Murder, Simply Stitched: An Amish Quilt Shop Mystery by Isabella Alan Read Free Book Online

your personal belongings.”
    Deputy Mack was built like the truck for which I suspected he was named.
    “That is not necessary,” Aaron said. “But we will still leave everything except our money box here for you to examine.”
    Mitchell sighed. “Very well.” He paused. “Please open the box so that we can see it before we go.”
    “Don’t you need a warrant for that?” I asked.
    The sheriff clenched his jaw. “Not if the Millers agree to cooperate.”
    Rachel’s brow knit together. “Open the box, Aaron, so that we can leave. I want to go home and see the children.”
    Aaron lifted the lid. The only items inside were small bills and change.
    Mitchell’s jaw twitched. “I need you to bring Rachel to the sheriff’s office tomorrow morning to record her statement about her last encounter with Wanda.”
    The Amish man braced his fist on the tabletop. “I can’t bring Rachel there. It is not the place for any Amish woman to be.”
    Mitchell sighed. “Fine. Then I will send one of my deputies to your home first thing tomorrow to record it.”
    “We will be in the bakery at that time in the morning. I am sorry. Your request is most inconvenient.”
    Mitchell’s jaw twitched again. “Then I will send him to the bakery. A woman is dead, Mr. Miller, and I intend to find out why.”
    Aaron opened and closed his mouth like a fish but said nothing more.
    “You are free to go.” Mitchell stepped to the side.
    The Millers shuffled together to the exit. “Do you need me to do anything?” I asked, keeping pace with them.
    Aaron frowned as he stepped into the autumn sunlight. “We do not need your help, Angie, but
danki
for being here for my wife and sister.”
    Rachel grabbed my hand and squeezed it for a second. She gave me a pleading look. “I will see you tomorrow.”
    Questions popped into my head, but I felt Aaron watching us. I simply nodded. “Tomorrow.” I watched them huddle together as they passed the crowd of onlookers who appeared outside of the merchants’ tent as news of Wanda’s death spread.
    Mitchell came up and stood beside me just outside of the tent. “You will need to go to the station tomorrow to sign your statement too.”
    My shoulders drooped. “All right.”
    “Look on the bright side. You don’t have to be fingerprinted. We got you last time.” He strolled off in the direction of the canning shed.
    The last time, the murder suspect was me.
    Sheriff Mitchell had left Deputy Mack to search through Rachel’s table of goods. I turned back to the merchants’ tent, until a hand reached around the side of the shed Gideon used as an office, and grabbed my hand, yanking me backward.

Chapter Seven
     
    T abitha Nissley, Gideon’s wife, released my arm, and I recovered from cardiac arrest. Tabitha was round like her husband with a cute ski-jump nose and wide eyes, which gave people who didn’t know her the impression she lived in a constant state of surprise. Having gone through the rigorous process of auction vendor approval, I doubted anything that happened on the auction yard surprised her. Well, that is until Wanda’s body was discovered.
    Tabitha placed a hand to her face. “Did I scare you?”
    Uh, yeah.
Instead I said, “I’m okay.”
    She picked up a large basket with both hands. The basket’s bottom sagged under the weight of the half dozen quart-sized Mason jars filled with pickles and maybe a few beets. It was hard to see. Most of the jars’ contents were obscured by a weathered cookbook, a spiral-bound loose-leaf binder with a scratched and stained cover. Tabitha’s name was in black block letters on the green cover. Below her name was a hand-drawn picture of a Mason jar. The book must have held all of the preserve and pickling recipes for Tabitha’s canning business. Canning was one culinary art I was too afraid to try. Knowing my luck I would give everyone botulism.
    I stepped forward. “Can I carry that for you?”
    Forcefully, she swung the basket away.