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

“Everyone at the auction today is a potential suspect, even you. First, I need to determine if this was a crime to begin with.”
    I almost slipped up and asked Mitchell about the possible peanut allergy. That would have been a mistake because he would have known I’d been eavesdropping on his conversation with the coroner. Instead, I asked, “Why didn’t Reed know about his aunt?”
    Across the field, Deputy Anderson’s squad car turned back into the property. Reed slouched in the front seat. The hood of his black sweatshirt covered his face. What would become of the teen now?
    Mitchell’s frown deepened but he answered the question I’d asked out loud. “He and his friends, those two Amish kids, were smoking in the woods during all the commotion.” His frown softened; then he tried to change the subject. “You did very well at the auction.”
    I shrugged. As happy as I was about how the quilts did at the auction, it didn’t seem right to celebrate my monetary windfall under the circumstances. “What’s going to happen to Reed?”
    Mitchell ran a hand through his thick salt-and-pepper hair. “I assume he’ll go back home to Los Angeles to his mother, whether she likes it or not. He doesn’t have any other family here, and he’s a minor. He didn’t mention a father, so I’m guessing he’s not in the picture anymore. I may be wrong. I hope the mom can clear that up. Reed’s not talking about it, at least not yet.”
    “Where will he go until he can return to California? Back to Wanda’s house? Alone?”
    Mitchell removed a sheriff’s department ball cap from the back pocket of his uniform. He bent the bill of his ball cap over and over again. “He’s going to stay with me. He wasn’t too happy about that, but it was either that or foster care. He’s only fifteen.”
    My heart constricted as I thought of Mitchell opening his home to this troubled teen whom he didn’t even know. There was so much about the sheriff I didn’t know and so much I wanted to learn. “That’s so kind of you.”
    Laugh lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “Do you find it appealing?”
    “Very,” I admitted, looking him in the eye.
    The corner of his mouth twitched. “Good.”
    Don’t blush! Don’t blush!
I tried to will myself. I swallowed. “So the auction will go on even with the investigation in progress?”
    He nodded. “Yes, the canning shed is so far removed from the main part of the auction yard, I see no reason to shut the place down.” He started in the direction of Anderson’s vehicle and Reed. After a few steps he half turned back to me. “Angie, I know that you are asking questions because you care about Rachel. How much you care about your friends is appealing to me.”
    “Thank you,” I murmured.
    “But as a cop, I’m going to have to ask you to stop.”
    My smiled morphed into a frown.

Chapter Nine
     
    I returned to the merchants’ tent and the only difference to the space I found was the Millers’ absence and the bare bakery table.
    Oliver whined at me from under my table.
    I squatted beside him and scratched his jowls. “Sorry, buddy. I know you didn’t like to be left here all alone, but there are way too many scary people and animals in the auction barn to take you there.”
    He sighed and lay back down.
    I stood and checked the inventory to see that everything was there. Not that I thought one of the police officers would have run off with a lap quilt, but things could go missing in this type of situation if you didn’t keep an eye on them. After I was certain everything was accounted for, I removed my cell phone from the pocket of my jeans and dialed Running Stitch.
    When I took over my aunt’s shop it didn’t have a phone line. Even though Aunt Eleanor was New Order Amish and therefore allowed to have a phone in her place of business, she never saw the need for one. She did all of her fabric ordering through the mail, or if she needed to, she borrowed a neighbor’s