Murder, Plainly Read (Amish Quilt Shop Mystery) - Softcover

Alan, Isabella

Softcover

ISBN 10: 045147502X ISBN 13: 9780451475022

Publisher: Berkley, 2015

Synopsis

In the latest from the author of Murder, Served Simply, an Amish man checks out permanently, but quilt shop owner Angie Braddock’s got this mystery covered...

With so much to do between running her shop and spending time with her new boyfriend, it’s amazing Angie is able to help organize the Rolling Brook library's annual book sale. Luckily she’s working alongside brash librarian Austina Shaker, a lady who isn’t afraid to make waves to get books to her patrons—even the Amish. Unfortunately, this draws the ire of cranky Bartholomew Belier, an Old Order Amish bishop, who publicly vows to ruin Austina.

And she certainly might be ruined after Belier is found dead in her bookmobile. Now Angie must employ the help of her loyal quilting circle—as well as her beloved French bulldog, Oliver—if she hopes to prove Austina’s innocence before the real killer books it...

INCLUDES QUILTING TIPS

About this title

About the Author:

Isabella Alan is the national bestselling author of the Amish Quilt Shop Mysteries, including Murder, Handcrafted; Murder, Plainly Read; Murder, Served Simply; Murder, Simply Stitched; and Murder, Plain and Simple. An academic librarian for a small college in Ohio, she grew up visiting the state’s Amish country with her family. As Amanda Flower, she is the author of the Agatha Award–nominated Maid of Murder as well as the Magical Bookshop Mysteries.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

Chapter One

“Whoa!” Rachel Miller called to her buggy horse. The buggy shuddered to a stop behind a yellow school bus. Three Amish children climbed in. The youngest boy’s Spider-Man backpack bounced as he disappeared through the door. I smiled. Clearly, he was a member of one of the more liberal Amish districts in Holmes County. A year ago, who’d have ever known that I would be able to know the difference? When I first moved to Millersburg, I had thought, like so many outsiders, that all Amish were the same.

Next to me on the buggy’s bench seat, Rachel’s bonnet cast a shadow over her delicate features. “It shouldn’t be too long now,” Rachel said. “Austina telephoned the bakery to tell me the bookmobile would be parked in front of Hock Trail School.”

Austina, a county librarian, had commissioned a quilt from my quilting circle for her ailing mother. The ladies finished the quilt during our meeting last night. It was a breathtaking purple, rose, and periwinkle blue Ohio Star. The colors weren’t traditionally Amish, but Austina had chosen them because they were her mother’s favorites. The quilt was so lovely, I almost wished I could keep it in the shop for display, but I thought that about every quilt my circle created. Each one seemed to be more beautiful than the last.

I scratched my faithful French bulldog, Oliver, between his ears. He leaned into my caress like a cat. I sighed. “I hate for the ride to end. This reminds me of leisurely buggy rides I would take with my aunt and uncle on Sunday afternoons. It’s nice to take a breath every so often and think about that time.” My throat tightened as I thought about my Amish aunt. She had been gone for over a year now, but every so often the pain of losing her was like a baseball bat to the chest.

The crease in Rachel’s brow smoothed. “Angie, you need to move at a slower pace. You are so busy with Running Stitch and being a township trustee. You need to take a breath. When was the last time you had a quiet evening with the sheriff?”

I found myself blushing like a sixteen-year-old girl. “It’s been a while. He has Zander, who needs his attention. I don’t begrudge Z at all. He’s a great kid. And now that my parents have moved to town, they’re taking up much of my time.”

After my father’s retirement, my parents had moved to Holmes County from Dallas to be closer to me, and my mother was in the middle of a colossal house renovation, the likes of which my Amish friends had never seen.

I zipped my jacket against the cool autumn wind whipping in through the buggy’s open windows. “The latest debacle has been over throw pillows for their living room couch. Please don’t ever ask me to help you choose a throw pillow. According to my mother, I’m not up for the task.”

Rachel chuckled. “Jonah told me your mother bought two chandeliers for the house.”

I rolled my eyes. “Jo-Jo exaggerated. There’s only one.”

Rachel’s horse turned the next corner. Half a mile down the road, I saw the silver-and-green library bookmobile parked in front of a one-room schoolhouse. A small swing set, slide, and metal teeter-totter were next to the bookmobile, but there weren’t any children in the playground. In fact, I didn’t see any children at all. I frowned. It was autumn and school was in session. I was about to ask Rachel about it when my friend whispered, “Oh dear.”

“What—” I started to ask, but soon my question was answered. Austina Shaker stood in front of her bookmobile with her arms folded across her chest. Her right foot jutted out, and she leaned back into her stance as if waiting for the perfect moment to throw a punch. Despite her bright pink cardigan and eyeglasses perched on the end of her nose, she looked more like a street fighter ready to go ten rounds with her opponent than a rural county librarian. The Amish man standing across from her appeared just as fierce, but I would categorize his look as more of an angry pilgrim than a street fighter. It was as if the crossing on the Mayflower hadn’t agreed with him.

Rachel’s horse came to a stop, and I hopped out. Oliver joined me, although he checked the area for incoming birds first. Oliver hated birds.

Behind me, Rachel said, “Angie, I don’t think you should—”

I glanced over her shoulder. “I won’t get involved. Don’t worry.”

My best friend sighed. She knew I was lying to her, and to myself, if I thought that was true.

From the doorway to the schoolhouse, children stared openmouthed at the arguing pair. Their wide-eyed teacher, a young redheaded girl who didn’t look a day over sixteen, watched with them.

The Amish man pointed a bony finger at Austina. “You have no right to be here. I strictly forbade you from coming. You have to leave the schoolyard immediately.”

Austina snorted. “You can’t tell me what to do. I’m not a member of your church.”

Rachel joined Oliver and me. We stood at the edge of the playground about four yards from where Austina and the Amish man argued. Austina was facing us, and I could see every expression that crossed her face. I saw only the back of the man’s head. He stood erect, as if there was a board hidden under his navy coat, and his black felt hat sat perfectly straight on his head.

“Do you know who the man is?” I whispered to Rachel.

My friend nodded. “That’s Bartholomew Beiler. He’s the bishop of the strictest Old Order district in the county.”

I frowned. “Do I know anyone in that district?”

“Joseph Walker was a member.” She watched me out of the corner of her eye.

I grimaced. Joseph Walker was an extremely conservative Old Order Amish man I’d met when I’d first moved to Holmes County and who I later found dead in the stockroom of my quilt shop. I didn’t have a lot of good memories where Joseph Walker was concerned.

The bishop glowered at Austina. “You’re interfering with the members of my church, and you have no right to do it. I, with Gotte’s guidance, am the one who should be telling them how to live, not the books you insist on giving them.”

“You act like I’m peddling vacuums door-to-door. Your church members come to me. They ask for them. All I’m doing is providing books to patrons to read. It’s my job.”

“It’s disrespectful to our culture.”

The librarian arched her left eyebrow. “I will not censor. Now, I think it’s time for you to leave.”

The bishop shook with anger. His hands balled into fists. He wouldn’t hit her. It was not the Amish way. At least, I hoped he wouldn’t.

Austina stuck out her chin as if inviting a blow from Bartholomew.

Slowly he relaxed his hands, and his arms fell loosely at his sides. His voice was low. “You will be sorry you ever drove that monster”—he pointed at the bookmobile—“into my district. You think you have the Englisch law on your side, but I have Gott on mine. We will see who has the last word when this comes to an end.” He stomped away, straight for Rachel and me.

We jumped to the side, and Oliver dove under the teeter-totter. Bartholomew didn’t even acknowledge us. His pockmarked face was molten red. I suspected he saw red too. The young schoolteacher and children in the doorway jumped back into the schoolhouse and closed the door.

Austina smiled as if his threat meant nothing to her and she hadn’t single-handedly run him out of the schoolyard herself. After a moment, she noticed Rachel and me hovering nearby. Her round face broke into a smile. If I hadn’t witnessed it myself, I would have never known she’d been yelling at someone just a moment ago. “Angie, Rachel, I’m so glad you’re here. Did you bring the quilt?”

“Of course, the quilt.” Rachel slapped her head with her hand. “I left it in the buggy. I will go collect it now.”

“That looked intense,” I said after Rachel left.

Austina waved my concern away. “If you’re referring to Bartholomew Beiler, he is nothing to worry about.”

He sure looked like something to worry about to me. You wouldn’t see me going toe-to-toe with an enraged Pilgrim, especially this close to Thanksgiving.

The librarian started back toward the bookmobile. “Don’t wrinkle that cute little nose of yours at me, Angie. Bartholomew is a blowhard. He isn’t the first Amish bishop I’ve argued with about my books, and I doubt he will be the last.”

Rachel returned with the quilt, and she and I unfolded it, holding it up for Austina’s inspection. Tears sprang to the librarian’s dark eyes. “Oh, it’s more gorgeous than I imagined it would be. Mother will love it.” She ran her tapered fingers over a rose triangle in the design.

“I’m glad,” I said as Rachel and I refolded the quilt.

Rachel took the quilt from my hands. “Where would you like me to put it?”

“Put it on my desk inside the bookmobile.”

Rachel disappeared inside the mammoth vehicle.

I cocked my head. “So what was the bishop so upset about?”

“I didn’t think you would let me drop the subject that quickly,” Austina said. “He’s mad about the books I provide and believes I’m corrupting his followers with new and scandalous ideas. Small men always fear new ideas.”

Rachel tripped down the bookmobile steps. Her lips were set in a thin line. She was open-minded, but she was still Amish and believed in that way of life.

“He wants to take away your books?” I asked.

Austina shook her head. “He wants to keep them out of his district. I guess he caught some of the teenage girls reading romances and flipped out.” She snorted. “They weren’t exactly steamy. I mean, maybe the characters shared a smooch at the end of the book. Nothing more.”

“What are you going to do?”

Oliver wriggled out from under the teeter-totter and was now inspecting the bookmobile’s tires.

“I don’t censor. If a teenager from his district comes to me looking for a novel, I will give it to her. It’s not my position to tell people what to read. In my business, any reading is good.”

Rachel looked as if she wanted to argue, but my Amish friend was far too polite to do it. Instead she said, “I think we should be on our way, Angie. Aaron will be wondering what’s taking me so long.”

“Before you leave,” Austina said, “I have another job for you, Angie.”

That sounded ominous. “Oh?” I squeaked. By her tone, I doubted it was another quilt.

“Yes. Stella Parsons, the chair of our Friends of the Library board, had the nerve to break her hip and now she can’t manage our library book sale this month.”

“She broke her hip?!” Rachel exclaimed. “Is she all right?”

“She’ll be fine,” Austina said. “As soon as she gets out of traction.” Her dark eyes zeroed in on me. “Angie, I want you to take over for her.”

I pointed at myself. “Me? Why me?”

“Because you are the best person for the job, according to head township trustee Caroline Cramer,” she said matter-of-factly. “When I spoke to her about needing someone to take on the job, she suggested you right away.”

I bet she did.

“Isn’t there someone else in the Friends who can take this on?” I asked. “I’ve never run an event like this before. Your Friends are the ones with the experience.”

She shook her head. “Most of them are pushing eighty, and the ones that aren’t, I wouldn’t trust with a kid’s lemonade stand, let alone a library book sale.”

“B-but—” I stammered.

She jabbed her fists into her sides and looked as fierce as she did when she was staring down the irate bishop. “Don’t tell me you won’t do it. You’d be letting the entire county down.”

I rolled my eyes. “That seems like a gross exaggeration.”

She picked a piece of lint off of her cardigan. “It could be great publicity for your quilt shop.”

She had me. I was always trying to grow my business. “When and where will it be?” I asked in a whimper.

Austina’s lips curled into a small smile. She knew she was the victor. She’d had the same triumphant expression on her face when she’d shooed the bishop away. I wondered how long that smile would remain.

Chapter Two

Austina folded her arms. “It’s this weekend. The bookmobile will be parked outside the main library in Millersburg.”

Rachel made a small sound.

Both Austina and I looked at her.

She gave us a small smile, but I noticed the tightening around my soft-spoken friend’s mouth.

“Rachel, what’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

I put my hands on my hips and waited.

She sighed. “This weekend is the grand opening of the factory, and I wanted you to be—”

I smacked myself in the forehead. That’s right. The Miller’s Amish Pie Factory grand opening was that Friday and Saturday. I couldn’t miss it. Not only was Rachel my best friend, but I had been tricked into being a township trustee to save the factory. It didn’t seem fair that I would miss the main event or the pie. I deserved a piece of pie or two after what I had been through to see the factory up and running. “Austina, if the book sale is the same weekend as the Millers’ pie factory grand opening, I can’t do it. I need to be there to support my friends.”

Rachel’s brow cleared, and I knew that I’d made the right decision. Caroline Cramer would have to suggest someone else to take over for the lame Mrs. Parsons.

Austina wasn’t giving up that easily. “What if the book sale came to you?”

Rachel cocked her head, unknowingly tilting it at the same angle as Oliver at our feet. “What do you mean?”

“What if we have the book sale at the pie factory? The book sale can be anywhere. The bookmobile is mobile after all.” She tapped a finger to her cheek. “I like it. Rolling Brook Township is too small for a library branch of its own. What better place to have the bookmobile book sale than in one of the communities that we serve?”

I knew that Rachel’s private husband, Aaron, would hate this idea. “I don’t—” I started to interrupt her.

She kept talking as if she never heard me say a word. “There’s plenty of parking there. The parking lot that your husband had built is huge. We could set up a tent as well. I’m really liking this idea.”

“Won’t the library have a problem with a change of venue?” I asked.

“The bookmobile is mine to do with what I please. My director has no interest in it whatsoever. If I told her I wanted to park the bookmobile on Mars, she’d shrug.”

I looked to Rachel. “How would Aaron feel about this?”

Rachel pursed her lips together. “He won’t like it at first, but I will talk to him. I think it might be a great way to bring some extra attention to the pie factory. That’s what Aaron ultimately wants. I’m sure he will see that after we talk.”

I wasn’t as sure, but Rachel knew her husband. Maybe she was right.

I twisted my mouth. “If you can move the book sale to the pie factory, we have a deal.”

She adjusted her glasses on her nose. “Consider it done. In fact, I will park the bookmobile there tonight, so it’s all ready to begin setup tomorrow. Why don’t you meet me there at eight thirty tomorrow morning, Angie? Then we can talk details.”

I winced. I was not a morning person, but since Austina had so readily agreed to change location, I didn’t think I could fuss over the meeting time. “All right—”

My response was interrupted by the sound of screeching tires as a hearse-...

About this edition

• Publisher: Berkley
• Publication date: 2015
• ISBN 10: 045147502X
• ISBN 13: 9780451475022
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• Number of pages: 368