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

I had hoped to take home one of her pies today.”
    “She had to leave early. There was a family emergency.”
    Her bottom lip popped out. “I’m so disappointed. Will she be back for Saturday’s auction?”
    “I’m not sure. I know she would like to be. It depends on how the emergency goes.”
    The woman sighed and moved on. After she left, I helped a group of ladies select souvenir thimbles.
    “Aren’t these cute,” one said to her friend. “This is going right on my miniature shelf.”
    They each bought three. And the quilting circle ladies had scoffed at my thimbles. I tucked the dollar bills into the back pocket of my jeans.
    An Amish woman whom I didn’t know sold baskets from the table next to mine. The ladies who loved my thimbles raved over her baskets. Their praise was deafening. I smiled at the small Amish woman helping them. When we made eye contact, she looked away quickly.
    I moved to the other end of my table and smoothed a Diamond in a Square quilt that lay across it.
    One of the women examined the bottom of a bread basket. “I’ve been looking for a new basket for my dining room. My husband leaves the mail all over the dining room table. It drives me crazy. He even has an office in the house, but insists on leaving the mail in the dining room.”
    Her friend snorted. “That’s a man for you, but that basket isn’t going to make a lick of difference. He will still leave mail on the dining room table, and you will still be picking it up.”
    The first woman’s face reddened. “I can train him to place it in the basket at least.”
    Her friend flipped over a price tag hanging from a berry basket. Shaking her head, she set it back on the table. “Sugar, you’ve been married to that man for twenty years. Your brief training window has come and gone.”
    The first woman clutched the shallow basket to her chest. “I’m still buying it.”
    Her friend shook her head.
    Throughout the conversation, the Amish basket seller quietly embroidered the edge of a basket liner.
    “I’ll take this,” the first woman said.
    The Amish woman accepted the money with a small nod and returned to her work as the English women walked away, still bickering over whether the woman with the new basket could train her husband.
    As they left, I realized the basket seller, whose table was directly across from where the Millers had been, had had a front row seat to all the comings and goings around Rachel’s table, including Wanda’s appearance that morning and the sheriff’s a few hours later. I studied her, but she never looked up from her sewing. I slid down the table closer to her and refolded a set of quilted place mats. “I wonder if her husband will use that basket,” I said.
    The basket weaver said nothing. Her needle moved in and out of the fabric, creating a tiny delicate daisy.
    I tried again. “It was nice that she was so eager to buy. This auction has been great for my business. I’m so happy the Nissleys included me.”
    Still nothing. Did she not understand English? I knew that was unlikely. The vast majority of the Amish in Holmes County were bilingual with maybe the exception of small children.
    “Have you been selling your baskets here long?” I tried again.
    She set her embroidery on her lap with a sigh and she peered at me over black wire-framed reading glasses. “Business at the auction is always
gut
.
Englischers
like things. Even things they do not need or use.”
    I forced a laugh. “Isn’t that good news for us? We sell things. I’m sure she will find a use for your beautiful basket even if her husband doesn’t. You can never have too many baskets.”
    “You can have too many of everything,” she argued.
    “Well, I just wanted to introduce myself since my table is right next to yours. My employee Mattie Miller has been here most of the day. I’m Angie Braddock; I own Running Stitch in town.”
    “I know who you are. Martha Yoder is my cousin.” Her eyes were cold.
    Ahh. I