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

right at the auction.”
    “You saw my block?”
    “I did indeed.”
    I grinned. “Not bad.” My smile faded. “I wish Rachel was here to see it. I have her to thank for me being here.”
    He tugged on his sandy blond beard. “Don’t worry about Rachel. She and Aaron will be fine. No one would believe they would hurt Wanda no matter how mad they were at her and the township trustees.”
    “I don’t know. People thought I was capable of murder last summer.”
    “That is different. You were brand-new here and we didn’t know what to expect from you.”
    I frowned. “I wasn’t new to you.”
    He laughed. “I didn’t personally doubt you, my
freind
.”
    “You better not have.” I returned my attention to the platform. “Jonah, who is the English boy up at the front?”
    Jonah paled. “Oh, no.”
    “What? What is it?” I stared at the boy to determine what could cause mild-mannered Jonah’s sudden alarm.
    “That’s Reed Kent.”
    I blinked at him. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
    “It’s Wanda’s nephew, and he must not know that his aunt is dead.”
    Oh, no
was right.

Chapter Eight
     
    I watched the teen. He certainly appeared carefree for someone who had lost his aunt. “How is it possible he doesn’t know about Wanda?” I hissed. “There was a huge crowd outside watching the canning shed.”
    “I don’t know, but does he look like someone whose aunt just died?”
    Jonah and I both stared at Reed and assessed his level of upset. He laughed at something one of the Amish boys said. “No. Someone has to tell him.”
    Jonah didn’t move.
    “Aren’t you going to tell him?” I asked.
    The boys looked on as an Amish cashier checked the quilts out to their new owners. After the money was settled, I would get my share before the day’s end. Happy zeros flashed in my mind.
    “Me? It is not my place to tell him. The police should do it.”
    I scanned the crowded room for the sheriff. I spotted Deputy Anderson moving quietly through the room, showing people a photograph and asking them questions. It wouldn’t be long before he reached Reed.
    I gnawed on my lip. Would I have wanted the police to tell me about my aunt’s death months ago? It was hard enough hearing it from my own mother. Reed didn’t know me, but surely if I told him about his aunt, it would be less shocking than bumbling Deputy Anderson telling him the news, wouldn’t it?
    “I’ll talk to him.” I moved across the room.
    “Angie,” Jonah hissed, but it was too late. I’d set my course.
    As I got closer to the teen I realized despite his height, he was younger than I first thought. He must be seventeen at most. I bit the inside of my cheek. Despite his tough-looking exterior, the news of his aunt’s death would come as a shock.
    “Hi,” I said. “Are you Reed?”
    He glared at me with the disgust that only a person between the ages and of twelve and twenty could really pull off.
    “She’s the quilt shop lady,” the tall redheaded Amish teen told Reed.
    Reed folded his arms. “So what?”
    Some of my sympathy dissipated. “Is Wanda Hunt your aunt?”
    He shrugged. “Did she say I did something?”
    “I think I can take it from here, Angie.”
    I turned to find Mitchell standing five feet behind me with a frown on his face.
    Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. What did I think I was going to say to Reed? And now the sheriff probably thought I was poking my nose in where it didn’t belong.
    Reed looked from me to the sheriff. “Hey, what’s this about? I haven’t done anything.”
    His two Amish friends slipped away into the crowd. So much for loyalty.
    The sheriff arched an eyebrow. “No new street art?”
    Street art?
If I were a cat, my ears would have twitched at that comment.
    Reed kicked a loose pebble across the dirt ground and didn’t say anything.
    “I need to talk to you about your aunt,” Mitchell said.
    Reed’s head snapped up. “What, is she complaining about me again? She’s like a tyrant. I’m