A Plain Malice: An Appleseed Creek Mystery (Appleseed Creek Mystery Series Book 4) (4 page)

I had seen more than my share
.

The line shuffling onto the bus moved slowly
. Impatience masked many of the faces as if they were in a hurry to leave. I didn’t fault them. Not many people were comfortable around death.

At the back of the line, a woman
wearing a pink floral blouse touched a hand to her chest. “My pacemaker skipped a beat.”

The man in a blue
Polyester jacket and an impressive set of jowls cupped her elbow with his hand. “Are you feeling poorly, Bitty?” He waved to Chief Rose. “My wife’s ill.”

“What’s wrong, ma’am?
” Chief Rose asked. “Do you need assistance? We can have on the EMT check you out here again before transporting you to the hospital. Did you drink any of the milk?”

“Oh no, I’m lactose intolerant. I can’t touch the stuff,” Bitty said, sounding perfectly fine
and basking in attention.

In front of her
, Jimbo helped Bobbi Jo onto the bus.

Her husband adjusted his large camera bag on his shoulder.
“Bitty, let’s climb onto the bus. We will be at the hospital in no time, and the doctors can check out your pacemaker.”

Bitty
gave him a wobbly smile. “All right, Charles.” She let her husband help her to the bus.

A tiny elderly woman, who
was no more than five feet tall and somewhere between eighty and eighty-five years old, tugged on the chief’s sleeve. Chief Rose peered down at the older woman. “Don’t you worry about Bitty.” She gripped her three-prong cane but stood so straight I wondered if it might be a prop. “She’s been complaining about her ticker since she boarded the bus in Tupelo. If you ask me, it’s all an act. It makes her husband set aside that annoying camera for three seconds to focus on her.”

“Gertie,” the tall thin woman behind her said. She was considerably younger than most of the group
members. I placed her at mid to late fifties, maybe just shy of sixty. Her hair was styled in a messy pixie cut that went well with her tiny features. She wore designer jeans and a cashmere sweater. Most of the bus passengers were more of a wrinkle-free poly-blend set. “Maybe Bitty really isn’t feeling well.”

Gertie snorted. “Melinda, you always see the best
in everyone.” She released the chief’s sleeve. “When you are as old I am you can tell when someone's pulling your leg.”

“And how
old is that?” Chief Rose asked.

I scowled at the chief. She should know it was impolite to ask a woman—any woman—her age.

Gertie stomped her cane into the grass. “I’m one hundred years old.”

I gaped.
“You are?”

“Surprised,
ain’t you?” She grinned, showing off square teeth which were far too perfect to be real.

“You look good for
one hundred,” the chief said.

“I should.” Gertie pointed a bony finger
at the Appleseed Creek chief of police. “It’s all about clean living, exercise, and the grace of God.”

The driver stood in the bus
’s open door. His bald head shown in the sunlight, and his polo shirt had “Blue Suede Tours” embroidered on the left breast pocket in white. All of the passengers except for Gertie and Melinda were on board. “This bus is leaving. If you want a lift to the hospital, you had better get on now.”

Melinda touched Gertie’s arm. “Come on, Gertie.” She smiled at the chief and me. “Thank you for your help.
I know this must be so difficult for all involved.”

Gertie
made her way up the bus’s steps with Melinda’s hands out ready catch her. Gertie didn’t need the extra help, she moved with the ease of a fit fifty year old.

As the bus pulled away, Chief Rose said, “If I’m that spry at f
orty, I’ll be pleased.”

“Me too.”

Chief Rose cracked her knuckles. “This could be the case that breaks me.”

“Why’s that?”
I asked.

“Because, H
umphrey, most of our suspects are on the bus, a bus bound to leave Ohio someday soon. Unless, I can find evidence to hold them here or figure out another way to keep them here…” she trailed off, looking through me.

My stomach clenched.
I didn’t like it how she called the southern travelers
“our
suspects.” I didn’t want anything to do with this.

Officer Riley
carried a basket of Mrs. Troyer’s leftover muffins to Chief Rose’s car.

Happy for the distraction, I asked,
“You guys taking those back to the station for a snack?”

Chief Rose rolled her
teal-lined eyes. “They are evidence too. I suspect whatever made those two people so deathly ill was in the milk, but we have to test the muffins too to rule them out.”

I swallowed.
So much for a distraction.

The chief whistled at Officer Riley. He lumbered toward us. When he was within earshot, she said, “Go meet up with the bus at the hospital. I want every last one of those tourist
s accounted for. We need to keep an eye on them.”

Officer Riley saluted and turned back to his car.

“You think it could be someone on the bus,” I said.

“Humphrey, right now it could be anyone.”
With that, she headed back to the barn.

Across the property,
Mr. Troyer sat at a picnic table answering Officer Nottingham’s questions. He must have emerged from the house while Chief Rose and I were talking to Gertie and Melinda.

There was no sign of Mrs. Troyer and the children.
Grandfather Zook was MIA too. I knew the elderly Amish man must be up to something because he typically liked to be in the thick of things.

My smartphone felt heavy in my jacket pocket. Should I call Becky at Young’s
and tell her what had happened? Surely, Ellie would allow her to leave the restaurant under the circumstances. Would Mr. Troyer want her here? Would her presence make things worse?
I’ll call her after the police leave.

Bishop Hooley and Deacon Sutter
came out of the back door of the farmhouse. The bishop’s face was drawn while the deacon wore a hint of a smile, an expression I immediately distrusted. A knot tightened in my stomach. If there was anyone in the world who would want to hurt the Troyers, it was the deacon. The Amish were God-fearing people, but they had disputes within their communities just like the English do. Decades of animosity boiled between the deacon and the Troyer family, and it only grew worse when I arrived in town. The deacon had no use for the English and would love nothing better than for me to leave the county. Thankfully, Bishop Hooley, who held the real power in the district, didn’t feel the same way.

Chief Rose
emerged from the barn and joined Officer Nottingham and Mr. Troyer at the picnic table. I ambled in that direction, hoping that I would be overlooked. No such luck. Chief Rose frowned at me as I inched closer, but to my relief, she didn’t order me to leave.

All of Officer Nottingham’s concentration
fixed on Mr. Troyer. “Where did the milk come from?”

The Amish man sat
perfectly straight on the backless seat and met the officer’s gaze. An intense scrutiny like that would cause me to flinch, but Officer Nottingham showed no emotion. Despite his young age, he was a seasoned cop who had seen too many things to be intimidated by an Amish man’s glower.

“It’s my milk
,” Mr. Troyer said. “It is from my cows.” His voice was flat and without feeling, and his face was expressionless. Shock. He had to be in shock.

Officer
Nottingham wrote something in a tiny notebook. “How old was the milk?”

Mr. Troyer folded his hands on the rough tabletop.
“It was fresh. From that morning’s milking. I set it aside special for the
Englischers
, who were coming.”

More notes
went into the notebook. “What do you mean you set it aside special?”

“Normally, it would have gone into the milk tank with the rest of the milk, but I
didn’t add it to the tank.”

“Why did you do that?”

Mr. Troyer’s knuckled turned white. “My son, Timothy, said that it would be good to give the
Englischers
a taste of farm fresh milk. I wanted them to have the freshest we had.”

Officer Nottingham’s head snapped up. “
After you collected this special milk, what did you do to it?”

“Nothing more than
set it inside the refrigerator we keep in the milking parlor…”

“What time did you do the milking this morning?”

Timothy’s father crossed his right thumb over his left. “Same time that I always do. Five.”

“And how were the cows this morning?
” The young officer scribbled in his notebook. “Were they acting normal? Anything strange or off catch your notice?”

Mr. Troyer gla
nced up and made eye contact with me. His face was blank, and my heart sank. For a moment it was like looking into my own father’s blank stare. No love, no approval, no emotion. I mentally kicked myself. Things with my father were better. I visited him and his family in Southern California in January. Over the trip, I had an opportunity to talk to him as I’ve never done before. I even surprised myself when I told him about Timothy and his family.

“
Nee.
” Mr. Troyer dropped his eyes to his hands. “I mean, no, no there was nothing odd. The cows were fine and acted normal.”

“Was the milk unattended at any time throughout the morning?”

Mr. Troyer glared at him. “No.”

I inwardly groaned.
Wrong answer, Mr. Troyer. The Amish man wasn’t doing himself any favors. Not that I wanted him to lie, but he didn’t have to make it so easy for Chief Rose and her officers to suspect him.

“That can’t be true,” I jumped in. “The milk parlor is on the other side of the barn. If the family was in the house, someone could have tampered with the milk, and no one would have known. Unless the milk was taken into the house, it wasn’t attended the whole time.”

Mr. Troyer’s jaw twitched. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut.

“Is this true, Mr. Troyer?” The chief asked.

“
Ya
, I mean, yes,” he said.

Officer Nottingham played with the cap of his pen.
“What’s your relationship with the deceased?”

Mr. Troyer wrinkled his brow. “I don’t know them. I met them this morning. I spoke to the man briefly when he arrive
d because he was in charge. I never spoke a word to the woman.” Mr. Troyer stood. “I need to return to work. The cows are agitated.”

Chief Rose
held up a hand like a traffic cop. “You can’t go back into the barn just yet, Mr. Troyer. The coroner is not finished working in there, and before you go back inside, an inspector from the state department of health, who is on his way here, has to give his okay.”

“
Health inspector?” I asked. “What’s this about?”

Chief Rose frowned at me. “
The inspector has to test the cows and the milk in the main milk tank to make sure it’s not contaminated.”

Mr. Troyer
pressed the knuckles of his right hand into the tabletop. “There is nothing wrong with the milk in the tank.”

“Are you sure about that? Whatever made Dudley
Petersen and Ruby Masters ill could be in that milk as well.”

“I told you I kept the milk the
Englischers
drank separate from the rest. It was in the parlor’s refrigerator. It was never added to the tank. There’s nothing wrong with the milk in the tank.” He repeated and closed his eyes as if to regain his composure. “I don’t want you testing my milk.”

“Two people are
dead,
Mr. Troyer.” Chief Rose slapped her hand on the tabletop. “You have no choice. It will be tested. Do not touch it. Do not throw it out. Do not add any milk to it. Don’t go back into the barn until the health inspector gives his blessing.”

“Where should I put my milk from my cows?
They must be milked twice a day no matter what the inspector says.”

The chief
straightened. “The cows will need to be tested too.”

Mr. Troyer’s face was beet red. “There’s nothing wrong with my cows.
We give them
gut
care.”

“Sir,
” Chief Rose’s voice was steely. “We have to test them to prove that. No one is going to buy your milk if there is the least bit chance of contamination. We are doing this to help you.”

Mr. Troyer stared at her for a long minute
. “
Ya
, I am sorry. Two people have died. Do as you must.” He walked away.

Officer
Nottingham jumped out of his seat. “I wasn’t done with the interview.”

Chief Rose waved him back into his seat. “Let him go for now. We know where to find him.”