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

blue Rolling Block quilt hung six inches from the floor. An ache poked me in the chest. My aunt had been gone for a few months. But looking at that quilt, it felt like I was losing her this very morning. Maybe it was the discovery of Wanda that brought back the feeling of loss that bubbled just beneath the surface of my skin.
    I pushed thoughts of my aunt away and realized the three young men were the ones I had seen walking across the auction yard earlier. All three had been walking from the direction of the Nissley house a few yards from the canning shed. Fewer than thirty minutes later I found Wanda dead in that area. Was there a connection?
    “Angie, I am glad you were able to come,” Gideon lowered his voice. “I was afraid you were caught up with the police. Please don’t mention the commotion behind the canning shed to our English visitors.”
    “I won’t,” I promised.
    “Glad to see you are finally here,” Linus said as he loomed above me.
    “I got held up.”
    “I heard. What an unfortunate event to happen on auction day.”
    I wrinkled my brow.
Would it be okay to happen on a nonauction day?
    “I’m sorry I’m late,” I said.
    The large man smiled. “
Nee.
You’re right on time,” he said and climbed onto the three-foot-high platform with one effortless step. His voice boomed. “Let’s start the bidding at one hundred dollars. Do I have one?”
    I winced. The quilt was worth much more than one hundred dollars. Thankfully, my worry dissolved as the bidding picked up. There was a woman wearing a blue visor in the front row calling bid for bid against an elderly man wearing an argyle sweater in the back.
    My heart ached a little every time I sold one of my aunt’s quilts even though I knew she’d think that was silly of me. I could almost hear her say, “Angie, a quilt is meant to warm you at night and to be sold. Keeping it just because it’s pretty to look at is foolish.”
    The woman prevailed as Linus crowed, “Sold! Seven fifty!”
Seven fifty.
One of my aunt’s quilts sold for seven hundred and fifty dollars. Did I hear that right? Even though I knew my aunt’s handiwork was well worth that price, I never dared price the quilts in the shop that high because I was afraid I would never sell any of them.
    The English woman who purchased the quilt jumped up and down at her good fortune with such enthusiasm that her visor fell off. She wasn’t the only one excited. I grinned from ear to ear. The auction house kept twenty percent of the sales, but I still made more on each quilt than I would have had I sold them at Running Stitch. Plus, I had the good sense to attach a business card on the back of each quilt with a safety pin. Hopefully, these quilt lovers would drop by the shop and become regular customers.
    The next quilt sold for eight hundred. I was dizzy at the sudden monetary windfall.
    The third quilt was on the block. The bids came so fast, it made my head spin. “Sold! Nine hundred to the lady in the pink ball cap.”
    Rachel had been right—the auction was the way to keep my business afloat and even make a profit. Guilt washed over me as I thought of Rachel. She was home by now. I hated to think of how upset she was over Wanda’s death. I knew that with her kind heart, she blamed herself.
    The two teenaged boys removed the quilts from the lines. The Goth boy joined them again and helped fold the quilts. I examined his outfit more closely. He wore black jeans, a rock band hooded sweatshirt, and black combat boots. His dyed black hair fell over his eyes. Huh. I thought everyone who worked at the auction house was Amish. This kid wasn’t Amish, not by a long shot, but he looked at home at the auction house and joked with the Amish boys while they carried the quilts to the cashier.
    Jonah wove through the crowd that was in flux as the next block, Amish-made furniture, was set on stage by the boys. When he reached me, he removed his hat and dusted it on his knee. “You did all