Also in the Amish Candy Shop Mystery series by Amanda Flower

  Assaulted Caramel

  Lethal Licorice

  Premeditated Peppermint

  Criminally Cocoa (eBook novella)

  Toxic Toffee

  Botched Butterscotch (eBook novella)

  Marshmallow Malice

  Candy Cane Crime (eBook novella)

  And in the Amish Matchmaker Mystery series

  Matchmaking Can Be Murder

  COURTING CAN BE KILLER

  An Amish Matchmaker Mystery

  Amanda Flower

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Teaser chapter

  About the Author

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2020 by Amanda Flower

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-2403-8

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2404-5 (eBook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-2404-6 (eBook)

  For Paul, Stephanie, Chloe, Isaiah, Shiloh, Joelle, and Naomi

  Acknowledgments

  As always, thanks to my readers who want to return to the village of Harvest, Ohio, again and again. You have embraced Bailey of the Amish Candy Shop Mysteries. Thank you for embracing Millie from this series as well. I hope you enjoy as the characters cross over between the two series.

  Special thanks, as always, to my agent, Nicole Resciniti, who always pushes me to be a better writer and bigger dreamer, and to my wonderful editor, Alicia Condon. You are both the very best. Thanks, too, to everyone at Kensington Publishing who make book writing a joy and are the easiest and kindest people to work with in the business. Also, thanks to Kimra Bell for being my second set of eyes.

  Thanks, too, to Delia, Ellie, Noah, and Sofia for helping with the apple orchard research for this story.

  Love and thanks to my family and especially to David, who listens to every plot a thousand times before the words ever hit the page.

  And to my Heavenly Father, thank you for the gift of story.

  The apple will not roll far away from its tree.

  —Amish Proverb

  Chapter One

  “This is the very best day of my life,” my dear friend, Lois Henry, proclaimed as she wove up and down the aisles of the Harvest Village Flea Market. “Look at all this stuff! I should have brought more cash. Do you think some of these booths take plastic?”

  It wasn’t a question that I could answer since I was Amish and had never owned a credit card. If I bought anything on credit, it was store credit from an Amish merchant whom I knew well.

  “I knew I should have gone to the ATM,” she grumbled as she rooted through a patchwork purse that was big enough to carry a toddler. “I might have a few more bills at the bottom of this thing, but sorting through it is like digging to the center of the earth.” Her cheeks flushed red under her heavy makeup from the exertion.

  If the purse and makeup weren’t clues enough, the spikey, purple-red hair and chunky, brightly colored costume jewelry would tell any passerby that Lois Henry was not Amish, nor had she ever been tempted to convert. In fact, the very thought of Lois living the Plain life was downright ludicrous.

  My friend certainly stood out in the crowd of mostly Amish shoppers. I caught more than one Amish merchant give us the once-over as we walked by. I guessed that Lois and I made an odd pair. We’d been that way since we’d been girls. Lois was the flamboyant Englischer, and I was the sedate Amish woman. To be honest, although it might not look like it, I did get into my fair share of trouble too. I was blessed enough to have Lois, who was always willing to get into mischief with me.

  Lois was either oblivious to the suspicious glances of a few of the Amish men who we passed in the market, or she just plain didn’t care. I suspected the latter of the two. Lois had never cared what anyone thought of her. When we were children growing up on neighboring farms, I had been jealous of her exuberant way of going after whatever it was she wanted. When I was young, I associated her behavior with being Englisch because Lois and her parents were the only Englischers I knew. I have since learned that her Englisch upbringing had very little to do with it. Her devil-may-care attitude came from her and her alone. From her clothes to her words, Lois always expressed herself as she wanted to.

  She yanked on my arm. “Holy smokes, Millie, do you see that? That chair is just like the one my mother had when I was growing up.” She pointed at an orange, molded-plastic chair. “I have to see if I can snap it up!”

  I glanced around the market. “I think you have a gut chance of succeeding. It doesn’t appear that anyone else is looking at it.”

  “They may be just playing it close to the vest. I can’t be the only one here who knows to act cool when negotiating a deal.” Lois came up with a fistful of bills from the bottom of her purse. “I knew there was more in there. My granddaughter, Darcy, is always telling me to get more organized, but then I wouldn’t find surprises like this twenty-dollar bill at the bottom of my bag.”

  “Act cool?” I asked.

  She tried to smooth the crumpled bill the best she could. “Yes. When we talk to the vendor about the chair, we must act like we don’t want it.”

  “But you do want it.” I adjusted my grip on the shopping basket I had brought with me. As of yet, I hadn’t added anything to it. Truth be told, I hadn’t come to the flea market this day to shop. I was looking for someone.

  She clicked her tongue. “Millie Fisher, you would be the world’s worst gambler.”

  “Considering I am a sixty-seven-year-old Amish woman, I choose to take that as a compliment.”

  She shook her head. “Just know I won’t be taking you on my next trip to the Rocksino in Cleveland. You would completely ruin my luck.”

  I patted the prayer cap on the top of my snow-white hair. “I thought you gave up gambling after you pushed your fourth husband into that hotel swimming pool.”

  “I took a break, yes, after that little incident.” She finished smoothing the bill and tucked it into the pocket of her teal jacket. “However, in this life one should always be willing to take a chance and roll the dice.” She grinned. “That sounds like one of the Amish proverbs you recite all the time, doesn’t it?”

  “It doesn’t.” I shook my head. “Not at all.”

  She winked at me, not the least bit offended by my remark. I wished I could be as easygoing as Lois, but on this special errand, that was impossible. I turned back to the vendor she had pointed out.

  She grabbed my arm and spun me in the other direction. “Don’t look at him. If you do, he will know we’re interested in buying something from him.”

  I sighed and smoothed the sleeve of my plain green dress. “Do I have to remind you that you were pointing at him a moment ago?” Even shopping with Lois was an adventure. “Besides, why do you want that chair? It’s orange,” I said. “It doesn’t go with a single item in your house.”

  She laughed. “Nothing in my house matches, and that’s jus
t how I like it.”

  That was the truth.

  “Since I might have trouble acting cool, why don’t you speak to the man about the chair, and I will keep looking for Ben,” I said.

  Finding Ben was the real reason we were at the Harvest Village Flea Market. I had been worried about the young man, and because I was the only one in the village—if not the state—who knew him well, I felt responsible to make sure he was all right.

  “Good deal,” Lois said. “By the time you find Ben, I will have that chair in my possession for half of what it’s worth.”

  “Why don’t we meet at the livestock judging area? I would like to know how the goats are getting on for my grandnephew Micah,” I said.

  Lois laughed. “Sounds like a plan, but I don’t need to see the judging to know that Phillip and Peter are wreaking havoc for Micah and all the judges.”

  I grimaced but didn’t correct her. Phillip and Peter were challenging goats. In this case, Lois was probably right. She strolled over to the man with the chair, and I shook my head.

  I knew she would come away with the chair. I only hoped that she didn’t come away with a new husband too. Lois had a talent for collecting those as well.

  With Lois occupied, I continued my search of the flea market for Ben Baughman. Ben was a nineteen-year-old Amish man who had recently moved to Holmes County from Michigan. I had known him since he was a child, because he came from the same community in which I had lived for ten years while taking care of my invalid sister. Ben had been a nearby neighbor in Michigan and a thoughtful one too. He was gut to both my sister and me, and he came over as often as he could to help me with the chores. He never let me pay him, and I was grateful for it. Taking care of my sister Harriett had been meaningful but hard work.

  A few months ago, after my sister’s death, I moved back to Holmes County, Ohio, where I’d grown up. To be honest, I didn’t expect to see Ben again as I had no desire ever to return to my sister’s community and I could see no reason why he would come to Ohio. However, a month ago, I received a letter from Ben. He said that he was planning to move to Holmes County so that he could find work in a larger Amish district. The Amish district where he lived was very small and most of the men worked with Englischers. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but Ben said he wanted a more authentic Amish life and felt he could find that in Holmes County, where the Amish population was so much larger.

  I told him he was welcome to come, and I offered him a room in my little house until he got on his feet. I don’t think he was even there a month before he found a basement room for rent. He was determined to make a life of his own.

  Behind me, I heard Lois’s voice carry as she haggled with the antiques vendor over the chair. By the sound of the seller, he was already beginning to waffle on his price. I had expected nothing less.

  I scanned the large barn for any sign of Ben. I was in the middle of a crush of shoppers and merchant booths that sold everything from produce to furniture to old toys and guns.

  I wondered if I’d chosen the wrong day to be looking for him. Perhaps I’d come on a day Ben didn’t have to work. He was a guard of sorts for the flea market. In the last few weeks, there had been a rash of robberies. Many of the vendors had been hit. When they threatened to leave to protect their goods and their families, the flea market owner had posted a job for an after-hours guard. I had seen the notice for the job on the community bulletin board at the Sunbeam Café, which Darcy Woodin, Lois’s granddaughter, owned and operated. Lois worked there part-time, but her hours seemed to be irregular at best; she only worked at the café when she was bored or when Darcy was desperate for a second set of hands.

  When I saw the posting, Ben had just moved to Ohio. I told him about it, and he applied and got the job right away. I thought I had done my duty, and my young friend was nicely settled. What I didn’t know was that he was going to meet his match at the flea market and that it would lead to complications.

  I spotted Ben beside the baked goods stand. It was the end of September, so the stand was heavy on apple tarts, pumpkin pies, and sweet potato cookies. He wasn’t alone. He was speaking with a woman in a flowered blouse, long skirt, and prayer cap. I knew right away that she was Mennonite from her almost plain dress and cap. She handed Ben an envelope. He nodded, folded it twice, and tucked it into the pocket of his navy work shirt.

  The woman walked away, and Ben smiled as I approached him. His straw-colored hair stood on end despite the strict Amish bowl-cut that he adhered to. A dusting of freckles danced across his face. He might be nineteen, but when caught in the right light, he could pass for twelve. He certainly didn’t look like someone old enough to be a night guard or to be falling in love and considering marriage.

  He smiled wider, and I saw the gap between his two front teeth that also added to his youthful appearance. “Millie, it’s so gut to see you. Do you need to do a little shopping here at the flea market? You will be hard-pressed not to find what you need here. It seems that everything is for sale.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not in the market for anything in particular right now, but I know that Lois will do enough shopping for both of us.”

  He laughed. “This doesn’t surprise me. I’m on the way to my second job. I just . . .” His voice trailed off as he looked across the flea market.

  “What job is this?”

  “The lumberyard,” he said. “Wait no. This one is stocking the Harvest Market. That’s where I need to go next. Eventually, I will get it all straight. In a week it will be habit, knowing everywhere I need to go and when I need to be there.”

  I frowned. “How many jobs are you working, exactly?”

  “Four.” He paused when he saw the look on my face. “It was five, but I dropped one. Five was one too many.”

  “Four sounds like too many too,” I said, concerned. “If you are forgetting where you need to be.”

  “It’s worth it . . .” He trailed off and looked at the orchard stand. Now I knew why he was standing in this part of the flea market. He had the perfect view of the apple orchard stand and the lovely young woman selling the apples. Tess Lieb.

  “How’s Tess?” I asked.

  His face broke into a smile that was made even more endearing by the gap in his teeth. “She’s wonderful. Oh, Millie,” he said to me quietly in Pennsylvania Dutch. “She’s my match. I just wish her father could see that. I’m working so hard to prove to him that I’m the right fit.”

  Tess was an eighteen-year-old Amish woman who lived with her parents and younger siblings on their vast apple orchard just outside of the village. This time of year, her family’s orchard stand did a brisk business, as both Englisch and Amish wanted to buy apples that were the best and crispest.

  September was the height of business for the Lieb Apple Orchard. In the fall, the orchard was a hive of activity as the apple-picking season went into full swing. They sold apples to wholesalers, at the local markets, and even from the orchard itself with a pick-your-own grove of trees.

  Tess and her siblings were spread out selling their apples all over Holmes County; the family had a strong presence in all the markets, but Tess always seemed to be at the flea market, where Ben had first laid eyes on her.

  Across the flea market, Tess handed an elderly man his quarter-bushel bag of apples. As she accepted his money, her eyes strayed in Ben’s direction. When their eyes locked, she blushed. If not completely in love, she certainly was enamored with Ben’s attentions. It was my job as a matchmaker to recognize whether Ben and Tess were a perfect match, or whether it was just Ben’s wishful thinking. Affection would make no difference to their matrimonial prospects if her family was against the match.

  Tobias Lieb, Tess’s father, stepped into the apple booth and glared at Ben before speaking harshly to Tess. She dropped her eyes and began bagging more apples. “The apple will not roll far away from its tree” was the Amish proverb that was on the top of my mind. That didn’t bode well for Ben, I was afraid.