a friend of my husband’s and a
gut
man.”
Sarah seemed unconvinced.
Trying not to sound overly curious, I asked, “Where is his shop?”
“Just a block away from Joseph’s,” Martha said.
That meant it was just a block away from the quilt shop too. Ben could have easily gone to the quilt shop, killed Joseph, and returned to his own store before anyone would know. Not that this explained how either man entered
my
store.
What was Joseph doing in there so late at night?
The Amish were early-to-bed, early-to-rise people. They weren’t traipsing around town after midnight.
“Aren’t there a lot of woodworkers in Holmes County?” I ran my index finger along my stitches. “Why is there bad blood between these two?”
Rachel knelt on the floor again to collect the animal crackers Abram dumped. Sarah watched her for a second before answering. “Joseph was Ben’s apprentice. Now he is—was—better than his teacher. Ben’s business has been cut by two-thirds since Joseph opened his doors.”
“Sarah Leham.” Anna’s tone was stern. “How could you possibly know that?”
She held a superior gaze. “You should pay closer attention to what people say, Anna Graber.”
Anna opened her mouth to say something and thought better of it.
Trying to bring the ladies back on track, I said, “Then, Ben has a clear motive for murder.”
First Elijah, now Ben. How many Amish in Rolling Brook wanted to take out the austere woodworker? It was looking better and better for me. I needed to convince the sheriff that these other men were better suspects than I was. Probably not the nicest thought I ever had, but I kept picturing a six-by-six cement room and bad prison food. Plus, there was Oliver to think about. Who would care for my Frenchie if I got hauled off to the Big House?
“Did the sheriff say who he thought did it?” Martha asked. Her voice was calm and she seemed to be in control of the churlish mood that hit when she first arrived. If my wild curls were an indication, it was muggy outside. Maybe Martha’s temper could be attributed to the heat. Or perhaps I was giving her too much credit.
“He did.”
Sarah’s eyes gleamed behind her glasses. This must be better than Christmas morning for her. “Who?”
“Me,” I said simply.
The women gasped. Startled, Oliver darted around the room on the lookout for a rogue pigeon.
“There aren’t any birds in here, Ollie,” I said soothingly.
Sarah’s forehead creased. “What does that mean?”
I just shook my head.
Tears threatened to fall from Rachel’s eyes. “The sheriff can’t think it was you. You didn’t even know Joseph, not really.”
Sarah threaded her needle. “We’re here for you, Angie. Tell us how we can help.”
Irritation flashed across Rachel’s face. “Sarah, you’re looking at Angie as if you were a cat ready to attack a mouse.”
Sarah leaned back in her paddle-backed chair. “Rachel Miller, you need to mind your own business.”
Rachel’s face turned deep red. “That’s a strange thing for you to say.”
Martha folded her hands on her lap. “It’s no surprise the sheriff suspects Angie. It’s because of the missing deed.”
My stomach tightened into a painful knot, more painful than the stomachache I had after the juice cleanse.
Does Mitchell know about the deed yet?
He must.
Anna placed her sewing basket on her lap and began to pack up her kit. “I think that’s enough quilting for the day. Angie must be tired, and I need to take her back home.”
I couldn’t agree more.
Chapt er Thirteen
O liver ran into the house as if he were Quasimodo returning to the safety of Notre-Dame. Our rented house was a bird-free sanctuary of sorts.
A light blinked on my answering machine. The phone company gave me service just two days ago, and I had yet to give anyone my number, except . . . I knew who it was.
I pressed the play button. “Miss Braddock. This is Sheriff Mitchell from the Holmes County Sheriff’s Department.
gut
man.”
Sarah seemed unconvinced.
Trying not to sound overly curious, I asked, “Where is his shop?”
“Just a block away from Joseph’s,” Martha said.
That meant it was just a block away from the quilt shop too. Ben could have easily gone to the quilt shop, killed Joseph, and returned to his own store before anyone would know. Not that this explained how either man entered
my
store.
What was Joseph doing in there so late at night?
The Amish were early-to-bed, early-to-rise people. They weren’t traipsing around town after midnight.
“Aren’t there a lot of woodworkers in Holmes County?” I ran my index finger along my stitches. “Why is there bad blood between these two?”
Rachel knelt on the floor again to collect the animal crackers Abram dumped. Sarah watched her for a second before answering. “Joseph was Ben’s apprentice. Now he is—was—better than his teacher. Ben’s business has been cut by two-thirds since Joseph opened his doors.”
“Sarah Leham.” Anna’s tone was stern. “How could you possibly know that?”
She held a superior gaze. “You should pay closer attention to what people say, Anna Graber.”
Anna opened her mouth to say something and thought better of it.
Trying to bring the ladies back on track, I said, “Then, Ben has a clear motive for murder.”
First Elijah, now Ben. How many Amish in Rolling Brook wanted to take out the austere woodworker? It was looking better and better for me. I needed to convince the sheriff that these other men were better suspects than I was. Probably not the nicest thought I ever had, but I kept picturing a six-by-six cement room and bad prison food. Plus, there was Oliver to think about. Who would care for my Frenchie if I got hauled off to the Big House?
“Did the sheriff say who he thought did it?” Martha asked. Her voice was calm and she seemed to be in control of the churlish mood that hit when she first arrived. If my wild curls were an indication, it was muggy outside. Maybe Martha’s temper could be attributed to the heat. Or perhaps I was giving her too much credit.
“He did.”
Sarah’s eyes gleamed behind her glasses. This must be better than Christmas morning for her. “Who?”
“Me,” I said simply.
The women gasped. Startled, Oliver darted around the room on the lookout for a rogue pigeon.
“There aren’t any birds in here, Ollie,” I said soothingly.
Sarah’s forehead creased. “What does that mean?”
I just shook my head.
Tears threatened to fall from Rachel’s eyes. “The sheriff can’t think it was you. You didn’t even know Joseph, not really.”
Sarah threaded her needle. “We’re here for you, Angie. Tell us how we can help.”
Irritation flashed across Rachel’s face. “Sarah, you’re looking at Angie as if you were a cat ready to attack a mouse.”
Sarah leaned back in her paddle-backed chair. “Rachel Miller, you need to mind your own business.”
Rachel’s face turned deep red. “That’s a strange thing for you to say.”
Martha folded her hands on her lap. “It’s no surprise the sheriff suspects Angie. It’s because of the missing deed.”
My stomach tightened into a painful knot, more painful than the stomachache I had after the juice cleanse.
Does Mitchell know about the deed yet?
He must.
Anna placed her sewing basket on her lap and began to pack up her kit. “I think that’s enough quilting for the day. Angie must be tired, and I need to take her back home.”
I couldn’t agree more.
Chapt er Thirteen
O liver ran into the house as if he were Quasimodo returning to the safety of Notre-Dame. Our rented house was a bird-free sanctuary of sorts.
A light blinked on my answering machine. The phone company gave me service just two days ago, and I had yet to give anyone my number, except . . . I knew who it was.
I pressed the play button. “Miss Braddock. This is Sheriff Mitchell from the Holmes County Sheriff’s Department.
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