Praise for PLAIN DEAD
“This satisfying cozy is populated with well-drawn
characters, and details of the Amish and their world
are skillfully woven into the story.”
—Booklist
Praise for PLAIN KILLING
“Delightful.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The clues will keep readers guessing until the end.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Very emotional and engaging . . . a real page turner.”
—Fresh Fiction
“A great mix of Amish fiction and cozy mystery.”
—The Friendly Book Nook
Praise for PLAIN MURDER
“An excellent addition to the Amish mystery subgenre.
Perfect for anyone seeking a gentle read.”
—Library Journal
“A good mystery that will keep readers guessing.”
—Parkersburg News and Sentinel
“Delightful characters.”
—RT Book Reviews
Books by Emma Miller
PLAIN MURDER
PLAIN KILLING
PLAIN DEAD
PLAIN MISSING
PLAIN CONFESSION
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
PLAIN CONFESSION
EMMA MILLER
KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Praise for PLAIN DEAD
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2018 by Emma Miller
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
BOUQUET Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-0649-2
eISBN-10: 1-4967-0649-8
First Kensington Electronic Edition: April 2018
ISBN: 978-1-4967-0648-5
Chapter 1
Stone Mill, Pennsylvania
November . . .
Rachel Mast stepped out on the back porch of her parents’ farmhouse. She wore a calf-length dark-blue dress, a black apron, thick black stockings, and black leather shoes. Her hair was twisted up into a knot at the back of her head, and over it, she’d tied a dark-blue scarf. From head to toe she appeared Amish, wearing a borrowed dress of her mother’s and her sister’s shoes and stockings. In the clothes she felt Amish, but she wasn’t. At least, technically, she wasn’t Amish anymore. Although, today, her old life called to her with poignant whispers that tugged at her heart.
The house was crowded with people, all Old Order Amish except for one out-of-place Methodist minister who’d come to pay his respects. He’d then stayed for the chicken and dumplings, the Dutch apple pie, and the sweet-and-sour coleslaw, for which her mother refused to give out the recipe. This was a funeral gathering, and as always, the Amish turned out to lend their support to their own. The newly deceased was Daniel Fisher, a member of their church community, the victim of a tragic hunting accident.
That morning, Daniel had been laid to rest in the Amish cemetery, and due to the small size of the family house and the circumstances of the sudden death, Rachel’s parents had offered their home for the gathering. Rachel wasn’t certain how many mourners had come back from the cemetery, but vans and buggies had been arriving for the last hour. One preacher or another was offering prayer and consoling words in the parlor; children played quietly on the stairs or, frightened by the weeping, crept under tables to press close to their mothers’ legs. Babies were passed from hand to hand, rocked, nursed, and jiggled, and plates of food and soft chairs were produced for the elderly and infirm.
Amish women and teenage girls prepared and served food nonstop. The hall and sitting room tables were stacked with pies, cakes, cookies, and sweet muffins. Kitchen counters barely contained the baked hams, sausages, fried chicken, and roasted turkeys. Casseroles, bowls of canned peaches, and kettles of soup and gravy covered two stove tops and spilled over onto a desk.
It was because of the turkey that Rachel had ended up wearing Amish clothing instead of the simple black pantsuit that she’d arrived in early this morning. Ida Mae Hostetler had been coming in the back door with a tureen of turkey gravy and giblets, just as Rachel had been on her way out to the springhouse for another pitcher of buttermilk. A cat had been attempting to sneak into the house, lured, no doubt, by the kaleidoscope of enticing scents drifting from the kitchen. Ida Mae, a small woman, had the mischance to tread on the tabby’s tail, and the resounding screech had been so startling that she had lost control of the container of gravy and thrown it into the air. Rachel, being at the wrong place at the wrong time, caught the bulk of the contents down her pants, blouse, and jacket, not to mention in her hair. Thus, she was forced to don the only clothing available, Old Order Amish garb.
Dressing this way didn’t feel as uncomfortable as it should have, Rachel decided as she wandered out onto the porch and rested a hand against a turned wooden post. Outwardly, she’d left her Amish home and way of life as soon as she’d turned of age. She’d desperately wanted to see more of the English world, and she’d wanted an education, something frowned upon by the ordnung, the code that Plain communities chose to live by. She’d turned her back on the family heritage and friends she loved, leaving the peaceful valley and the small town of Stone Mill to become part of the mainstream American society.
Alone, possessing only a rudimentary eighth-grade education, she’d worked, acquired her high school diploma, her bachelor’s degree, and finally an MBA from Wharton. She found that she had ambition, a knack for numbers, and the imagination to use them
