The Wedding Caper (10 page)

Nikki
Rogers.

Outward
appearances: Loving single mom, in need of a listening ear.

Motive:
Tired of working two jobs to keep up with her life as a single mother
;
bitter over ex-husband/dead-beat dad.

Suspicious
behavior: In the past week or so her financial state appears to be improving,
in spite of quitting second job.
Just enrolled daughter in an
expensive private school.
Possible suspicious hiring practices at Guards
on Call make status as a “real” security guard questionable.

Alibi:
None available. Works security at the bank and would have been there on the
Tuesday in question (or at any point the night before). Maintains key/codes to
the facility and can come and go 24/7.

Possible
mode of operation: Could have easily entered the building in the middle of the
night, taking the deposit just after it was made. Fellow Guards on Call could
have aided her in cutting off the power ahead of time. Perhaps this is how the
organization operates.

My plan
regarding this suspect: Stay in touch with people who know/knew her to glean
their thoughts. Further investigate Guards on Call. Pray for discernment.

Jake
Mullins.

Outward
appearances: Rough-looking. What I’d expect a “criminal” to look like. From family
description, sounds like a prodigal son, craving the love of a parent.

Motive:
To get even with his mother, or to acquire funds to escape life on the streets.

Suspicious
behavior: Was seen hanging around the bank on the night before the money disappeared.

Alibi:
Claims to have been looking for his sister, to obtain permission to return
home.

Possible
mode of operation: Could have rigged the night deposit box and taken off with
the cash before anyone inside the bank noticed.
Or.
.
. could have convinced his sympathetic sister to pass the cash off to him
instead of making the deposit.

My plan
regarding this suspect: Find out
who
he hangs out
with. Take the time to meet Jake and pray for discernment regarding his
involvement.

Wow. I
certainly saw the “bigger picture” now. Four situations.
Four
very different people.
And God clearly loved every single one with a
passion, as was evidenced by the warmth that now filled my heart as I caught
“His” view on things.

I delved
into prayer; spent about a half hour totally dedicated to the four individuals
I’d held in suspicion for so long. As I wrapped things up, I asked the Lord the
inevitable question: Is that all you want from
me,
Father—just to pray? I braced myself for His response.

The
answer gave me reason to pause. For, while none of these folks really came
across as the criminal sort, I couldn’t shake the possibility that someone I
knew and loved had actually committed this crime. And, try as I may, I couldn’t
deviate from the idea that God wanted me to play a role in bringing the right
person to justice.

Chapter Ten

There’s
something about a bed and breakfast that’s conducive to sleep. On the morning
after my creek-side chat with the Lord, Sheila and I dozed through the breakfast
hour.
Almost, anyway.
At about twenty minutes till
nine, Mrs. Lapp’s all-too-cheery voice roused us from our slumber.

“
Wilkum
to a new day,
you’s
two!”
she shouted through the door. “There’s breakfast to be had in the dining room.”

I groaned
and rolled over in a tangled mess of quilts to find Sheila still sound asleep
in the bed next to mine. The whole thing kind of reminded me of the morning
after my fifth grade slumber party. Same
tell-tale
smudges of chocolate, different sleepwear.

“Sheila?”

“Hmm?”
She stirred under the colorful mound.

I slung
my legs over the edge of my bed and stretched. “Our hostess isn’t going to rest
until we eat.”

Sheila
sat straight up
,
eyes wide open
. “Food? Why didn’t you say so?”

Ten
minutes later, with faces washed and clothes on, we found ourselves seated
before a beautiful breakfast table. I stared in disbelief at the amazing
assortment of homemade jams, jellies, and other colorful goodies and wondered
how any woman on the planet had time to devote to such things. Then I turned to
face our blessed innkeeper. Her round cheeks glowed pink and her silver hair
peeked beneath the edges of her
Kapp
. She appeared
nearly angelic.

Nearly.

“Good
morning,
you’s
two!” Mrs.
Lapp’s ample bosom met me head-on as she threw open her arms for a morning hug.

She then
turned her motherly attentions to Sheila, who handled the embrace with a little
more finesse.

“Morning,
Mrs. L.,” Sheila’s cheeks broadened in joy. “I don’t know when I’ve ever slept
better.”

The older
woman clapped her hands together in glee. “Wonderful, wonderful.”

“My
husband, Orin, snores like a freight train,” Sheila added. “But Annie
here—” she gestured my way “—she’s quiet as a mouse.”

Wish I
could say the same about you. I flashed a wide smile and stifled the giggle
that threatened to slip out.

“My other
guests finished breakfast nearly an hour ago,” Mrs.
Lapp
explained. “But never you mind that. All the better to visit with just the
three of us.”

Visit?

She fixed
our plates then plopped down in the seat at the head of the table. At that
point, she dove into a detailed description of our breakfast foods. Dippy eggs,
as she called them, turned out to be eggs over easy. Butter bread appeared to
be her way of describing our toast with fresh creamed butter. Home fries were
sliced potatoes and onions fried in a cast-iron skillet, seasoned with basil
and oregano. But the pecan sticky buns, according to Mrs. L., were her
specialty. A host of other goodies proved to be the icing on the top of our
veritable breakfast cake. I didn’t know when I’d ever felt more pampered.
Or more stuffed.

I
chuckled as I looked at the sign above the table.
Kissin
’
wears out, cooking don’t.
Clearly, Mrs. Lapp’s motto.
And since there didn’t appear to be a Mr. Lapp about, I had to imagine she
didn’t get much of the first. Judging from the size of her mid-section, there
appeared to be an abundance of the second.

As we
finished up our breakfast, Sheila and I stood and rubbed our expanding bellies.

Sheila
shifted her hands around to her hips. “Who needs buns of steel when we can have
sticky buns?” She broke into raucous laughter and I joined in, feeling rather
fat and sassy myself. For a moment, I almost let my mind gravitate back to the
Clark County gym and my fitness rep, Joey. Nah. Don’t go there. Not today.

Instead,
I opted to do a little shopping. We had a look around the small storefront in
the lobby, oohing and
aahing
over the various
trinkets and treasures. I picked up a lovely hand-made apron, mesmerized by its
intricacies.

“Did you
make this?” I asked our hostess.

Mrs. Lapp
beamed. “No, I haven’t the time, what with my guests, the cooking and all. My
sister is the seamstress in the family. She has been making those since we were
both young girls.”

“It’s
amazing. I’d like to buy this one.” I reached for my checkbook. “And please
tell your sister just how much I loved it.”

“I’ve
sold them for her for years now.” Her chest puffed out a bit more—in
pride. “My sister is pleased, to be sure. I just sold several dozen to the
vendors at our local merchant’s conference last month. You’ll be seeing these
aprons in shops all over the Amish country now.”

Something
she’d said piqued my interest. “Conference?”

“In
Paradise,” she explained. “A couple hundred of us Dutch merchants meet every year
to talk about marketing and promotional ideas. And we’re always interested in
new products to promote the Amish and Mennonite way of life, that sort of
thing. It’s great fun.”

Sounded
like it. It also sounded vaguely familiar.

“Are we
going to spend all day gabbing, or are we going into town to shop?” Sheila
interrupted our chat with her thoughts on the matter. “Cause all this talk
about marketing has me in the mood to spend some money.”

I
chuckled. “We’re shopping.”

Mrs. Lapp
took my check and folded it, then tucked it into her blouse. She followed us
all the way out to our car, looking up at the skies before we parted ways.
“Spritzing should begin any time now.”

Spritzing?

“Best to
take your umbrellas,” she admonished.

Ah.

I had to
poke Sheila in the ribs with my elbow to keep her from laughing aloud. We had
too much to do to stand around gabbing about colloquialisms, cute as they might
be. There were small towns to visit, shops to be explored, and more delicious
foods to be eaten.

As we
attempted to climb into the car, Mrs. L. went on to sing the praises of several
of her favorite stores and restaurants—all within driving distance. “See
as many as you can,” she encouraged.

We nodded
our thanks and headed out on our way, at once grateful for a bit of silence. I
half-expected Sheila to comment on the infamous Mrs. L., but she seemed to be
lost in her thoughts this morning.

We drove
along the winding country roads, pausing at every little town and store that drew
our attention, some recommended by Mrs. L., others incidental. Within an hour
or so of beginning our shopping, quilt envy had taken root in both of us. I
wanted every single one. Above all, their detailed beauty amazed me.

Who in
the world has the time to sit and sew like that? I could hardly sit still at
the computer long enough to edit a client’s manuscript. How did women sit for
hours on end, visiting with one another,
hand
-stitching
one row upon another?

I snuck a
glance at my best friend, her eyes glazed over in pure joy. Truly, she looked
as though she’d died and gone to heaven. Perhaps, if we truly had the time to
spend with one another, if we lived simpler, quieter lives, we would sit in
silence and work on craft projects.

At this
point, Sheila erupted in a warbling rendition of “Do a Deer,” punctuating the
“Sew, a needle pulling thread” part.

Hmm. Then
again . . .

We
shifted our attentions to the Amish furniture, taking note of everything from
sturdy quilt racks to handcrafted hickory rockers to bent oak dining tables. I
couldn’t imagine owning such lovely things, though my heart connected with the
beauty of it all.

While I
couldn’t justify the expense of a larger purchase, I did manage to find several
other Amish delights to tickle my fancy. I bought a variety of things: several
hand-dipped beeswax candles for Brandi and Scott’s wedding ceremony, a lovely
hand-painted box to give to Nadine as a gift, and the prettiest pewter plate
I’d ever seen. The latter I expected to keep for myself.

Sheila couldn’t
seem to get enough of the pottery, hooked rugs, and hand-made dolls. She
purchased so many items I finally had to put a moratorium on the shopping. All
along the way, she kept me entertained with funny stories and witty sayings, as
always.

At some point
in our journey, I stumbled across an outdated flier on the back wall of one of
the shops, advertising the
now-past
All Things Dutch
conference. Ah. That’s what Mrs. L. was talking about. My mind reeled as
another memory set in.
Janetta
Mullins. That’s the
conference she catered. No wonder it sounded so familiar.

My
thoughts ran away with me until Sheila brought me back to reality—her
version of it, anyway.

“Where
can a girl get some food ‘round these here parts?”

I
chuckled and shifted our thoughts at once to food. We chose a nearby Amish-run
restaurant. Once settled, we enjoyed the most lavish buffet I’d ever had the
privilege of lingering over. Some of the foods were familiar, like the beef and
noodle Amish stew. Others I’d never heard of. Scrapple and sauerkraut surprise
custard pie, for example. And Amish ham salad, also made with sauerkraut.

Interesting.
Sheila, ever the adventurer, tried a small helping of everything.
Yep, everything.
I erred on the more cautious side.
Ironically, most everything I sampled proved to be quite tasty.

After
lunch, we drove the back roads for a while, drinking in the beauty of the place
and admiring some of the prettiest farmland on planet earth. We found a couple
more shops to explore, but grew weary with the process as late afternoon
sleepiness set in. Finally, just as the sun dipped off into the western sky, we
landed back on Mrs. Lapp’s doorstep once again.

“Well,
there you are!” She clapped her hands together, obviously satisfied to see us
at last. “I’d begun to wonder if you’d changed your minds about coming back.”

I stifled
a yawn and assured her we were thrilled to be “home.”

Though
still stuffed from lunch, Mrs. L. insisted we sit for yet another meal.
Bean soup and friendship bread.
As we settled down for
supper, I took the opportunity to ask our hostess a couple of questions that
had been niggling at my brain all day.

“I wonder
if you would mind telling me a little more about the merchants’ conference you
were talking about this morning,” I started.

She
sliced huge chunks of the bread as she spoke. “What would you like to know?”

I
garnered up the courage to ask the question on my mind. Why beat around the
bush? “Well, specifically, I’d be interested in hearing your take on the food.”

“The
food?” She gave a bit of a shrug as she set the bread down. “I don’t remember
hearing any complaints. Now, mind you, it wasn’t as good as my cooking if I do
say so, myself.”

I pressed
back the smile that threatened to sneak up on me as she continued.

“But the
caterer did a fine job with both quantity and quality, all things considered.
We’re a picky lot, what with so many of us being cooks, ourselves.”

“How did
you meet her?” I asked.

Mrs. L.
shrugged. “From what I remember, we hired the woman based on references and
personal recommendation. I found her to be kind of an odd bird, physically
speaking; certainly not what I would have expected, but her work was
impressive.”

I
couldn’t help but smile at her description of
Janetta
.
And at this point, I felt safe sharing my information.

“I’m only
asking because the woman who catered your event—
Janetta
Mullins—is an acquaintance,” I explained. “We’ve just hired her to cater
my daughter’s wedding this coming February.”

“Ah.” I
couldn’t help but notice the hesitation in her voice, or the way her gaze
shifted ever so slightly.

“What?”

“Well,
she’s a good cook, as I said, but her business practices are a
bit.
. . unusual.”

“Oh?”

As Mrs.
Lapp took a seat at the table, her demeanor changed. “I’ve been on the conference
planning committee for years,” she explained, “and we’re accustomed to dealing
with all sorts, but this one really took the cake.”

My
www.investigativeskills.com antennae rose right away.

“We
couldn’t figure out why she insisted upon being paid in cash, especially since
we were talking about such a large amount of money.” Mrs. L.’s brow wrinkled.
“Something about it just
felt.
. . odd.”

Felt odd
to me, even now. And I could tell from the look on Sheila’s face what she must
be thinking.

“Mrs.
Mullins didn’t seem happy when we explained we didn’t work that way. Took some
time to convince her we had no other choice. She took our check, but I could
tell she wasn’t happy about it.”