Murder, Handcrafted (Amish Quilt Shop Mystery) Read Online Free Page A

such a tone with me, even when he was trying to talk me out of investigating a murder, a hobby that I had somehow acquired since moving back to Holmes County.
    “Hello?” a deep male voice called from the kitchen. “Jonah Graber, can I speak to you?”
    I turned around to see an English man with a broad chest and shoulders and a thick mane of black hair that curled over his ears standing on the deck behind the house. Griffin Bright, I presumed. He was handsome in a gladiator sort of way. Personally not my type, but I bet he had no shortage of admirers.
    “Speak of the devil,” Jonah muttered and brushed his hands together to remove the sawdust. “Angie, Griffin and I have to discuss your mother’s project. Why don’t you go back to Running Stitch? Isn’t that what you told your mother you planned to do?”
    He walked toward Griffin and stepped through the broken French doors. It wasn’t until he disappeared into the kitchen that I realized he had never told me how Kamon actually died.

Chapter Four
    I stood in my parents’ backyard for half a minute, considering all that I had learned about my lifelong friend in the last few minutes.
    I wasn’t that easily dismissed. Jonah knew me better than most, and he knew this aspect of my personality too. Besides I had his blueprints.
    When I stepped into the half-demolished kitchen, I found Griffin and Jonah glaring at each other. Griffin had his arms across his broad chest genie-style, and Jonah had his fists clenched at his sides. Eban had his red toolbox on the kitchen counter and sorted through the tools, but the way he tarried over the task made me think he was really listening to Griffin and Jonah’s conversation. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Oliver peeking through the threshold that led to my parents’ formal dining room.
    “Hi!” I said in my best pageant-reject voice, waving the blueprints. “Jonah, you forgot these.”
    He took them from my hand, and I walked towardGriffin with my hand outstretched. “I’m Daphne’s daughter, Angie.”
    “It’s nice to meet you.” Griffin took my hand. His handshake was firm and warm and not a second too long or too short. I’d describe it as professional, clinical even. “Call me Griff. Everyone else does.”
    “Okay, Griff.” I felt Jonah watching me, and I stepped back when Griffin released my hand. “As you can see, my mother brought on Jonah for this job. My dad hurt his back.”
    Griffin nodded. “I heard. Jonah, I must say I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t know that you were in the contracting business,” Griffin said. “I had heard that you were working with goats.”
    Jonah frowned. “I’m surprised you would know what I was up to, Griffin. I haven’t see you in—”
    “Gosh, it must be twenty years but, as you know, people in this county talk,” he said as if it held a special meaning he knew Jonah would understand.
    By Jonah’s scowl, I supposed that he did. My head whipped back and forth as I watched the two men. It was like a tennis match. Jonah had said that Griffin murdered his cousin, but that was twenty years ago, and the Amish tendency was to forgive. If Jonah’s expression was an indication, he had yet to do that where Griffin was concerned, and I found that the most surprising part of the conversation.
    “How is the goat project coming?” Griffin asked.
    “It is
gut
,” Jonah said. My friend was always looking for the next big business venture. His most recentattempt had been goat lawn service. With his Nubian goat Petunia as his lead goat, he took a small herd to fields or land that needed to be cleared. The goats ate the vegetation down in a shockingly short period of time and left room for the property owner to turn the land into a grazing pasture or a crop field. Of all of Jonah’s business ventures—and there had been many—this was the one that actually seemed to be working.
    “I’m still doing that.” Jonah’s voice still held an unfamiliar