Murder, Plain and Simple by Isabella Alan Read Free Book Online Page A

half smile. “Was the stockroom locked all night?” he asked.
    It was already in the lower eighties and the humidity climbed steadily with the heat. Despite the damp heat surrounding me, I wrapped my arms around myself for warmth as I thought. “No, it doesn’t have a lock. We went in and out of the room many times after the party, and I never noticed the cutters.”
    “Who is ‘we’?”
    I inwardly groaned. I shouldn’t have gotten them involved. “My quilting circle was helping me clean up.”
    Rachel straightened to her full height. “I was there.” In her Amish clothes, she looked like a Pilgrim about to tell off the governor of Plymouth. The only difference was she wasn’t wearing buckle shoes. She wore plain white sneakers.
    He smiled. “Anyone else?”
    “Martha Yoder, Anna Graber, and Sarah Leham. They are all members of the quilting circle.”
    “Any one of them had access to the stockroom.”
    “Yes,” I said, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice.
    “I’m going to have to talk to them.”
    “But they had nothing to do with Mr. Walker’s—er—condition. They left hours before I did.”
    A gleam caught in the sheriff’s eyes. “You were in the shop alone.”
    Now I’d stepped into it, I thought.
    “It’s my shop. Of course, I was the last one out.”
    “What time did the quilters leave, Mrs. Miller?”
    Rachel fingered the edge of her apron. “Nine.”
    His aquamarine eyes zeroed in on me. “And what time did you leave?”
    I sighed. “Midnight.”
    “You were alone in the shop for three hours in the middle of the night. No one else was with you?”
    “Does my dog count?”
    A smile flashed across Mitchell’s face and disappeared. “No. Why did you stay so late by yourself?”
    “I work better at night and wanted to finish up some things before I went home.” I shifted my weight from foot to foot, missing my cowboy boots, which were at home with Oliver.
    “What things?”
    I threw up my hands. “Filing, accounting, mundane work like that.”
    “Who waited for you at home?”
    I fidgeted. “No one. I live alone.”
    He nodded as if he suspected that was the answer. “Who has keys to the shop?”
    “I do, and so does Martha Yoder. She works for me.”
    “Anyone else?”
    I shook my head. “Unless my aunt’s lawyer kept a copy.”
    “Who’s that?”
    “Harvey Lemontop.”
    He nodded. “I know him.” He tapped his pen to his cheek as he considered the information.
    I could almost hear the gears click in his head as he processed what I’d told him. It was as if I could see the thoughts running through his head. The case was a done deal. I was the killer. I had means and opportunity. All that was left was motive.
    “How well did you know Mr. Walker?”
    Ahh, and now we get to that motive question.
I felt light-headed.
    “Not well at all. His woodworking shop is right next door, but we hadn’t had much chance to speak since I took over Running Stitch. We are both so busy.” Even to my own ears, the excuse for not knowing Joseph sounded lame, but I certainly wasn’t going to tell the sheriff that the woodworker thought he owned Running Stitch.
    “Do you know anyone who might have an issue with Mr. Walker?”
    Farley Jung’s thin face and greasy hair popped into my head. What had he said the day I’d met him?
He will be silent on the topic of the Watermelon Fest soon enough.
    “You do know someone.” The sheriff took a step closer to me.
    “I know that he and those organizing the Watermelon Fest had a disagreement over the event, but it can’t be that,” I insisted. “No one would kill another person over watermelon.”
    “You’d be surprised. You must mean Willow Moon and Farley Jung, then.”
    I nodded.
    “Okay, do you know if anyone has an issue with you?”
    “With me? Why me?” The light-headedness was getting worse.
This can’t really be happening. It just can’t.
    “He was killed in your stockroom. Maybe someone was sending you a