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

macaroni and cheese, a talent my aunt Eleanor did not approve of. She found any meal that came from a box to be suspect.
    Oliver sniffed the perimeter of the shop as if to check who had been in and out of his domain throughout the day. Satisfied there wasn’t any danger, he settled on his dog pillow at the feet of Anna’s rocking chair.
    I dropped my hobo purse on the counter beside the cash register. “Then let’s sit. It’s been a long day at the auction.”
    Sarah and I started to move two folding wooden chairs from around the stretched quilting frame where we held our quilting circle meetings.
    “Nee.”
Anna struggled to her feet. “I will come to you. If we’re to talk about Rachel and poor Wanda Hunt, it is best if we keep our hands busy and work on the quilt. I don’t have my quilting with me, but I am sure you have a needle I can borrow, Angie.”
    I laughed, replacing my chair beside the quilt frame. “Pick out any needle you like.”
    Sarah sat at her place, which was across from me on the quilt frame. We had been working on this quilt, which had been commissioned by an English customer, for a little over a week. The customer had pieced the Sunshine and Shadow quilt herself and asked us only to quilt it.
    Anna settled into her chair on the side between Sarah and me. She clicked her tongue. “I see another place here where the woman clearly didn’t piece her pattern correctly. Look at this.” She pointed to the offending spot of the quilt.
    “Anna,” Sarah said. “Not everyone can be a
gut
quilter. I am sure this
Englischer
is proud of herself for finishing the quilt. It will be a treasured family heirloom.”
    “True, but it is so difficult for me not to rip it apart and start over,” Anna huffed.
    I laughed and handed her a box of quilting needles from a basket I kept beside the quilt frame. “Anna, you’re a perfectionist.”
    Her expression cleared. “Most Amish quilters are when it comes to their work.”
    Sarah threaded her needle. “What has happened? I don’t want to know simply because it’s news. I want to help the Millers. I really do.”
    Anna, whose glasses were at the very tip of her nose, examined the needles in the box before making her selection. “We know that, Sarah.”
    Sarah tied a knot at the end of her thread. “Mattie and Rachel are wary of me because I spoke of Mattie’s former sweetheart to others in town. I am sorry for it. I’m trying not to gossip, but it’s difficult for me. I wish the Millers would see I am trying.”
    I winced. Sarah was right. Sure, she was a gossip, but she had proved to be loyal to me and Running Stitch. When Martha left, she could have sided with her, but she didn’t.
    “Helping the Millers now will be a good start,” I said.
    “What happened to Wanda?” Sarah asked. “How was she murdered?”
    How odd was it for an Amish woman to ask such a question?
    I threaded my own needle with sturdy white thread. “She died, but we don’t know she was murdered. It may have only been a tragic accident. The coroner will have to determine if it was murder.”
    Anna began stitching. “Angie overheard the sheriff and the coroner talking.”
    I blushed. “I may have heard a little bit. The coroner thinks she died of allergic reaction. He suspected peanuts.”
    “Was Wanda allergic to peanuts?” Sarah asked.
    “That’s what we have to find out. A member of her family or a close friend might know,” I said.
    “What about Willow Moon?” Sarah asked. “Wanda was a regular customer at her shop, and they are both township trustees.”
    Willow was a possibility. She ran the Dutchman’s Tea Shop next door to the Millers’ bakery. I had seen Wanda there many times myself. “I will ask her,” I promised.
    After a set of eight tiny stitches, Anna pulled her needle through the fabric. “Finding out what happened to Wanda is important, but it is much more important we think of the Miller family and what they need during this time.”
    Sarah