Assaulted Caramel Page 8

  He shook his head again, this time much more slowly, as if contemplating a mystery as deep as outer space. “It seems silly to me, but I have long given up trying to understand how the Englisch spend their money.”

  I patted his shoulder again. “That’s probably a good policy. Now, I had better get to work on that tasting menu and gathering everything I might need. I assume there isn’t a kitchen supply store in the county?”

  Both of my grandparents stared at me.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” I sighed.

  “What are you going to do?” Maami clenched her hands in front of her apron. “You can’t use anything from our kitchen.”

  I sighed again. “That is a problem, but a church kitchen should have the basics. If I was able to make a sampling in my studio apartment that impressed Jean Pierre enough to give me a job, I can make a tasting in a church kitchen that will wow Eileen and her daughter.”

  Maami worried her lip. She didn’t seem as sure as I was. If there was something I was one hundred percent confident in, it was my skill with chocolate.

  “At the very least we will be able to give you a start,” my grandfather said. “We have extra sugar, salt, baking soda, and other dry ingredients stored in the closet beneath the stairs, so those will be safe to use.”

  “That’s perfect, and I think the farmers’ market will have a lot of what else I need. Can you purchase some fresh berries and jams and anything else that you can find that might be put into a dessert? I’ll go collect those dry ingredients from the candy shop. Hopefully, there won’t be much that I’ll have to purchase from the store, which will allow me more time in the church kitchen.” I pulled my cell phone out of my jacket pocket. It was already past eleven. That didn’t leave me much time.

  Maami nodded and the wrinkle in the middle of her brow smoothed. I think she was relieved that we had a plan to appease Eileen, and it was nice to have something pressing to focus on instead of the murder, although I did plan to take the opportunity to do a little investigating of my own.

  As my grandmother went off to buy fruit and preserves from her friends, I headed across the street to the candy shop, taking my grandmother’s cart with me. From my pocket, I removed the shop key my grandfather had given me, unlocked the door, and went inside.

  The front room, which was usually bustling with activity in the middle of a Friday morning, was eerily quiet. As I parked the cart by the front door, I tried to avert my eyes from the kitchen door with the huge stretch of crime scene tape across it, but its bright yellow color attracted my eye much like a moth to a lamppost at night.

  “Focus, Bailey, focus,” I told myself, shaking off the creepy feeling that inched its way up my back. I didn’t want to be frightened by my grandparents’ shop. It held my best childhood memories, but now, because of Tyson’s death, they were tarnished by what I’d found in the kitchen that morning. I knew I’d never be able to erase that memory completely, but the sooner we got the kitchen back, the sooner the memory would fade.

  I knew exactly where the closet under the stairs was. As I child, I had hidden there on more than one occasion, usually when my parents said it was time to head back to our home in Connecticut. I never wanted to leave my grandparents back then. Daadi always knew where to find me, and he would climb into the cubby space with me and coax me out. I opened the door and peered inside the crawl space. It was a wonder that I had been able to fit inside there even as a child, and even more amazing that Daadi would go in there after me. I had to remind myself of how spry he had once been.

  I squatted in front of the crawl space, and the memories of me crying inside came back to me in a rush. In my mind’s eye, I could see my grandfather, his hair just beginning to turn white, crouching in the doorway like I was now. He’d smiled at me and asked what I was doing in the closet under the stairs.

  In a pouty voice, I answered, “I’m hiding from Mom and Dad. I don’t want to go back home. I want to stay here with you and Maami.”

  His face broke into a smile. “It makes me very happy that you want to be with Maami and me. We wish you all could stay in Holmes County to be near us, but this town doesn’t offer the life your parents want for you.”

  “It’s my life,” I protested. “Why can’t I decide where I want to live it?”

  “You can someday.” He chuckled. “You only have to wait until you’re grown.”

  “I don’t like to wait.” I pouted.

  He laughed a little harder. “You sound just like your father at your age. He didn’t want to wait either.” His face clouded over for just a moment. “That was the Englisch that was always in him. I suppose I knew then that the Amish way of life wasn’t for him. There was too much he wanted to do, too much of the world he wanted to see, more than our way of life could give him.” He patted my knee. “But you, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if you ended up back in this very spot someday.”

  I stared into the crawl space, lost in the memory. He had been right. I was back in this very spot. I remembered another conversation with my grandfather under the stairs.

  “Other kids can talk to their grandparents on the telephone or they see their grandparents because they live nearby. I never get any of that. I never talk to you on the phone.”

  “We talk on the phone from time to time.”

  “Not very much,” I said.

  He nodded as he seemed to think this over. “In the Amish way, the phone is a tool for work. It is not for idle chitchat.”

  “You think talking with me is chitchat?” I couldn’t keep the hurt out of my voice.

  He laughed. “Of course not, but it is not work. As a tool, the telephone is meant for work. And we have our letters, don’t we?”

  I nodded.

  “The letters keep us close at heart,” he said.

  “Letters aren’t the same,” I muttered, determined to stick to my argument.

  He shook his head. “Letters are better. With letters you can read my words and hear my voice over and over again. It will be a reminder to you when I’m gone. Those who love Gott never die. I will be waiting for you with Him.”

  I had every one of my grandfather’s letters stored in a shoebox under my bed in my New York apartment. He was right—reading the letters was like hearing his voice, and I would always have them. My eyes drifted back to the crime scene tape marring the kitchen door. I couldn’t let anything happen to my grandparents’ business. I needed to figure out who Tyson Colton was with when he entered the shop. He couldn’t have stabbed himself in the chest like that, and I knew my grandparents and I were innocent. Someone else had to have been in the kitchen with him. Amish or English, I had to find that person. Maybe by learning who the other person was, I would discover who the killer was.

  There was something else nagging me about Tyson’s death. Why hadn’t my grandparents or I heard anything while we were upstairs? It seemed there would have been a scuffle or some type of argument if Tyson was murdered while we slept in our beds. Surely if someone had been trying to kill him, he would have fought back and tried to save himself. Wouldn’t he have cried out in pain when the knife entered his chest? I felt sick at the thought. Maybe he had been taken by surprise or incapacitated in some way. Tyson wasn’t a small man. Who could have been strong enough to attack him and win?

  I tried to think back to the crime scene—the little bit of it I’d seen other than Tyson’s body on the floor. In my head, all I could see was the body and that horrible puddle of blood. I squeezed my eyes shut, just as I used to when I was a child in the middle of a spelling test, trying to remember the letters of the word I needed to spell.

  My memory was too fuzzy. The only aspect of the room I remembered with one hundred percent certainty was the blood on the floor. That, and the fact that my cell phone had been plugged in across the room in an outlet reserved for one of the large mixers in the back of the kitchen. I was tempted to break through the crime scene tape for another look. The deputies hadn’t mentioned any signs o
f struggle, but I doubted they would have told me if there had been any. At least I knew Deputy Carpenter wouldn’t have. Aiden, I wasn’t so sure of. He acted like he wanted to help my grandparents and me. He’d even said as much, but was it some kind of trick to earn my trust, a trust that he’d be able to use against me later?

  Assuming there was no struggle, did that mean Tyson had entered the shop with his attacker, and the attacker was someone he knew? That possibility gave me even more motive to do the tasting for Tyson’s estranged son and his fiancée. I needed to know if Jace Colton had been in the shop with his father. Why the two men would choose my grandparents’ candy shop for their family argument was beyond me, but I would worry about that minor detail later. I couldn’t rule any of the suspects out at this point.

  Again, Aiden came to mind. Maybe I should tell him about the tasting and Jace. My grandparents seemed to trust him, so why shouldn’t I? I immediately squashed that idea. Even if Aiden was on our side, he wouldn’t want me snooping around the Colton family’s affairs, and if he knew I was doing that, he might suspect me even more. I didn’t want to give the police any more reasons to suspect me. If they did, they might watch me a little too closely when I needed the freedom to find the real killer.

  I began to pull the large bags of sugar and flour and containers of salt and baking powder out of the storage space. Maami had been right—the spot was well stocked. I removed my cell phone from my pocket and shone the flashlight app into the space. In the very back, I saw a large tin of cocoa powder and a crate of evaporated milk. It was just what I needed to make the chocolate creations I knew Eileen and her daughter would love. I was almost as determined to impress the fussy woman as I had been to impress the board picking Jean Pierre’s replacement. When it came to chocolate, I always wanted to be the best.

  I crawled deeper into the space, lying on my stomach to slip under the shelves. I had no idea how my grandparents had been able to reach the supplies this far back into the cubby.

  I grabbed the crate of evaporated milk and pulled. Half of my body was inside the closet, the other half, outside. I could only wriggle back and forth on my stomach like a worm. There was no room to move left or right.

  Then, I heard what sounded like footsteps coming from the front room.

  I tried to scramble back out of the tight space and managed to bang my head on the shelf just above it.

  “Is someone in here?” a gruff voice yelled.

  I froze, unsure what to do. If I fled, I would only draw more attention to myself. There was no way I could escape the storage closet without making noise.

  The footsteps approached and stopped right at my side. Even though I couldn’t see who was beside me because I was still lodged halfway inside the cubbyhole, I could feel his presence.

  “Why don’t you come out of there?” the man asked.

  I crawled backward out of the crawl space, dragging the crate of evaporated milk with me. Worst case scenario, I could use one of the cans as a projectile to fling at my would-be attacker. I wrapped my hand around one of the potential weapons on my way out of the closet.

  I wriggled backward. When I could straighten up, I turned with the can raised and came face to face with the barrel of a gun.

  I have to say a can of milk is no match for a gun.

  Chapter 14

  I was more than a little dismayed to find Deputy Carpenter staring down at me with his gun drawn.

  “What exactly are you doing inside there, Miss King? Hiding evidence of the murder?” Carpenter asked, holstering his gun.

  I scrambled to my feet and went on the offensive. “What are you doing in here, deputy?”

  He rubbed his bald head. “You may remember that a murder occurred here this morning. I’m investigating. It’s what I do.”

  I brushed the dust from the closet floor off of my shirt the best I could. It was a lost cause. I would have to change before I headed to the church to prepare for the tasting. “I’m well aware of that. Are you back because you need to reexamine the crime scene? I’m sure by now that Deputy Brody has told you about the broken glass behind the candy shop. He said that it was most likely from an Amish lantern. Perhaps whoever broke into the shop’s kitchen with Tyson Colton was Amish. We both know that Tyson would have no use for an old-fashioned lantern like that. It fits with the forced entry that was already in evidence, doesn’t it?” I was quite proud of myself for coming to that conclusion.

  That pride was short-lived as he took a step toward me. “I heard about your little discovery in the back alley. We can’t know when the kerosene lamp was broken. Maybe it’s completely unrelated to the murder. Maybe someone left it there to throw us off. Maybe it was even you.”

  I clenched my teeth. “How many times do I have to tell you that I had nothing to do with Tyson Colton’s murder? Don’t throw accusations at me because you’re embarrassed that you missed an important clue in the homicide investigation.”

  “Clue?” he scoffed. “This isn’t a whodunit, and you aren’t Nancy Drew.” He took another step toward me so there were only about eighteen inches between us. It felt like much less. “And, Miss King, I don’t miss anything. I especially don’t miss a hoity-toity city girl who thinks she can get away with murder in my county.”

  As much as I wanted to hold my ground, I couldn’t stand his closeness, and I took a big step back. “I didn’t kill anyone.” My voice shook, and I wished that I could control it.

  He seemed to relax now that it was clear I was visibly shaken by my encounter with him, and a slow smile spread across his lips. “That’s yet to be determined.”

  While I gathered the ingredients that I would need for the tasting, Deputy Carpenter looked on. I started to pick up the case of evaporated milk from the floor. He held up his hand. “Let me get that.”

  I stepped back.

  He picked up the crate. “I apologize if I sounded harsh earlier, Miss King. I know that you must be worried about your grandparents.”

  “I am.”

  “And please know that I worry about them too. I’m worried for the safety of everyone in Harvest.” He leaned closer to me. “There is a killer in our midst. I will find him.” He paused. “Or her.”

  After that, Deputy Carpenter helped me load the cart in silence. When all the supplies were loaded, I said good-bye to the deputy. I felt his eyes on my back while I waited for an Amish pony cart to clomp down Main Street and then pushed my cart across the street to the Swissmen Sweets’ booth at the market.

  Thankfully, my grandmother’s cart had rubber wheels, so I was able to push it easily over the grass.

  I parked the cart in front of the Swissmen Sweets’ booth and was happy to see that Maami had found everything that I needed from the farmers’ market. There were four different preserves, strawberries, apples, dried fruits, and fresh clover honey. All made or grown by Amish hands.

  “Was that Deputy Carpenter who came out of the candy shop with you?” Maami asked.

  I nodded. “He was looking over the crime scene again. I’m sure the police will be popping in and out of the shop over the next few days.” I didn’t share any of the details of my less than friendly encounter with the deputy. I saw no reason to worry her any more than she already was.

  “I suppose so.” Her face fell, and for the first time, she looked her age.

  I squeezed her hand and began loading the ingredients that she had collected from the market onto my cart. There was just enough space for every last thing. I was happy about that. Fewer trips meant more time in the church kitchen preparing, and I needed time the most. Every second that went by meant less time for the chocolate to solidify and hold the shape necessary to impress Eileen and her daughter. Even though I had never met Mira, I knew Eileen would be the harder of the two to win over. Or so I hoped.

  “I’ll take this to the church and make a shopping list of what I need from there. I think I will have a better understanding of the menu I want to create once I have all the ingredients spr
ead out on the kitchen counter.” I couldn’t keep the excitement from my voice. There was nothing that I liked better than a chocolatier challenge, and this might be the biggest one of my life. I not only had to make my chocolate shine, but I had to gather information on a killer. No small feat.

  Daadi watched me from his lawn chair in the shade of the tent. “Are you sure you want to do this? Eileen isn’t the easiest person to work with.”

  There was an understatement.

  “I’m sure. I want to help, and if Eileen is impressed with my desserts, it will rebuild some local confidence in your business.”

  Maami patted my cheek. “All right, my girl, you win. We’ll let you help us just this once.”

  I smiled. “Thank you. You won’t be disappointed. After I’m done with Eileen’s tasting, she will rave over Swissmen Sweets.”

  “I’m sure that’s true,” Daadi said from his folding chair under the tent.

  I waved good-bye to my grandparents and pushed the cart toward the church. As I passed the gazebo, I could have sworn I saw the orange tail of a cat slink around the side of the structure. It appeared that Nutmeg was on the loose again. I hoped Emily would be able to track him down.

  I crossed the street that separated the square’s green from the churchyard. The church appeared even larger up close. The front of the building was whitewashed wooden siding, but a brick addition extended behind it. The bricks were also painted white to blend in with the rest of the church.

  Leaving my cart in the churchyard, I climbed the front steps that led to the church’s deep purple double doors. I was about to reach for the massive knocker on one of the two doors when both of them were flung open.

  “There you are! I’ve been waiting to see your pretty face,” a petite woman with a slight southern accent proclaimed.

  Before I had the chance to speak, she went on. “You must be Bailey, Clara and Jebidiah King’s granddaughter. I have heard so much about you from your grandparents, so when Eileen said that you were coming to our church today, I was just tickled.” Her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. Her dark hair was just beginning to gray around her temples, and she had it pulled back from her face with a pink butterfly clip. I guessed she was in her late forties or maybe even early fifties. She beamed at me, but even her glowing smile wasn’t enough to distract me from the pig standing at her side. “Do you need any help carrying things in?” she asked, as if there wasn’t anything unusual about our current situation. “I’m Juliet. Did I tell you that yet? How rude of me not to introduce myself. The ladies from my quilting circle are here, and we are happy to help you in any way.”