Murder, Served Simply (3 page)

“That wouldn't have anything to do with the arrival today of your parents and Ryan?” he asked, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

“What do you think?”

Mitchell opened the front door to the inn for me. “When will I get to meet them?”

“You'll see them tonight.”

“See and meet are not the same thing.”

I squatted next to Oliver and removed his boots, but I left on his sweater.

The Frenchie whimpered.

“You look adorable, trust me.”

Mitchell tapped his foot. “You are avoiding the question.”

“You will get to meet them, I promise, but not on the first night, okay?” I placed my hand on his chest. “I haven't told Mom and Dad about you, and I don't want to in front of Ryan.”

“Is it wrong that I want to meet your parents? You've met my family.”

“No, of course not.” I folded my coat over my arm. “But I know Mom and Dad won't be the main attraction for you.”

“So he did come.” He covered my hand with his and squeezed it. “I was hoping the little weasel would back out.”

“Please don't call him a weasel to his face. That would be awkward.” I slipped my hand from his chest.

Mitchell chuckled. “I can't promise you that.”

I rolled my eyes. “I've barely said two words to him since he got here, so I still have no idea why Ryan came all the way to Ohio for Christmas.”

The sheriff's expression turned serious. “I know why, Angie, and so do you.”

I looked up at him. “Why?”

“You. He wants you back. I have to say it's a pretty romantic gesture to come all this way to win you.” His right eye twitched. I would have missed it if I hadn't been standing so close to him.

I rocked backward onto my heels. “And is that what you want?”

He reached out and grabbed both of my hands. “No. But I can't blame the guy for realizing he made a huge
mistake. But it's too late for him, and I will do everything in my power to make sure he fails.”

“You don't have to worry about it,” I said.

“I know.”

Mitchell squeezed my hands one last time. “Don't wait too long in introducing me to them, okay? Or I might just have to introduce myself.”

Knowing the sheriff, that was not an idle threat.

I
stood up. “Can we get back to the conversation about Nahum Shetler?”

Mitchell took my coat, and I followed him into the small coatroom next to the hotel's registration desk. The wooden hangers clanked together as he hung up my coat and then his own.

“You're in uniform,” I said. Outside, his long wool coat had almost completely covered up his navy sheriff's department uniform. “I thought you were here tonight as a guest, not on official business.”

For the inaugural progressive dinner and play, the hotel invited all the Rolling Brook dignitaries, or at least, the closest thing we had to them. Mitchell was invited as the county sheriff, and I was invited as a township trustee, a title I still wasn't completely comfortable with. I had agreed to the appointment with the hope that I would be able to better represent the wishes of the Amish, but it was hard to think of myself as a politician.

Mitchell put his stocking cap and Oliver's boots on
the shelf above the coats. “It's turning into a little bit of both. Farley was concerned about the problem the hotel had been having with Nahum, so he asked me to come as the sheriff.”

Farley Jung was the immediate past head trustee of Rolling Brook. Because of governmental term limits, he had to step down in November and was just your average trustee like me. After six years at the top, he retained his control over the trustees through the mouthpiece of his replacement, Caroline Cramer.

“Nahum did seem to be very outspoken for an Amish man.” I adjusted my huge bag on my shoulder. “But why are you involved? There's nothing to investigate, right? Does Farley think something criminal will happen?”

“I'm just here to put the play's cast and crew more at ease. Some of them have been shaken by Nahum's appearance at practice.”

“I could see how Eve would be shaken,” I said. “Her own uncle called the play an abomination. What about his bishop? Could he talk to him?”

“From what I gather from the Shetler family, Nahum doesn't attend church services or pay much attention to anything their district or any Amish bishop has to say. He lives outside of any particular Amish community.”

“He's a rogue Amish?” I asked as I followed Mitchell out of the coatroom.

The sheriff stopped beside the eleven-foot-tall Christmas tree to the left of the main entrance. I inhaled the heavy scent of pine. Oliver wriggled under the tree, and I heard him taking a drink from the tree's water bowl.
White twinkle lights and handmade blue and white ornaments covered the tree. The white pine was halfway between the registration desk and the doorway to the sitting room where the quilt show was taking place. Just beyond the sitting room's archway, the grand staircase began. It curved in a great C shape. I made a mental note to check on the quilts in the sitting room before I left the hotel that night.

The heavenly aroma of the progressive dinner's main course wafted across the lobby from the dining room. A line of open French doors separated the dining room from the lobby. The hotel didn't have a full Amish restaurant, but it provided an Amish breakfast for the guests each morning and Amish baked goods in the afternoon. Tonight the hotel dining room was where the main course of the progressive dinner would be served. Actors in costume from the play wandered around the lobby in character as they waited for the progressive diners to arrive.

Mitchell turned to face me in front of the tree. The white lights reflected off the silver in his hair, making his unusual aquamarine eyes sparkle—or that sparkle could have been from his amusement at my comments. “I suppose you could call him that.” He nodded to Oliver. “Are you sure he's allowed in here?”

“Mimi doesn't mind. He's been with me all week while Mattie and I have been preparing for the quilt show.”

He arched an eyebrow. “And Martha?”

“Martha too, but we are working independently, for a lack of a better description. I have yet to get a smile out
of her, much less a direct conversation. She will speak to Mattie though, so I'm trying just to ignore it.”

“Will she be here tonight?”

“I don't think so. She's participating in the quilt show, but I can't see her having anything to do with a play called
An Amish Christmas
. That would go against every protest she has ever made about English and Amish relations.”

The front door of the hotel opened again. A gust of arctic air buffeted the tree and blew my wild blond curls into my face. I pushed them away to see the first of the progressive diners step inside the hotel. The noise volume inside the lobby rose as their happy chatter filled the room.

Mitchell squeezed my elbow. “Remember what I said about introducing me to your parents
and
Ryan,” he called as he melted into the crowd.

I couldn't be more grateful that Mitchell was giving me the time to tell my parents about us my way, but I also knew that time was limited.

As my father stepped through the door, he waved at me. With a new full beard on his face and belly to match, he looked like a stand-in for Santa, a role he'd played before. I couldn't help but smile, and a pang of homesickness swept through me. Holmes County was home now, but I would always be Daddy's little girl.

Ryan's face brightened as if I had been waving to him. I dropped my hand. Mom scrutinized the chandelier above. Her sleek blond hair fell perfectly to the shoulders of her cranberry red wool coat. Her scarf and gloves matched the coat.

I was happy to see that many of the progressive diners had wandered into the large sitting room where the quilt show was happening. Maybe I would drum up some business from this dinner and play after all. It certainly couldn't hurt business.

My parents and Ryan wove through the other progressive diners to reach me.

“Angie Bear! There you are.” Dad wrapped his arms around me. “I didn't get a chance to give you a proper hug back at Running Stitch. You were so busy, but I could see you were in your element.”

It felt so good to be squeezed against his soft tummy. Clearly, my mother had not been successful in making him stick to his diet. Maybe I could give him a talking-to about it. My father had always been big, which wasn't a problem. I couldn't imagine him as thin, but he could lose a few pounds. I worried about his health.

He let me go.

“Thanks, Dad.” I hugged my mother. “You too, Mom.”

She was in head-to-toe Chanel and smelled like No. 5. She kissed both of my cheeks. “Angie, couldn't you have put on a dress for tonight? You are a township trustee, after all.”

I glanced down at my cords and pink snowflake-patterned sweater I thought I was dressed pretty fancy for my life in Rolling Brook. My typical outfit consisted of jeans. It was a far cry from the suits and dresses I had worn to my advertising job in Dallas.

I nodded to Ryan. “Hello, Ryan.”

His face broke into a boyish grin. “Hi, Angie. I was afraid that you were going to pretend I wasn't here.”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

“Angie,” my mother reprimanded.

“I don't deserve anything more,” he said with the lopsided grin still intact. “I hope we—”

“So, how do y'all like the progressive dinner?” I interrupted him, and noticed that my Texas twang reemerged as I spoke to them.

My father beamed. “It's been wonderful. I forgot how much I missed good old Amish cooking. I had three helpings of Amish noodles at the yarn shop up the street from your store. The noodles were just like the ones Eleanor used to make.”

My mother folded her thin arms, and a wave of perfume filled the air. “Kent, I don't know what I am going to do with you. You aren't even pretending to stick to your diet.”

“Aww, it's the holidays. Everyone gains weight this time of year. I would hate to be losing weight and making everyone around me feel inferior. I'll just have to wait until after New Year's to start my diet. I can't insult Angie's Amish friends by turning my nose up at the food that they have to offer me, now can I? That would be rude.” He winked at me.

“What a lovely hotel,” my mother said, changing the subject. “It wouldn't be fair to compare it to the finer hotels in Dallas, but it's quite a step up from those I remember when your father and I lived here.”

“How kind of you, Mom,” I said.

The hotel appealed to those looking for Amish
sensibilities with its sturdily built and impossibly shiny Amish wood furniture. However, it clearly was not an Amish business. Twenty feet above me in the main lobby was an electric crystal chandelier that shimmered and sparkled. Of course, the Amish wouldn't use electric lighting, but more than that, they would never have something so extravagant in their homes. It provided so much light that even standing beside the large Christmas tree at the very front of the hotel, I could see the sparkling indoor pool on the other side of the dining room.

The long registration desk was made of polished dark wood. Two receptionists stood behind it, ready to answer questions. The guests stopped there and then moved through the lobby into the dining room. Many of them were chatting with the actors as they went.

I stood there, taking it all in.

Oliver, on the other hand, reached up and put his paws on Ryan's legs.

Ryan squatted in front of the Frenchie and scratched him between the ears just how Oliver liked it. A pang of memory hit me. Ryan had been with me when I adopted Oliver as a puppy. He'd helped me house-train him. If nothing else, he had always been kind to my dog. To me, that goes a long way.

“Hey, you old rascal,” Ryan said. “Did you miss me?”

Oliver licked his face in reply.

Ryan looked up at me with those chocolate brown eyes, which were as familiar to me as my own. “Did
you
miss me?” he whispered.

I pretended not to hear the question.

“Angie, who was that man you were talking to when we came in?” my mother asked with a raised eyebrow. “He seemed very interested in what you had to say.”

“Oh, that was the sheriff. He's attending the dinner tonight too.”

“They must have had some township business to discuss with all the trustees, Daphne. Don't read so much into everything.”

“Trustees?” Ryan asked.

“Didn't we tell you, Ryan?” my father asked. “Angie Bear is a township trustee for Rolling Brook. I'd say that was mighty impressive for a gal living here only a few months. I always knew you were destined for politics.”

Yep, the next stop is the White House.

My mother jabbed him with her elbow. “How can you say that you
always
knew that? You never said that about Angie a day in her life.”

“I thought it.”

I smiled at my parents' good-natured squabbling. As much as it drove me crazy when I was a teenager, I missed it now. It remained to be seen if I would still miss it by the end of the week.

“Being a township trustee is impressive,” Ryan said with awe in his voice. “You look like you fit in here.” He frowned. “That came out wrong.”

I gave him a genuine smile. “No, it didn't. That's probably the best compliment you've ever given me.”

Ryan frowned as he thought about that.

A round woman in Amish dress rang a bell. “Dinner is served in the breakfast room. Please find your place cards as you go in.”

We followed the actors and other diners through the French doors. A long table with a navy cloth over it dominated the room. It was elegantly decorated with pine and holly, white dishes, and polished silverware.

In addition to the actors and progressive diners, there were the sheriff, the other township trustees, and Mimi Ford, the hotel owner. I found myself seated between a young, striking girl in Amish dress and a tall, thin man in a charcoal suit and shiny black shoes. I couldn't see her place card, but his said
WADE
BROOKLYN
.

I picked up my water glass and asked the girl, “Are you an actress or Amish?”

She rolled a baby carrot across her plate with the back of her fork. “I'm both.”

I started coughing and almost spat water across the table onto Ryan's plate. Fortunately, I was able to regain control of myself. Remembering my encounter with Nahum, I thought there had already been enough spitting for one night. I felt Mitchell watching me from the farthest end of the table.

“I'm Angie Braddock,” I said. “I'm one of the township trustees.”

She blinked at me. “You don't look like a trustee.”

“What does a trustee look like?”

“Older. Irritable.”

I laughed and lowered my voice. “We have some of those, but we have some cheerful people on the board too,” I said, thinking of my friend Willow Moon. If the girl thought I didn't look like a Rolling Brook trustee, then she would never believe Willow was one. Willow was at the end of the table near the sheriff in an
animated conversation with a brunette girl in English dress. Her lavender hair was cropped close to her head, and she fingered the purple crystal pendant resting on the front of her signature gauzy blouse.

The girl next to me nodded her head. “I'm happy to hear that. Not everyone would agree with me, but change is good for Rolling Brook. When I came back, I thought everything was exactly as I left it. I'm glad to see I'm wrong.”

I shook her hand. “And you are?” I asked, although I had already guessed.

“I'm Eve Shetler,” she said, confirming my suspicions. “I'm sure you have heard about me.”

I didn't deny it. I wanted to ask her about her uncle Nahum, but it didn't seem right to ask the girl about her crazy uncle just before she went onstage for her big opening night. She must know that Nahum was causing problems for the play.

The roast turkey, baked ham, roast beef, boiled potatoes, carrots, and Amish casserole were served, which saved me from making a choice about asking her about her uncle.