Murder, Simply Stitched: An Amish Quilt Shop Mystery (21 page)

F
arley took his seat in the middle of the table, and the remaining trustees walked in like a Supreme Court procession. The trustees consisted of one more man, a woman I didn’t know, and Willow Moon. That made four trustees in all, well, five before Wanda passed away. Her spot to Farley’s right was empty.

“That’s Caroline there,” my neighbor said.

I didn’t really need her to be pointed out. I knew Willow, and Caroline was the only other woman on the stage. Caroline Cramer was a small, thin woman with a controlled demeanor. She was the polar opposite of large and loud Wanda Hunt. Based strictly on appearances, I could see where the two may not have gotten along. She wore a suit and her chestnut hair was in a French roll. She looked like so many of the seasoned businesswomen I knew back in Dallas and seemed out of place in the basement of a Mennonite meetinghouse in Holmes County.

“What does she do?” I asked my seatmate.

He thought for a minute. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Wanda was a CPA. What does Caroline do outside of being a trustee?”

“She volunteers in the community a lot. She’s married. Maybe she has a kid or two. I don’t pay much attention. Usually by this time I am hitting the snacks hard.”

He pointed a meaty finger at Farley. “Of course, that’s Jung. He’s good at his job even though he is a stickler for the rules. Rolling Brook’s tourism has grown a lot since Jung’s been running the show.”

“Who ran the show before?”

“An old dude named Carpenter. He died right here in this room.”

“What?” I hissed.

“It’s okay. He was like ninety. He keeled over in his seat during a briefing about whether the township should stick with the gaslight lamppost or go electric. It got heated, and he cashed in his chips.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Not really. He died doing what he loved. They buried him with his gavel.”

Farley banged his gavel on the stop on the table. “Please, quiet the room. Thank you all for coming. I now call this meeting to order,” Farley said and knocked a gavel on the tabletop a second time. “Caroline will begin with a meditation about the sad passing of our friend and fellow trustee Wanda Hunt.”

Caroline cleared her throat. “I thought of this passage as soon as I heard the news.” She recited a portion of the
Rime of the Ancient Mariner
. I wasn’t sure what being stuck on a boat without water had to do with Wanda’s death.

“That was whack,” my friend said.

I had to agree it was whack.

“Thank you, Caroline,” Farley said. “That was . . . memorable.

“We have a brisk agenda tonight. The first order of business is Aaron Miller’s factory proposal.” He narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Miller would you please stand and tell us about your project, and the changes you have made to make this more appealing to the community as a whole.”

Aaron walked to the microphone in the middle of the aisle. “I presented to you what I viewed as a good plan, but in front of you, you will find some new changes, including asking trucks to arrive and leave from the factory by way of the south end of Sugartree Street, which means they will not drive through town and disturb the tourists.”

Caroline leaned into her microphone. “What about the smell? How are you going to control the smell coming from the factory?”

Willow snorted into her microphone. “Caroline, honestly, is that a real question?”

Caroline glared at Willow before turning back to Aaron. “Please answer the question.”

Aaron blinked. “The smell of pie? You want me to control that?”

“Yes,” she said without giving a reason. “Speak into the microphone, Mr. Miller. Those in the back would like to be able to hear what you have to say.”

Aaron took a tentative step to the microphone. “I said I presented the trustees with an altered proposal that addresses all of the concerns. Smell from the factory wasn’t mentioned before.”

“Why did you have to revise it?” the male trustee asked. “Why did you waste our time by making us read the proposal twice? It clearly is still too large of a business for Sugartree Street. You have made no changes in that respect.”

I gritted my teeth.

“Any smaller and the factory would not be able to sustain itself. I need a large enough building that can produce enough pies and other baked items to turn a profit.”

“You should have thought about that before you purchased the land,” Caroline said.

Aaron’s back tensed. “I didn’t know about all these rules then.” He bowed his head. “And I admit that I made a decision too quickly, but the Realtor told me if I didn’t buy it at that moment, the
Englisch
developer from Toledo would. Would you have preferred I allow someone from outside the county buy the land?”

“Of course we wouldn’t,” Willow said.

“Ignorance of the rules is no excuse.” Caroline glowered at him. “As a business owner in town already, you received a copy of all the township ordinances. Ignorance is not an excuse.”

My body tensed.

“I think you will find when you read it that I have addressed all the worries the trustees expressed in the last meeting in regard to the number of employees and the location of the entrance. I have done what you have asked I do.”

“What can be done about the traffic jams this factory will cause? You will have delivery trucks coming and going from your place of business at all hours of the day and night. It will disturb the tourists and businesses during the day and the residents of Sugartree Street at night.”

“Yes, there will be trucks and buggies coming and going, but deliveries will only be made when the factory is open. At this time, we will only operate ten hours per day.”

Caroling pointed her sharp index fingernail at him. “At this point. Do you anticipate growth that will make the factory run at twenty-four hours, seven days a week?”

“That is very unlikely, and we will never be open seven days a week. The factory will not operate on Sunday. That is the Lord’s day.”

Caroline folded her hands on the top of the proposal. “There is still the concern of traffic during the day. It is our job to ensure that the tourists visiting Rolling Brook have the very best experience in order for them to come back and help our economy and community. You say here that you will ask them to come and go from the south, but you cannot promise that they will. This will not do. I move to deny the request.”

Aaron’s head dropped.

I jumped to my feet. “Wait—you can’t do that.”

Farley smiled. “Miss Braddock, would you like to speak on Mr. Miller’s behalf?”

Rachel’s eyes pleaded with me to sit back down, but I couldn’t. I shot Aaron a glance. His face was stony.

“I would,” I said. “And I have proof he is not breaking any ordinance rules.” I held up Willow’s binder.

Caroline snickered with the man next to her.
I would show them.

“I do not need anyone else to speak for me,” Aaron said.

Farley smiled. “Let’s see what Miss Braddock has to say.” He waved me forward. “Please come to the mic, Miss Braddock.”

As I strode to the front of the room, Farley said, “For those of you who may not know, Angela Braddock is the new owner of Running Stitch in Rolling Brook.”

A murmur charged through the air like a current.

Aaron stepped in front of me. “Please don’t do this.”

“Aaron, I have to.”

He stepped out of my way, and I faced the firing squad. Willow’s was the only friendly face.

“Go ahead, Miss Braddock.”

I cleared my throat. “I have a couple of questions before I begin.”

“That’s not how it works,” the man snapped. His nameplate read
J
ASON
R
USTLE
.

“Ask your questions,” Farley said.

“Is the mercantile on Sugartree Street in its original location?”

“Yes, it is,” Willow answered.

I swallowed. “Is Old Ben’s woodworking shop in its original location?”

“Yes,” Willow answered again.

“What is this? A geography lesson?” Jason asked.

I nodded. I opened the binder to the page I had marked. “It is.” I placed the binder on the table in front of Farley. “The factory isn’t located within the part of town that must adhere to the strict building codes.”

“What do you mean?” Jason asked. “It’s on Sugartree Street. Those ordinances were written to protect the main shopping district in town.”

“I highlighted the section for you,” I said.

Willow pulled the binder toward herself and read into the microphone. “Dated January 24, 1955. The boundary for these building codes will be from the present location of the mercantile to the location of Old Ben’s woodworking shop on Sugartree Street. All land beyond that point is not subject to these requirements.”

“That’s ridiculous. The law was implying it was the entire street. We can’t help it if the street was shorter before,” Caroline complained.

Farley rubbed this chin. “Yes, but if such was the case, we would have needed to create a legally sound document to acknowledge the newly elongated street. It seems we cannot hold Mr. Miller to the ordinance standards, and since there were no other disputes with the factory, it has been approved.” He hit his gavel to the table.

I turned to see Rachel reach for her husband’s hand and squeeze it. “Thank you,” she mouthed at me.

Aaron paled as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

“Thank you, Head Trustee Jung,” I said and started to turn.

“Wait, Miss Braddock,” Farley said. “Please stay where you are for the moment.”

I froze, and a feeling of dread crawled up my back. Was he going to take his ruling back?

Farley leaned into the microphone. “As you all know, we have an even more pressing issue at hand. We lost longtime trustee, Wanda Hunt. Wanda was a pillar of the community, both contributing to it as a business owner and public servant. She will be greatly missed by the board and I am sure by all of you.” He cleared his throat. “However, it is important that we carry on her good work. It is my responsibility to appoint a replacement, who will take her place on this board for the remainder of her term, which is a one-year assignment.”

My head was reeling.
What does this have to do with me?

“I’ve asked Miss Braddock to remain at the microphone for a very important reason.”

I froze. “Why?”

He met my gaze, which I was sure was akin to a deer in the headlights. “I would like to appoint you to take Wanda’s place on the board.”

Caroline covered her mic with her hand, but I was close enough to hear her say, “Farley, you can’t be serious!”

I totally agreed. He
couldn’t
be serious.

“Me?” I squeaked. “No, thank you.”

“You are here tonight because you have an interest in helping your Amish friends. You can do that even more as a board member.”

“Wait. Back up. I’m not interested, like not at all.” I felt every eye in the room on my face.

Farley folded his hands on the tabletop. “You could be a trustee and therefore champion the Amish citizens of the community on this panel.”

I waved my hands in front of my face in the universal stop sign. “No, thank you. I’m flattered you think me worthy of this position but it’s not for me. I’m not a politician.”

“I think you proved that you are tonight.”

“Farley!” Caroline removed her hand from her microphone and allowed it to pick up her words. “Who is she? We can’t have a
new
person.”

“Angela isn’t new. She was born right here in Holmes County. Isn’t that right, Angela?”

“Wait, wait,” I said. “How can you appoint me for this? I don’t even live in Rolling Brook. I live in Millersburg.”

“See, she admits she’s not suitable,” Jason, who glowered at me from the far end of the table, said.

Farley laughed. “Since Rolling Brook is so small, you do not need to be a resident to be a trustee, only a property owner. As the owner of Running Stitch, she is qualified.”

I turned and scanned the crowd. They were quiet. They were frozen, clearly as astonished as I was by this turn of events. Rachel’s mouth hung open.

My seatmate in the back gave me a thumbs-up sign. My eyes didn’t dwell on him. Instead they fell on Sheriff Mitchell, who stood in the very back of the room in uniform. His level aquamarine gaze took my breath away. I blinked.

“Angela, I need to know if you will accept the appointment,” Farley said.

I looked at Rachel, Jonah, and other Amish faces in the room. The face I saw in my mind was my aunt’s.

“How much time is left on the term?” I asked.

Farley’s eyes brightened, knowing he’d won. “One year.”

One year, it’s just one year. Before I could change my mind, I said, “I’ll do it.”

Farley’s lips curled into a pleased smile. “Very good. Very good. Do I have a motion?” He looked down the long table at the council members.