dating needs.” Hannah frowned as she worried the strings of her prayer kapp.

  “It would be nice if we could protect those we love from heartache, but it isn’t always possible.”

  “Ya, Jesse said something similar. Still, we can try, and if Preston knows him and can set things right before they go too far . . .”

  “Why isn’t Martha dating someone her own age, someone from your community?”

  Hannah sipped from her tea before she answered. “We were in school together, Martha and I. She was always the quiet one, the scholar our teacher never caught talking or dawdling on the playground during break—though she loved t
he games of softball and volleyball. Still, she would always be the first one back in the schoolhouse door. She always had her homework done and ready.”

  “A teacher pleaser, huh?”

  “I guess you could call her that, but she acted this way everywhere—school, home, even here at work. Martha’s always been a people pleaser. She does what she thinks will make others happy.”

  “But?”

  “I’m not sure.” Hannah tapped the table as she stared out the window. “Her younger schweschder married last month. Maybe it’s caused her to reconsider things.”

  “She’s a pretty girl.”

  “True, but in a plain community it isn’t always about who is the prettiest. Sometimes it’s about who is the most interested. If one boy asks you to a singing and you say no, well, nothing much is thought about that. If you turn down several boys who ask you, though, then boys start assuming you’re not interested.”

  “Not too different from my high school.”

  Hannah cocked her head, but didn’t agree or disagree.

  “So why did Martha always say no?”

  “I couldn’t tell you, but when we were in school she was always quiet and never very social. She wasn’t rude or anything, but she seemed to prefer being alone.”

  “We call that being introverted, and many people feel that way.”

  “Maybe so, but suddenly something has changed with Martha. Perhaps it’s the thought of being the one still home with her parents. It could be that she’s started to realize what she’ll miss—having a home of her own, a husband to love her, children. It seems to me that maybe she decided she wanted to date, but no one asks anymore . . .”

  “Until Ryan did.”

  “Exactly, though looking at horses isn’t actually a date.”

  “Sometimes what starts out as not dating turns into that very thing.” Amber thought about her and Tate and the incident with the donkeys and the storm and the vandalism that had brought them together. That certainly had not been a date, but it had led to one, which had led to another. Now they were happily married.

  She glanced at the time on her phone. She had ten minutes before she was supposed to meet with Pam, which reminded her of the e-mail they needed to discuss. “Say, Hannah. You haven’t heard of anyone who is unhappy in their job, or maybe angry about something that happened here at the Village, have you?”

  “Nein. Why?”

  Amber considered how much she should say, but in the end she remembered how helpful Hannah had been in the last two situations they’d encountered. If it weren’t for the girl sitting across from her, she could have died both times. Hannah might be young, but she was also mature.

  So Amber turned on her tablet and showed her the e-mail.

  Hannah’s eyes widened as she read it. “Sounds like a bad joke.”

  “I thought so too. I spoke with Georgia before I came over here. She assured me that no one has access to her baking supplies except for her and the employees directly under her. She told me to stop worrying.”

  “Did you?”

  “A little.” Amber smiled as she stood and collected her keys, tablet, and purse. “I came here, didn’t I?”

  “But it’s hard to resist my kaffi.”

  “True.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I’m meeting with Pam to discuss it in a few minutes. If you hear of anyone, though, anyone at all who might be upset with me or someone here at the Village, let me know. For once I’d like to stop a situation before it spins out of control.”

  Eight

  Hannah desperately needed a break. She needed to go talk to Martha.

  She usually waited until Seth had arrived and their morning rush was over. Seth Kauffman was eighteen years old, over six feet tall, and had brown hair and mocha-colored eyes. Hannah had noticed some of the girls at church meeting gazing at him, then giggling behind their hands. It seemed to her that everyone was changing, growing older, growing up! She especially noticed the difference in Seth, who now worked for her. He no longer seemed like a young teenager.

  Walking into the coffee shop ten minutes before his shift was due to start, Seth greeted her and then made his way calmly to the back room, where his apron was stored on a hook. He’d definitely changed over the last year. There was a time when she was afraid to leave him alone in the coffee shop, even for a fifteen-minute break. But Seth had matured. He did occasionally still find himself in the oddest situations, but those instances were fewer and farther apart. The last one Hannah could remember was when he’d been working on their front window display and broken one of the crates they used to set merchandise on. Instead of telling her, he’d gone out and bought superglue, then proceeded to glue his fingers together.

  Fortunately Pam Coleman, Amber’s assistant general manager, had happened by. She knew the remedy for super-glued fingers—salt! “My grammy always said a pinch of salt could cure a world of ills.”

  They’d scrubbed Seth’s fingers with a salt paste, and the rough residue had melted away. Pam was good with homemade remedies. She would have made a wonderful Amish person, though she did not dress plain, and to be truthful, there were few black Amish. Hannah had certainly never met one.

  One part of Hannah’s mind said that Seth was overdue for an accident, as she’d suggested to Preston the day before. The more charitable part of her mind said that perhaps he was growing out of such foolishness.

  “Would you like me to clean out the syrup containers while you’re gone?”

  “Can you do it without spilling?”

  “I only did that once.”

  “Or putting the syrup back in the wrong containers?”

  “That was a little funny.” He sobered when he saw her disapproving expression. “Not very funny, though. I’ll be extra careful.”

  “You’re doing well, Seth. One day you may be the manager here instead of me.”

  Seth froze, a large container of raspberry syrup in his hands. “Why would I do that? I like working for you, Hannah.”

  “You know as well as I do that plain women don’t work after they marry—not usually anyway.”

  “You could.” His face reddened, but he pushed forward. “Until your first boppli arrives you could.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t think Jesse would mind if you kept working after you marry, and our bishop tends to leave such decisions to the family.”

  Hannah simply stared at Seth. She’d been so busy preparing for her wedding and worrying about Ryan Duvall and her friends that she honestly hadn’t given any thought to whether she would continue working. She liked the idea of being home with little ones, but . . . but what? That was what Amish women did! She’d miss the coffee shop, though. It had become her private little haven.

  “We’ll see. It’s not something you have to worry about today. I’ll be back after a short break.”

  “Take your time.” He waved her away, the look on his face still a bit unsettled. Apparently it had never occurred to him that things would change. Hannah was only a few years older, but already she was learning that things always changed. There was no point in being anxious about it, as change was the one constant in anyone’s world. Come to think of it, her mother had said something similar during their talk the night before.

  She didn’t pause to look in any of the shop windows though they were filled with colorful spring displays that normally would have enticed her. Instead she walked straight to the inn and pushed open the door. The reception area always brought a smile to Hannah’s face. Tall, clear vases held bright, silk spring flowers. Amber insisted on artificial displays because some of the guests were allergic to fresh floral arrangements. A light lemony scent filled the air, indicating the furniture had been recently dusted. Sunshine poured through the blinds, which were partially open. The couches and chairs positioned in the sitting area were upholstered in cheerful floral prints. A few Englischers lounged in the chairs, but most of the area was empty.

  Martha and
Jake stood behind the counter. Martha was filing some paperwork and Jake was straightening pens and paper.

  “You two look bored.”

  “Hardly.” Martha closed the file in her hand and tucked it into a drawer. “We just had a rush, folks checking out early to drive through the countryside. They want to catch the Amish farmers for some pictures.”

  Hannah laughed. “I hope they started early. My dat had the plow hitched up by six this morning.”

  Jake shook his head as he placed his elbows on the counter and stared out the front window. “That is too early for anyone to be working outside.”

  Jake wore his black hair long and pulled back into a ponytail. Hannah didn’t know many men who had long hair—in fact, she couldn’t think of any others. When he’d first come to work at the Village, Hannah had thought him rather strange. Now she knew him better. She understood he wasn’t strange, only different. Jake was an artist, but instead of paper and paint, he created art on computers. She didn’t completely understand how he did this, but he’d showed her a few things and they were quite good. He called it graphic design, and Amber had recently hired him to help redo the Village webpage.

  Hannah stepped closer to Martha and lowered her voice. “I was wondering if you could take a break now.”

  “I guess. Things should stay quiet around here for another half hour or so.”

  “This won’t take long.”

  Martha turned to confirm it was okay with Jake, but he waved her away. “Get out of here. I can handle a few checkouts on my own.”

  “Fifteen minutes. We won’t be any longer.”

  Hannah and Martha hurried outside and over to a bench.

  “What is it? Is something wrong?”

  “Nein. I wanted to know if you went to Ryan’s after work yesterday.”

  Martha smiled and folded her hands in her lap.

  “You did!” Hannah lowered her voice. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to shout, but I can’t believe you actually did it. I thought you would change your mind.”

  “I did not change my mind.” Martha’s eyes practically sparkled. “I’m tired of being the shy, quiet Martha everyone thinks of as their schweschder. If Amish boys don’t want to ask me out, then I’ll go out with Englischers.”