“Miss Delight.”

  I nearly jumped out of my skin. I looked up from the liquid depths of my coffee into the ruggedly handsome face of Detective McCloud. My first thought was that he was there to arrest me. “What do you want?” I said in alarm.

  “I’m not here on official business,” he said.

  I tried not to look too relieved. “No, of course not,” I said.

  “Are you here alone?” he asked me.

  “Yes I am,” I said, wondering why he was asking.

  “I thought your friends might be with you.”

  “Eleanor and Matilda? No, they’ve gone to their indoor rock climbing lesson.”

  Detective McCloud chuckled. “They are most interesting ladies. What are you doing here?”

  I wondered why he was asking me. I narrowed my eyes. “I come here on occasion.”

  “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Please do.” I really wanted to say, “No, go away,” because I was afraid he would question me.

  He sat down and ordered coffee too.

  “I’m on my second,” I told him when the waitress left. “It’s decaf but I’m sure there’s still enough caffeine to keep me up all night.”

  “Is there something worrying you?” he asked.

  “Other than being a suspect in a murder case?” I let my words hang on the air.

  The detective shrugged one shoulder. “I didn’t say you were.”

  “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” I said.

  He did not respond, but instead said, “Do you mind if I ask you some questions about the Amish?”

  A wave of relief hit me. So that’s why he was here. He simply wanted information and he wasn’t here because I was a murder suspect. I exhaled slowly. “I was Amish until I went on rumspringa.”

  “I’ve been trying to read up on the Amish since I arrived here but haven’t had much of a chance to do so. Rumspringa. I’m pretty sure I know what that means.”

  “Most Amish communities have rumspringa. It’s when a young person leaves the community to experience English—oh, that’s non-Amish—ways. If they want to return to the Amish, then they do and they get baptized.”

  “So they aren’t baptized as babies?”

  I shook my head. “No Amish are Anabaptists. They believe in someone making a decision for baptism.”

  He nodded slowly. “I see. And if someone goes on rumspringa and doesn’t return, are they shunned?”

  I laughed. “No, that’s a common misconception. I didn’t return after my rumspringa and I certainly wasn’t shunned. Anyway, someone has to be baptized before they can be shunned. You can’t shun someone who hasn’t been baptized. I was never baptized into the Amish community. Besides, not returning from rumspringa is certainly not a valid reason to be shunned.”

  “This is most helpful,” he said. “I was told there is such a big Amish community here that I have to find out about their ways.”

  “But you see, Amish are very law-abiding citizens,” I told him. “You really won’t find Amish committing any crimes.” I narrowed my eyes as I said it. I hope he took the hint that Rebecca certainly couldn’t have murdered anyone.

  Once more, he did not respond to my words, but asked, “Can you recommend a good book for me to learn about the Amish?”

  “Well, there are a few,” I said, “but the thing is, every community is different. What would be normal for one community would not be for another. Plus, every community goes by the Ordnung.”

  “Could you spell that?”

  I spelled it and then added, “The Ordnung is basically an unwritten set of rules that every community has. It governs things like the type of dress permitted, restrictions on the type of buggy allowed, the technologies people can’t own but can maybe use, that sort of thing. Like I said, it’s different in every community.”

  “And the language the Amish speak. Is it Dutch? I can speak some French but that’s about all.”

  I chuckled. “No, Pennsylvania Dutch really is Pennsylvania Deutsche. At least that’s what most people think. It’s German, but it’s a dialect of German.”

  The detective’s coffee arrived and he stirred a considerable amount of sugar into it. I must have stared because he looked up and laughed. “One of the drawbacks of my job, I’m afraid. I need instant energy. That, and I have a sweet tooth.”

  I laughed too. “You and me both.” My imagination ran away with me and I wondered what it would be like sitting there on a date with the detective. I was fifty going on fifty-one, and I had thought any chance for love was well and truly over.

  The detective drank his coffee quickly and then said, “Thanks for the information, Miss Delight. You’ve been most helpful.” With that, he hurried away from the table.

  So much for imagining being on a date with someone like him! He had gotten his information and left soon after. My spirits fell. I decided to go home. Despite the coffee, I was feeling tired and thought I should get some sleep. I hadn’t had much the previous night.

  As I walked out the door, I saw Detective McCloud speaking with some men. I figured they were off duty police officers. I looked the other way so I wouldn’t have to speak to him and walked out the door. I had only gotten about five paces when I saw a shadow opposite.

  A chill ran through me. I had been sure someone was following me, so why had I been so silly as to come out alone at night?

  I didn’t know what to do, so I stood there frozen to the spot, staring at the place where I had seen someone. Just then, the moon came out from behind the clouds and I saw the moonlight reflecting on something, maybe a watch, where I had seen the figure.

  I turned and hurried back into the café.

  Detective McCloud stopped speaking to his friends and looked up. “Miss Delight! Is something wrong? You’re as white as a sheet.”

  “There’s someone out there,” I said.

  He stepped away from the other men and towered over me. “What do you mean?”

  “I know it sounds silly, but lately I’ve been sure someone is following me, and just then when I went to walk home, I saw someone duck back behind a building.”

  “Come outside with me and point out the building to me.”

  I did as he asked.

  “Now, Miss Delight, I want you to go back inside and wait for me.”

  I hurried back into the café. Just before I went inside, I looked over my shoulder and saw the detective running across the street.

  I stood just inside the café waiting for him to come back. It wasn’t long before he did so. “I didn’t catch him. He was too far away,” he said.

  “Did you see him?” I said in surprise.

  “Someone was running away and had too much of a start on me,” he said. “There’s no need to alarm yourself, Miss Delight. It might be nothing to do with you. When did you first notice this?”

  “It was several weeks ago,” I said.

  “And have you been able to get a good look at the person?”

  I shook my head. “No, not at all. I’ve only seen a figure ducking behind the buildings, that sort of thing. The last time was earlier today when we came back from Sarah Beiler’s house.”

  “I’ll walk you home now,” Detective McCloud said. “Look, would you do me a favor and not go out after dark? It’s probably nothing to worry about, so it’s just to be on the safe side. Don’t go anywhere alone, at least not until I make some inquiries.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and I was grateful, but I did not know what sort of inquiries he could make.

  The detective walked me to the door to my apartment and then said, “I’ll wait until you’re safely inside. Immediately lock the door behind me.” He pulled out his card and handed it to me. “That has my direct cell phone number on it. If you hear anything or see anything and you are at all worried, don’t hesitate to call me, even if you think it’s something insignificant.”

  I thanked him once more, let myself inside and then locked the door. I leaned back against the door, shaking. I knew it hadn’t been my imagination. I knew someone had been following me and Detective McCloud had seen him or her. What’s more, he seemed to think I might be in danger.

  Who could it be, and why was someone interested in little old me?

  Chapter 13

  The following morning, I was sitting in my car, and Matilda was driving. That was a concern in itself, but worse still, I was dressed in my sister’s Amish clothes—a prayer kapp, a dress, a black apron, black stockings, and sensible shoes. My hair was pulled back, parted in the middle, and twisted into a bun.

  My hair was not as long as my sister’s hair. Of course, my sister had never cut hers, as was the Amish way. I used to have mine short, but after I divorced I hadn’t bothered going to a hairstylist to have it cut. At least it gave me more of an authentic Amish look, as it was long enough to tuck up under the prayer kapp.

  “Do you think this is going to work?” Matilda asked doubtfully.

  “How should I know?” I said, throwing my hands into the air. “It wasn’t my idea; it was yours.”

  “Well, it sounded like a good idea at the time,” Matilda admitted, “but now I’m not so sure.”

  “No, it really does sound like a good idea to me. I’m sure you’re right—Greaves’s wife Stephanie will be more inclined to speak with me if she thinks I’m Amish and she thinks you’re my driver. It is a good idea,” I said again, more to reassure myself than anything else.

  “Have you decided what you’re going to say?” Matilda asked me.

  I rubbed my eyes with both hands. “Vaguely, but if I think about it too much, my mind will go blank. I’ll play it by ear.”

  Matilda snorted. “You mean you’ll make it up as you go along.”

  I chuckled. “Pretty much.”

  “As we agreed, you do all the talking, but don’t forget to find out if anyone else inherits the money. We are just assuming it’s only Stephanie and her son Brooks, but for all we know there could be other siblings. Specifically ask if they’re aware of the terms of the will, because Greaves might have left something to his mistress.”

  I shook my finger at Matilda. “There you go again, talking about his mistress. What makes you think he had a mistress?”

  Matilda swerved violently, I assume to miss something on the road. Whether there was something on the road or she imagined it, I had no idea because I shut my eyes tightly and gripped the seat for dear life. “You do have a driver’s license, don’t you?” I asked.

  “Of course I do! I got an international license in Kochkor-Ata.”

  I had no idea where that was, and was too scared to ask. “Would you mind slowing down a bit please, Matilda? There’s no rush! And besides, we don’t want to attract the attention of the police.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Matilda really did sound contrite. “For a minute I thought I was back in northern India, scurrying around those mountain roads. You know, it’s quite easy to pop over the edge there. You see trucks over cliff edges all the time. I laugh when people say mountain roads are dangerous here because they’ve never been to northern India. Why, I could tell you stories!”

  I had no doubt she could. “Um, have you ever driven over a cliff edge?” I asked her.

  Matilda shot me a look of disgust. “Of course not! Oh, there was that one incident when I was on my way to celebrate New Year’s Eve in the White Desert…” She didn’t finish her sentence, because majestic brass gates loomed in front of us. “What are we going to do?” she asked in alarm.

  “They look a open a little way. What if I get out and push them?”

  “Are you out of your mind, Jane? We are supposed to talk into some intercom device and announce ourselves and ask to be let in. You can’t simply go to those gates and open them.”

  At least that’s what I think she said, because I was already half way to the gates before she finished speaking. I gave one gate a tentative push and it swung open. I turned around and gave Matilda the thumbs up and then pushed both gates wide open. In case there were cameras trained on me, I walked in a sedate manner back to the car. “Let’s go,” I said.

  Matilda clutched her stomach.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Not really,” she said. “I feel scared walking into a murderer’s lair.”

  “Do you think Stephanie did it?” I asked her.

  “I don’t really know,” she said. “In Agatha Christie novels it’s never the obvious one, and Stephanie is the obvious one because she stands to inherit. Maybe though she was in it with his mistress, or maybe she was in it with both his mistress and his mistress’s husband.”

  I rubbed my eyes again, and then stopped myself. It would cause wrinkles, more wrinkles than I already had. Things were rapidly going downhill. “Let’s just see what facts we can uncover,” I said.

  Matilda stopped at the front door. I looked up at the big house. When I was married to Ted, we lived in a big house, but it was only half the size of this house. Colin Greaves must have been worth millions, and then some.

  “Do we knock on the door?” Matilda asked me. “What if the butler answers and turns us away?”

  “There might not be a butler,” I said, “but we won’t know unless we try.”

  I tried to walk in a sedate manner once more in case someone was watching. Matilda knocked on the door. No one answered. We exchanged glances. Surely someone was home.

  Matilda knocked again several times. Finally, a woman answered the door. She was quite haughty, and looked down her nose at us. Waves of no doubt very expensive perfume preceded her. “What do you want?” she said in a curt tone.

  “Are you Stephanie Greaves?” I asked her.

  The woman narrowed her eyes at me. “Yes?” She spoke with her lips barely parted, I fancied like a snake kissing.

  “I’m Rebecca Yoder, and this is my driver, Matilda Birtwistle,” I said. “I do hope you don’t mind me coming to speak with you, but your husband passed away in my cupcake store.”

  The woman’s eyes widened and she appeared to be struggling with some inner dialogue. Finally, she said, “Do come in, won’t you. I’ll have Celia fetch us a drink.”

  She showed us through an opulent foyer into a lavish living room. French antiques were dotted all about the foyer, an abundance of gilded tulipwood and oak veneer with delicate renderings of amaranth and holly, as well as Aubusson silk sofa chairs. I recognized the furniture as Louis XIV as my ex-husband’s mother collected French antiques.

  The living room stood in stark contrast to the foyer. It was as minimalist as the foyer was luxurious. Everything was white, from the massive chandelier to the grand piano. Nothing was out of place, and I didn’t see any sign of a pet. If I had, I am sure it would have been white. For the first time I noticed Stephanie Greaves was dressed in a smart white skirt and matching blouse, with a single strand of pearls.

  A gray-haired woman entered the room. Stephanie at once barked at her. “Celia, fetch everybody a drink, won’t you.” To us she said, “What would you like?”

  “I’d like some strong coffee please,” Eleanor said.

  “Would you happen to have lemonade?” I asked.

  “And I’ll have my usual.” Stephanie dismissed a clearly harried Celia with a wave of her hand. Celia scurried from the room.

  “I shall be upfront with you and tell you that my husband and I were not on the best of terms,” Stephanie said, “yet I am totally devastated about his passing.” Her eyes lit up as she said it and I sincerely doubted she was devastated in the least.

  “Yes, it was most sad,” I said. “He collapsed in my store and I, I mean my sister Jane, tended to him while I called 911. The paramedics came awfully fast, but alas, they were not able to save him.”

  “Yes, the police said he was poisoned,” she said.

  I wondered if she thought we had poisoned him, so I added, “Yes. I believe he was poisoned at least fifteen minutes before he entered my store.”

  I noticed a flicker of surprise when I said that, so maybe the police hadn’t told her. “I see,” she said slowly. She bit her nail. As her hands were perfectly manicured, I figured she didn’t bite her nails often.

  Celia hurried into the room and placed the drinks in front of everyone. It looked as though Stephanie had some sort of cocktail. My lemonade was served in sparkling crystal, and Matilda’s coffee in fine bone china.

  “May I speak freely? I don’t want to cause any offense or bring back upsetting memories,” I said, stumbling over my words.

  “Yes, say whatever you like.” Stephanie leaned forward.

  “I am most distressed that your husband passed away in my store, or well, shortly afterwards,” I said. “The police don’t seem to have any clue who murdered him, and I was wondering if you’d have any idea?”

  “Why? What’s it to you?” she asked. “I mean, why would you be interested in who killed him?”

  I lowered my eyes and spoke slowly. “It is our ways, you understand. I feel the weight of responsibility because he collapsed in my store. It would put my mind at rest if you could list all his enemies and then I can devote myself to praying for them.” I hoped it didn’t sound as far-fetched to Stephanie as it did to me. Please forgive me for that terrible lie, I silently prayed.

  If Stephanie did not believe me, she showed no sign. “Oh yes, of course,” she said. “I do admire the Amish ways, how you all live a life of simplicity and faith. It must be wonderful.”

  “Yes, I am most blessed,” I said. “Now if you could give me the list of people who had something against him? Then I can pray for them to see the error of their ways and turn about. ‘All we like sheep have turned astray; we have turned every one to his own way, and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all’,” I quoted. In my former community, anyone who quoted Scripture would likely be chastized for showing off their knowledge of Scripture in public, but I knew Stephanie wouldn’t know enough about the Amish to be surprised I quoted Scripture.

  “Well, there’s his mistress, of course.”

  Matilda coughed violently. “Are you all right?” Stephanie asked her.