In the latest from the author of  Murder, Served Simply, a n Amish man checks out permanently, but quilt shop owner Angie Braddock’s got this mystery covered… With so much to do between running her shop and spending time with her new boyfriend, it’s amazing Angie is able to help organize the Rolling Brook library's annual book sale. Luckily she’s working alongside brash librarian Austina Shaker, a lady who isn’t afraid to make waves to get books to her patrons—even the Amish. Unfortunately, this draws the ire of cranky Bartholomew Belier, an Old Order Amish bishop, who publicly vows to ruin Austina. And she certainly might be ruined after Belier is found dead in her bookmobile. Now Angie must employ the help of her loyal quilting circle—as well as her beloved French bulldog, Oliver—if she hopes to prove Austina’s innocence before the real killer books it… INCLUDES QUILTING TIPS Praise for the Amish Quilt Shop Mystery series: “A satisfyingly complex cozy.”— Library Journal “Alan captures Holmes County and the Amish life in a mystery that is nothing close to plain and simple.”—Avery Aames, Agatha-award winning author of the Cheese Shop Mysteries Isabella Alan is the national bestselling author of the Amish Quilt Shop Mysteries, including Murder, Handcrafted ; Murder, Plainly Read ; Murder, Served Simply ; Murder, Simply Stitched ; and Murder, Plain and Simple . An academic librarian for a small college in Ohio, she grew up visiting the state’s Amish country with her family. As Amanda Flower, she is the author of the Agatha Award–nominated Maid of Murder as well as the Magical Bookshop Mysteries. Chapter One “Whoa!” Rachel Miller called to her buggy horse. The buggy shuddered to a stop behind a yellow school bus. Three Amish children climbed in. The youngest boy’s Spider-Man backpack bounced as he disappeared through the door. I smiled. Clearly, he was a member of one of the more liberal Amish districts in Holmes County. A year ago, who’d have ever known that I would be able to know the difference? When I first moved to Millersburg, I had thought, like so many outsiders, that all Amish were the same. Next to me on the buggy’s bench seat, Rachel’s bonnet cast a shadow over her delicate features. “It shouldn’t be too long now,” Rachel said. “Austina telephoned the bakery to tell me the bookmobile would be parked in front of Hock Trail School.” Austina, a county librarian, had commissioned a quilt from my quilting circle for her ailing mother. The ladies finished the quilt during our meeting last night. It was a breathtaking purple, rose, and periwinkle blue Ohio Star. The colors weren’t traditionally Amish, but Austina had chosen them because they were her mother’s favorites. The quilt was so lovely, I almost wished I could keep it in the shop for display, but I thought that about every quilt my circle created. Each one seemed to be more beautiful than the last. I scratched my faithful French bulldog, Oliver, between his ears. He leaned into my caress like a cat. I sighed. “I hate for the ride to end. This reminds me of leisurely buggy rides I would take with my aunt and uncle on Sunday afternoons. It’s nice to take a breath every so often and think about that time.” My throat tightened as I thought about my Amish aunt. She had been gone for over a year now, but every so often the pain of losing her was like a baseball bat to the chest. The crease in Rachel’s brow smoothed. “Angie, you need to move at a slower pace. You are so busy with Running Stitch and being a township trustee. You need to take a breath. When was the last time you had a quiet evening with the sheriff?” I found myself blushing like a sixteen-year-old girl. “It’s been a while. He has Zander, who needs his attention. I don’t begrudge Z at all. He’s a great kid. And now that my parents have moved to town, they’re taking up much of my time.” After my father’s retirement, my parents had moved to Holmes County from Dallas to be closer to me, and my mother was in the middle of a colossal house renovation, the likes of which my Amish friends had never seen. I zipped my jacket against the cool autumn wind whipping in through the buggy’s open windows. “The latest debacle has been over throw pillows for their living room couch. Please don’t ever ask me to help you choose a throw pillow. According to my mother, I’m not up for the task.” Rachel chuckled. “Jonah told me your mother bought two chandeliers for the house.” I rolled my eyes. “Jo-Jo exaggerated. There’s only one.” Rachel’s horse turned the next corner. Half a mile down the road, I saw the silver-and-green library bookmobile parked in front of a one-room schoolhouse. A small swing set, slide, and metal teeter-totter were next to the bookmobile, but there weren’t any children in the playground. In fact, I didn’t see any children at all. I frowned. It was autumn and school was in session. I was about to ask Rachel about it when my friend whispered, “Oh dear.” “What—” I started to a