Agatha’s Amish B&B

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Dead Wrong
Agatha’s Amish B&B Series

Agatha Lapp runs a bed and breakfast for Amish in Hunt, Texas located in the Texas Hill Country. She’s friendly, efficient, and capable. She’s also a widow who has learned to be independent. When Russell Dixon dies in Cabin #3, she runs next door where retired detective Antonio Vargas lives. The police determine that her guest died of natural causes, but as Agatha and Antonio put together the events of the previous two days they both decide the police are Dead Wrong.

Agatha Arrives
a short prequel to Agatha’s Amish B&B

Agatha Lapp changed buses three times travelling from Goshen Indiana to central Texas. Once she arrived in San Antonio, she hired a taxi, and finally was picked up by the bishop in Hunt, Texas.

“Long trip.” Jonas Schrock was younger than most bishops she’d known, though his beard was still peppered with gray.

She guessed they were probably the same age.

“I’m definitely not in Goshen anymore.” She’d come down to Texas the previous spring. Of course she had. Her youngest bruder had died, tragically, along with his wife of just two years. They hadn’t had children yet. She supposed there was mercy in that, although she would have happily taken on raising a niece or nephew, same as she was now taking on the business.

“Texas takes a bit of getting used to.” Jonas glanced out over the buggy horse, waved to the right and left. “But it’s gut land, and with the river…”

“What’s the name of it…something with a G?”

“Guadalupe. The river so close to the town, runs directly behind many of our properties including Samuel’s. It was a gut place for us to settle.”

Agatha tried to see the beauty that Jonas was describing, but the temperature had to be over a hundred and there was no breeze to speak of.

“It’s hot,” she finally admitted.

“Ya. That it is. Must have been pleasant when you left Indiana.’

“Seventy-five.” She didn’t sigh. Agatha couldn’t abide people who sighed dramatically. The weather was what it was. The weather was what Gotte had created it to be. She’d learn to live with it.

“I wanted to thank you, again, for seeing after their place until I could get down here. I had…some things to take care of.” She knew it was unusual for an Amish woman to move away on her own, even a widowed one. She didn’t intend to go into that now though. If Jonas was worried, he’d speak with her bishop back in Goshen, and Atlee had understood her decision and given his blessing.

“It was no bother, and I’m sure you’d do the same. My son took your buggy horse over to your place earlier today.”

“A mare?”

“Ya. Her name is Doc.”

“My bruder named a mare Doc?”

Jonas’s laugh was rich and deep. “Samuel loved Dr. Pepper.”

“I’ve  never heard of it.”

“It’s a type of soft drink–originated here in Texas. Samuel drank it fairly often. When he and Deborah moved here, he made her a deal. She could name the children, and he’d name the horses and dogs.”

A lump formed in her throat, and she had to swallow around it to say, “He never told me that.”

“He named the horse Dr. Pepper which Deborah argued was much too long.”

“And they shortened it to Doc.”

“We made sure that the barn is cleaned out and you have supplies.”

“Danki.”

“The property though…it’s going to need some cleaning up. I wouldn’t mind scheduling a work day.”

Agatha waved away that idea. She didn’t mind good, hard work. Wasn’t that why she’d come down here? Knitting and quilting were good and fine, but she needed a purpose. She needed something that would wear her out and make her sleep well at night. She needed…well she supposed she needed to be needed, even if it was only to strangers looking for a place to stay.

“The community is doing well?”

“Ya. Seems like we add a new family every month, and the Englischers–they realize that we’re bringing in more tourist dollars so they are accommodating.”

Agatha pulled a handkerchief from her purse and swiped at the sweat running down her face. “How long does this heat last?”

“Three, maybe four months.” He laughed when he said it.

“Some years a little longer. We were fortunate in that we had a fairly cool May, but fall comes late here and doesn’t stick around long.”

“Surely we don’t get snow this far south.”

“Nein. Not usually, but the temperatures stay in the 40s or 50s and it can be damp.”

Anything below triple digits sounded heavenly to her.

They’d passed through the center of town and popped out the other side. The surrounding hills rose gently on all sides, and the trees were magnificent. She could see why people would want to vacation here.

“Your place is up here on the left.”

She craned her neck. Though she’d seen it before, had even stayed there during the funeral, she wondered if she’d perhaps imagined how pretty it was. But now, there was the lane, and the long low ranch house with a porch surrounding two sides. Yes, it was as pretty as she remembered though as Jonas had warned it was in need of some tender, loving care.

The grass was knee high, and the place looked deserted–which it was. They passed the sign which read Amish B&B. It was hanging by one chain. She’d need to replace that straight away.

Jonas pulled the buggy to a stop near the steps that led the way to the front porch. As he removed her luggage–two small bags because all she’d brought was her clothing–she stepped closer to the house and ran a hand along the peeling paint of the porch railing.

“Place needs work.” Jonas used the toe of his shoe to right a pot holding a dead plant. “Samuel and Deborah were gut people, hard workers too, but they seemed somewhat at a loss regarding how to run a business.”

Agatha walked to the corner of the house, stepped away from it a bit so that she could see the yard gently sloping down to the river. It was peaceful and quite gorgeous–like something out of a dream. “Samuel was the youngest in our family. We spoiled him a bit. He was more likely to have his line in the water than he was to finish plowing a field.”

“He loved to fish,” Jonas agreed.

“As for Deborah…well, she was ten years younger and inexperienced in the ways of the world. Or she seemed that way to me.”

Jonas nodded, adding, “Their life was complete.”

“Indeed.”

It was the Amish way to accept death, and even to celebrate it in light of eternity. And yet it was hard when the person was one of your own family. She shook away her morose thoughts. She could best honor Samuel’s life, and Deborah’s, by making their business successful.

“Would you like me to go inside with you? The ladies put fresh linens on the bed and brought over a little food. There’s fresh milk and eggs, some bread, and basic staples.”

“I appreciate it very much, but I suspect that you have things to do at home. I know the life of a bishop is a busy one.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he reached out a hand and placed it ever-so-gently on the top of her kapp. “Heavenly Father, bless this child of yours as she goes about her work–give her strength of body, mind, and spirit. Guide and direct her, and bless her with the peace that you so freely share.”

For reasons she didn’t want to examine the blessing brought tears to her eyes. As the bishop drove away, her mind filled with the dozens of things she needed to do–check on the mare, put away her clothes, fix herself something to eat, mow the grass. But she didn’t do any of those things. Instead she walked around the porch that was covered in leaves. A dilapidated swing looked as if it would fall if she sat in it. Two rockers near the front window didn’t look much better.

She continued around the side of the house and sat down on the steps, looking again out toward the river. Her neighbor, a Hispanic man who looked to be sixty, drove his car down the lane that separated their property and into his garage. He glanced her way, but didn’t seemed surprised to see her there. Or maybe he didn’t see her. He didn’t raise a hand or call out. Instead he pulled a single bag of groceries from the back seat and trudged into his house. Trudge was the only word for it. He looked as if he was carrying a dreadful weight on his shoulders.

A yellow cat poked its head out from under the porch and hissed at her.

“If you want scraps from me, you’re going to have to behave better than that.”

For its answer, the cat walked to a patch of sunlight, sat, and commenced cleaning itself.

Agatha was fifty-four years old. She’d lost her husband ten years ago, and her children had long since married and moved away. She understood hard work, and she was fully aware that making a success from Samuel’s dream wasn’t going to be easy. Not to mention she knew nothing about running a Bed & Breakfast.

But she knew about cleaning and feeding people and needing a place to slow down and reconnect with God. She knew all about those things.

A fish slapped the water.

Sunlight pierced the pecan tress.

A gentle breeze cooled the sweat on her brow.

“This could be a gut place.”

The cat didn’t argue.

Agatha’s Amish B&B Series

• Book One: Dead Wrong
• Book Two: Dead Broke
• Book Three: Dead Set

This Amish cozy mystery is available through all online retailers in print and e-book.