Murder, Plain and Simple by Isabella Alan

Author:Isabella Alan [Alan, Isabella]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Cozy Mystery
ISBN: 9780451413635
Goodreads: 15985366
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2013-09-02T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-two

As I left the tea shop, I again felt that prickly sensation on the back of my neck like I was being watched. I didn’t believe the culprit was a raccoon. Since Willow was still inside the tea shop hammering out final details about the Watermelon Fest, it wasn’t her. My heart constricted. Could it be Elijah Knepp? After Rachel’s warning, I wasn’t keen on meeting him alone—even in broad daylight in the middle of Rolling Brook with English tourists and Amish folks milling around.

I ambled away from the bakery on the pretense of looking into shop windows, but at the same time, I made sure to always keep close to a group of tourists. There was safety in numbers. I paused in front of the yarn shop. The sunlight hit the window just right to mirror my reflection back at me. Behind me, I could clearly make out the figure of a man on the other side of the street. The image was warped, but the color of the hair unmistakably red. Danny Nicolson. I should have known. Hadn’t several people warned me about his desire for a big story? Even his cousin Jessica took the time to caution me.

Slowly, I turned my head as if to watch a buggy park in front of the bakery. The reporter jumped into the alley. He was following me. Relief washed over me that it wasn’t Elijah Knepp. But my relief was almost immediately replaced by irritation.

I went inside the yarn shop, where three English women were comparing different shades of Amish yarn. The shopkeeper, a middle-aged Amish woman, sat in a wooden rocker crocheting an afghan. I stepped behind a display where I could see out of the window, but I couldn’t be seen from the street.

“Can I help you, miss?” the Amish woman asked.

The back of my neck flushed red. “Umm, no, I’m just looking.”

She eyed me over her silver-rimmed reading glasses. “You’re hiding, not looking.”

I winced. “Am I that obvious?”

She smiled. “Yes, but if you want to hide out in my shop for a little while, that’s fine with me.”

“Thank you.” I smiled. “I’m Angie Braddock.”

“You’re Eleanor’s niece.” She began a new row. The crochet hook moved in and around the yarn with little attention from her. “There’s been a lot of talk since you moved here to take over your aenti’s shop.”

I glanced through the window. Danny was still across the street eyeing the yarn shop. He seemed to be trying to decide what he should do next. Should he stay or should he go? I was weighing the same options.

The woman rocked and crocheted in perfect rhythm. “There’s been even more talk since Joseph Walker was found in Running Stitch. What a terrible thing to have happened.”

I winced. It was time to change the subject. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Fannie Springer. I was a gut friend of your aenti. Many times when business was slow, we’d pass the time chatting and having a cup of kaffi together.

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