By Vannetta Chapman
There's extra to the old fashioned northern Indiana city of Shipshewana than hand made quilts, Amish-made furnishings, immaculate farms and close-knit households. while a lifeless lady is located floating in an area pond, homicide is additionally afoot. And Reuben Fisher is in penal complex because the suspect! Reuben refuses to disclose any details, even to transparent himself of against the law Deborah is bound he didn't devote. So, together with her English good friend, Callie---fellow sleuth and proprietor of Daisy's duvet Shop---Deborah units out to discover the reality. however the secret deepens while an aged guy seeks Callie's assist in discovering his long-lost daughter, lacking because the days of the 1965 Palm Sunday Tornadoes. An previous guy who has misplaced his previous. a tender guy who might lose his destiny. once more Deborah and Callie locate themselves attempting to piece jointly a loopy duvet of lives and events---one which could deliver unforeseen touches of God's grace and unravel the tragedy that has shaken this quiet Amish neighborhood
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Extra info for A Perfect Square (Shipshewana Amish Mystery, Book 2)
Only Luke was paying close attention. I focused inward. “Uh, yeah. ” Weird. I’d forgotten that he was called the Forester. “So, anyway, we wander around, lost. We’re afraid we’re going in circles, and it’s getting dark. ” My heart started to thud against my ribs as it came back to me: the deepening shadows, the ghostly trees, the creeping chill of the woods closing in on us. “And then all at once there’s a house right in front of us. Two stories, really old, falling down. ” I gestured with my hands trying to make them see this creepy old house being claimed by the woods.
I recognized that knife. I’d lost it twelve years ago in these woods. Picking it up, I was surprised to see that my hand was steady. Nothing like the anesthesia of total shock. I slipped it into my pocket, started warily up the stairs, gun at ready like I’d seen in a million TV shows. For all I knew there was a whole house full of these murdering freaks. Halfway up the staircase I heard the kitchen door bang. I heard voices. An unfamiliar mumble and a groan that sounded like Luke. He was alive.
We continued walking. And walking. And walking. The markings on the tree were mine, but now Luke led the way like he knew where we were going. It was all I could do to put one stumbling foot in front of the other. Maybe there was a path, but to me it seemed like an obstacle course of poison oak and sharp stones and snake holes and bug-infested logs and things that slithered and skittered reluctantly out of our way. Miles of it in the humid, autumn heat. My head pounded nauseatingly with each step; I felt my heart hammering in my side.