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

over the front door, A UTHENTIC A MISH Q UILTS . I gritted my teeth. The shop’s name was a pointed dig at me, whom she believed robbed Running Stitch of its Amishness.
    I didn’t begrudge Martha her new business. She had taken care of my ill
aenti
for many years, which was the root of the problem. Martha had assumed that since she had cared for my aunt and the quilt shop during her illness that Aunt Eleanor would leave the shop to Martha in her will. When I inherited the shop and decided to stay in Holmes County for good to run it, Martha had not been pleased.
    Martha deserved to have the life she wanted, but did she have to rent the space right next to my shop? No. She did that out of spite. Only a narrow alley separated Running Stitch from Authentic Amish Quilts. I wished it were a greater distance, like the Grand Canyon.
    I blinked at a white poster hanging in her front window advertising quilting classes. The poster was twice the size of mine. I stepped closer to the window. A LL OUR TEACHERS ARE A MISH LADIES , it read.
    I gritted my teeth. The only person in my shop who wasn’t an Amish woman was me. Those classes had been my idea. How dare she? I closed my eyes and counted to ten backward in Pennsylvania Dutch, a language I was attempting to learn with Rachel’s help.
    I opened my eyes and found Martha glaring at me through her shop window. My frustration evaporated. She wasn’t done with our little feud yet. That was certain. I sighed and turned toward Running Stitch.
    As I did, Anna’s buggy horse trotted down Sugartree Street. Anna’s horse slipped into the spot next to my car.
    Oliver pressed his back against Running Stitch’s front door. He wasn’t a huge fan of horses. They weren’t on the same level of his terror list as birds, but he still believed in giving them plenty of space.
    Anna tossed me the reins and I tied off the horse at the hitching post. The horse blew air out of his nose into my face.
    “Maggie,” she said to the horse as she slowly lowered herself from the buggy. “That is no way to say hello to a
freind
.”
    Maggie bared her teeth, and I took two large steps back. “I don’t think Maggie believes we are friends.”
    Anna removed her quilting basket from the buggy. “She’s being grumpy because she stood at the auction yard all day around the other buggy horses. She’s not a very social animal.” She slipped her arm through the basket handle. “Have you told Sarah yet?”
    “I told her briefly about what happened to Wanda over the telephone, but I haven’t been inside the shop yet to tell her about the emergency meeting.”
    Anna, Oliver, and I entered the shop together. Sarah, who was alone in the store, met us at the door with her cloak in her hand. “Anna, I’m surprised to see you here too.”
    Anna set her basket on the cutting table. “We’re having an emergency meeting.”
    “Because of Wanda?” Sarah’s eyes glittered.
    Anna removed her cloak.
“Ya.”
    “I’m so glad. I want to hear everything.” Sarah replaced her cloak on the wooden peg.
    “There’s not much to tell.” I unbuttoned my jacket. A leaf fell to the floor as I did. A leftover gift from my goat-wrestling match.
    Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
    Anna set her basket beside the rocking chair by the window and sat. “Calm down, Sarah. Of course, we will tell you all the news. Can we catch our breath for a minute?”
    Sarah blushed. “
Ya
, I am sorry.”
    “Are you sure you can stay, Sarah? What about your children?” I asked.
    Sarah’s thin lips disappeared in a smile. “Do not worry, Angie. My daughter called the shop not long ago. They are all fine, and she’s working on dinner: sausage, biscuits, and gravy. The younger children are helping her in the kitchen.”
    At age eleven, Sarah’s daughter could make a full meal for her family of five. When I was eleven the most impressive meal I could do in the kitchen was make my own Kraft