Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks to my fantastic agent Nicole Resciniti. I’ve always had big dreams, but since we teamed up, my dreams are even bigger.

  Thank you to Julie Gwinn and Julie Carobini for their thoughtful comments on this novel.

  Gratitude to all my dear friends in Mount Vernon, Ohio. A special thank-you to Brenda and Paul Nixon, John Shelter, Mosie Shetler, and Josh Swartzentruber for sharing their Amish experiences with me.

  Love to my family, especially my mother, Rev. Pamela Flower, the best mom a girl could have.

  Finally, to my heavenly Father, thank You.

  A Plain Death, Digital Edition

  Based on Print Edition

  Copyright © 2012 by Amanda Flower

  All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America

  978-1-4336-7697-0

  Published by B&H Publishing Group,

  Nashville, Tennessee

  Dewey Decimal Classification: F

  Subject Heading: AMISH—FICTION MYSTERY FICTION HOMICIDE—FICTION

  Publisher’s Note: The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

  For Mariellyn

  Dear Reader Letter

  Dear Reader,

  When I was twenty-four years old, my first real job out of graduate school was to be an academic librarian for a small college in rural Knox County, Ohio. Knox County is right next to Holmes County, which has the largest Amish population in the world, and Knox County has a small Amish population of its own. It was common for me to see Amish buggies when I drove to and from work or to shop beside Amish families in the local grocery store. That experience inspired me to write A Plain Death and the future novels in the Appleseed Creek Mystery Series.

  There are so many wonderful Amish novels in bookstores and libraries right now, but I hope you find A Plain Death to be a little different. First and foremost, it is a mystery novel. The novel centers around the death of an Amish bishop, who is killed in an auto-buggy collision. The protagonist, Chloe Humphrey, and her new former-Amish friends, Becky and Timothy Troyer, decide to investigate the case because Becky was the driver of the car. They must decide if the crash was an accident or perhaps murder.

  Also, the novel may reveal something new about the Amish to you. In my series, I hope to show you how different the Amish are from order to order and district to district. There are many different Amish groups, and each group has its own rules. However, the heart of their culture is keeping their communities together. Most Amish don’t drive cars because they think it’s wrong to do so. They are afraid that if they were able to own their own cars, the community would splinter because motor vehicles make it easier for community members to move away from each other. It’s a difficult and sometimes peculiar balance that the Amish have with the modern world. I hope I captured the essence of that in my writing.

  Above all, I hope you enjoy the story—that the characters make you smile, the mystery raises your suspicions, and the romance touches your heart.

  Blessings & Happy Reading!

  Amanda Flower

  Chapter One

  A gust of wind rocked my car and the U-Haul trailer hitched to the back. I yelped, my knuckles white as they gripped the steering wheel.

  “Did you fall into a hole or something?” Tanisha’s voice rang in my ear.

  I lowered the volume on my wireless earpiece. Although my best friend sat in her apartment in Milan, Italy, it sounded like she was right next to me. I wished she were. “No, I’m fine.” The wind made its way across the opposing cornfield, its force bowing the stalks in a green wave.

  “When can you come visit me?”

  “I told you I don’t know. I haven’t even started my job yet. I don’t think it’s a good idea to ask for a vacation the very first day.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Tanisha gave a dramatic sigh. “I want you to meet Marcos. He’s perfect for you. I’ve been telling him all about you.”

  I rolled my eyes. Ever since my boy-crazy friend had become engaged, she thought matchmaking was her new mission in life. Unfortunately, I was the one she thought needed her help.

  “Maybe you will meet someone in Appleseed Creek.” Her tone brightened. “I know! You will find a nice buggy boy while you’re playing country girl.”

  “Buggy boy?”

  “A nice Amish lad. He can make you a computer desk. It will be a match made in heaven.” Laughter buoyed Tanisha’s voice.

  I groaned.

  “You can’t hide behind a computer forever. It’s not healthy.”

  Before I could think of a decent comeback, my cat, Gigabyte, meowed. He wasn’t fond of car rides. He’d yowled his way through the last four counties as I made my way from Cleveland into the middle of nowhere. “Don’t worry, Gig. It can’t be much longer now.” I paused. “I hope.”

  “Buggy boy or no buggy boy, this move will be great for you,” Tanisha insisted. “A fresh start! You’ll see. And think about Gig. He’s going to have all the mice he can eat.”

  “He’s never even seen a mouse, let alone eaten one.”

  “You’re hopeless.” My friend sighed. “By the way, Mom and Dad are sorry they couldn’t help you move.”

  “I know.” I forced a smile into my voice. “But I’m happy your parents have a chance to visit you.”

  “I’m so excited to see them. I can’t believe it’s been three months.”

  Tanisha moved to Milan in April to teach English as a second language. Yet I was afraid to move within the same state. I bit the inside of my lip. She didn’t remind me of her parents’ visit to upset me, but I couldn’t imagine my father traveling to the other side of the world to see me. He hadn’t even attended my graduate school ceremony. My stepmother, Sabrina, said they couldn’t make it because of “scheduling problems.” Whatever that meant. “And besides,” Sabrina said, “we were just there for your college graduation.” I didn’t remind her that my college graduation had been three years before.

  “I wish you could have come with them. Poor Marcos.” Tanisha’s voice turned sullen.

  “I’m sure Marcos will survive.” I checked my side mirror for oncoming traffic. There was none. Another gust of wind rocked the car. “Tee, I have to go.” My hands ached from gripping the steering wheel.

  “Call me tomorrow. Ciao.”

  I removed the earpiece and tossed it on the dashboard.

  A low growl came from the carrier in the backseat of my RAV4. Gig’s plastic cat carrier sat between my bedding and two small suitcases, one stacked on top of the other. The suitcases didn’t hold clothes. My clothing was back in the trailer along with my few pieces of furniture. Instead, the suitcases held what I really cared about: my computer graveyard.

  It’s not a true graveyard, of course, but the remnants of computers past: motherboards, old VGA cables, USB connectors, hard drives, and obsolete floppy disk drives, all carefully packed inside of those two suitcases. I couldn’t bear to part with them. I’d owned some of the hardware since I was a young child and discovered my love of all things tech.

  That love of technology led me to this very spot in the middle of Ohio’s rural countryside, although this detour—and I did consider it a detour—was never part of the plan. “Okay, God,” I whispered. “Two years. Get me out of here in two years.”

  “Recalculating!” My GPS squawked again. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who thought we were headed for the midd
le of nowhere. My GPS, the one I had affectionately named “Pepper”—since she had such a peppery attitude—had recalculated every ten minutes since I’d exited Interstate 71 South.

  “Recalculating!”

  Gig yowled his disgust. He and Pepper were not friends. In fact, Gig wasn’t a fan of any of my high-tech toys. It was not unusual for me to return to my apartment after a long night of studying at the university’s library to find Gig had chewed through a wire or two. The most recent victim had been the AC adapter to my netbook.

  “I should really turn her off,” I told Gig. “She’s not much help to us out here.”

  Gig growled in agreement.

  I reached to hit the power button and my hand froze. A small rise came into view. “Uh-oh, another hill, Gig. Hold onto your tail!” I pressed down hard on the gas pedal to give us the extra boost to pull the trailer up the small hill. The car shook with the effort. My stomach clenched.

  As the car crested the hill, I slowed. About a mile ahead of me, a beat-up, green pickup crawled along the edge line. A slim woman wearing an ankle-length skirt and a long blonde braid walked beside the pickup. Something about the way she pointedly ignored the truck set off warning bells in my head.

  I sped up.

  Then, I slowed down. Is she in trouble? What if I’m misreading this? Oh Lord, what should I do?

  As my car drew closer, it appeared neither the girl nor the driver knew of my presence.

  I looked down the highway. No one for miles. I checked my side mirrors. Not a car in sight. The girl and the passengers of that pickup were the only ones on the road besides me.

  What would Tanisha do in this situation? She would run in headfirst, that’s what. But that was Tanisha, not me. I could be misjudging the entire scene.

  The pickup stopped, but the girl kept walking.

  The passenger door opened and a huge man got out. He stepped into the girl’s path and grabbed her arm. She jerked it away from him.

  I lowered my passenger side window as I approached the pickup. Male laughter sent a chill down my spine. A voice from inside the pickup called, “Come on, honey, we’ll give you a ride back home!”

  The girl tightened her grip around the handle of her canvas tote bag.

  Beep! Beep! My car’s horn sounded friendlier than I would have liked. Would anyone in that pickup be frightened by that honk? I pulled alongside the truck. A clear view inside the cabin illuminated the driver. He and the huge man were young, probably somewhere close to my own age of twenty-four. I checked my side mirrors for other cars. Seeing none, I stopped. “Something wrong? Do you guys need help?”

  The driver, a thin, wiry guy with a scruffy goatee, turned to me. A set of Army dog tags hung from his neck. “Hello, there.” He grinned at me, tobacco juice trailing down his lower lip. “Why would you think we needed help?”

  The girl watched me from the other side of the truck, her large eyes the size of dessert plates. A lump formed in my throat. “You were driving so slowly I thought something must be wrong with your truck. I have a cell phone and can call for help.” I held up my cell to illustrate only to find the phone had no service. So much for calling the cavalry.

  Lord, help me to know what to do.

  The driver’s eyes narrowed into slits. “We don’t need any help from you.”

  The ogre standing in the girl’s way peered through the truck’s open windows at me. Unlike the driver, the passenger was clean shaven and had a baby face. He was, however, enormous. “We were giving our friend a lift.” His mouth twisted into a scowl. “It’s not safe for a little Amish girl out on the road all by herself. She doesn’t know how the real world works.” He tried to grab her arm again.

  I glanced back at the girl and found her staring at me, those eyes even wider. Despite the warm summer breeze through my open windows, I shivered. Please help, Lord.

  “I can give her a lift. I have more room in my car than you have in the truck.” I hoped my voice wasn’t shaking.

  The girl pursed her lips and furrowed her brow.

  The ogre lunged for her, and she jumped out of the way. Unable to stop his momentum, he fell to the ground with a grunt. His friend laughed. The girl ran around the pickup, threw open my passenger side door, and jumped into the car. As soon as I heard the door slam shut, I hit the power locks.

  The ogre struggled to his feet.

  “What are you trying to prove, Red?” the driver growled. Tobacco juice flecked onto his cheek.

  I glared at him. I hated being called “Red.” I suspected most redheads hated it, too. I shifted the car into drive.

  His passenger climbed back into the truck, his dark expression making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

  “Nice U-haul.” The driver spat. “Are you moving? It’d be a shame to start off in a new place on the wrong foot.”

  I didn’t reply, but stepped on the gas and pulled my car around the truck. As we drove away, I raised the power windows.

  The pickup followed us for a couple of miles, and I gripped the steering wheel hard the entire time. All I could think about was the “no service” warning of my cell phone. The girl and I were silent until the driver of the truck finally gunned his engine and sped around us. Within seconds, we were the only ones on the road.

  I let out a breath that I hadn’t known I’d been holding, and glanced over at the girl. She clenched her small hands folded on top of the tote bag in her lap. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” She tapped her feet on the floorboard. “Thank you for helping.”

  “Don’t mention it,” I said. “I’m Chloe Humphrey. What’s your name?”

  “Becky Troyer.”

  “Can I take you home?”

  A cloud settled on her pretty face, and she shook her head. “No.”

  I took my eyes off the road and glanced at her. “No? Where can I take you?”

  She gave me a bright smile. “Wherever you’re headed.”

  I blinked at her. “I . . . well . . .”

  “Recalculating!” Pepper sounded more irritated than ever.

  Gig hissed.

  Becky jumped in her seat and hit her head on the car’s ceiling. She rubbed her head. “What was that?”

  “The hiss? That was my cat Gigabyte.” I paused. “He’s not in the best mood. He’s been in his carrier for a while.”

  She turned for a glimpse of Gig. In the rearview mirror, I saw his blue eyes reflect light from the back of the cage. “He doesn’t look like any cat I’ve ever seen.”

  “He’s a Siamese.”

  “Oh,” Becky said, as if that was explanation enough, though I suspected it wasn’t. “Where did that voice come from? Whoever it was sounded angry.”

  “It’s my GPS.” I pointed to the unit on the windshield. “It’s trying to direct me, but it’s lost. I guess that means I’m lost, too.”

  Becky’s smile lit up her heart-shaped face. Without a speck of makeup on she was beautiful, and her complexion would be the envy of any skin care campaign. “Where are you going?”

  I picked up a piece of computer paper from my lap and handed it to her. “Appleseed Creek. There’s the address.” I pointed to the top of the page.

  “Grover Lane? I know where this is. I can show you. You don’t need the GSP thing.”

  “It’s GPS.” I smiled. “And if you can get me there, I’d appreciate it.”

  Becky turned around in her seat, straining against the seatbelt across her chest as she looked behind us.

  “Don’t worry. They’re gone.” I said it, but did I believe it? My eyes flicked to the rearview mirror every few seconds too, searching for the green pickup.

  “I know.” She took in the luggage crammed into my car, and the U-haul hitched to the back. “Are you moving?”

  I nodd
ed and took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “Me, too.” The ache in her response reminded me of my own.

  Chapter Two

  As we approached Appleseed Creek, the farmhouses moved closer and closer together and finally gave way to gas stations, storefronts, and townhomes.

  “Turn left here,” Becky said.

  I followed her directions, the RAV4 and trailer jostling from blacktop to exposed brick.

  “We’re going to have to drive around the square to get to your house,” Becky said. “Do you think you will be able to make it with the trailer?”

  I tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel with my fingers. “I guess I don’t have any other choice.”

  The brick road widened as we approached the square. I took in the flat-faced storefronts, a cheese shop, a bakery, and a yarn store. I wasn’t in Cleveland anymore. It was the last full week of July, and tourists strolled along the sidewalk from shop to shop, tasting the free cheese samples and buying yarn. A large tour bus dominated the corner ahead of me. The driver stood outside the bus smoking a cigarette, as if he wasn’t planning to move any time soon.

  My fingers continued to drill the steering wheel. “Do you think I have room to get around that bus?”

  Becky tapped the glass. “Can you put the window down?”

  I did as she asked, and Becky stuck her head out the window. “I think you can make it. It’ll be tight.”

  Slowly, I maneuvered the car and trailer around the bus. In my head, I heard the grating sound of metal-on-metal as we inched by. The driver glared at me but stepped out of the way. Clear of the bus, I turned onto the square, a brick-paved circle in the center of Appleseed Creek. Century-old oak trees dotted the park in the middle of the square. On the bright, green grass, Amish families sold baked goods and homemade preserves from wooden booths to tourists in Bermuda shorts and T-shirts.