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

message.”
    I shivered. “I just moved here. I couldn’t possibly have made an enemy already.”
    The only person who came to mind was Joseph Walker, but certainly he’d thought of me more as an annoyance than an enemy. Weren’t the Amish pacifists anyway?
    “You need to stop by the sheriff’s department today to get fingerprinted. The address for the department is on the card I gave you.”
    “Fingerprinted?” I squeaked.
    “You said that you touched the murder weapon. We need your fingerprints to rule you out.”
    Or convict me,
I thought with a lump in my throat. “Can I go back into the shop?” I asked. I needed to change the subject immediately. It was either that or crash to the sidewalk in a dead faint. Mitchell had already picked me up off the sidewalk once. We didn’t need a reprise of that embarrassment.
    Mitchell shook his head. “Not today. Maybe not until the end of next week either. You’re going to want to have your stockroom professionally cleaned. Your insurance should cover that.”
    I winced. I hadn’t even thought of the condition of the stockroom. Did my aunt have insurance on the shop? I made a mental note to ask Harvey Lemontop.
    “Now what do I do?” The rhetorical question popped out of my mouth.
    I felt Rachel’s small hand on my shoulder. “Come over to the bakery. A strong cup of coffee will do you good.”
    Amish coffee was the best choice I had.
    Sheriff Mitchell watched me, making me feel like a bug under a microscope. I wondered if he had learned that stare down in cop school or came by it naturally.
    “Am I free to go?” Unsuccessfully, I tried to keep the edge out of my voice.
    He nodded with a peculiar expression on his face. “I know where you live.”

Chapter Seven
    I let Rachel guide me across the street as the ambulance with Joseph’s body drove away. No sirens. I was surprised he was taken by ambulance. Didn’t the Amish want to take the body themselves? Then I remembered this was a homicide and everything must be handled differently.
Did Abigail know?
I felt queasy at the thought of the quiet Amish woman with milky skin hearing the news. Her sweet demeanor gave the impression that there wasn’t much she could handle. Would her husband’s death topple her completely?
    Miller’s Amish Bakery smelled like fresh-baked bread with a hint of lemon oil and vinegar. The scent reminded me of my aunt Eleanor’s house, as they were my aunt’s main staples to clean her home. Oiled oak shelves supported loaves of fresh-baked Amish bread in clear plastic sacks held closed with bright yellow twist ties.
    Directly across from the front door, a long glass display case ran the length of the room. Fry pies, Amish cookies, and fruit pies filled the case. Rachel’s frowning husband stood behind the counter. A young Amish girl no more than twenty with chestnut hair worn Amish-style—parted down the middle and secured at the nape of her neck into a bun—busied herself cleaning the display case with water and vinegar from a plastic spray bottle. Within the hour, the bakery would be overrun with English tourists, who were there to buy a piece of Amish life and feel wistful about simpler times. Considering Joseph’s death, Amish life might not be as simple as it seemed. The Amish forgo electricity and automobiles, but they still had problems too—big problems that led to murder, apparently.
    I winced when I thought of all the business Running Stitch would lose during that day and over the next week. I hoped the sheriff would let me reopen by the following weekend or I could be in real trouble. It was already August; summer was the height of tourist season in Holmes County, and I desperately wanted to be open for the Watermelon Fest. As soon as the thought about the Watermelon Fest crossed my mind, guilt washed over me. How could I even think that when a man was dead, leaving behind a wife and children?
    “Have a seat, Angie. I’ll bring you a cinnamon roll.” Rachel hurried