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. whilst a useless lady is located floating in a neighborhood pond, homicide can be afoot. And Reuben Fisher is in penal complex because the suspect! Reuben refuses to disclose any info, even to transparent himself of against the law Deborah is bound he didn't devote. So, along with her English buddy, Callie---fellow sleuth and proprietor of Daisy's cover Shop---Deborah units out to discover the reality. however the secret deepens whilst an aged guy seeks Callie's assist in discovering his long-lost daughter, lacking because the days of the 1965 Palm Sunday Tornadoes. An outdated guy who has misplaced his earlier. a tender guy who could lose his destiny. once more Deborah and Callie locate themselves attempting to piece jointly a loopy duvet of lives and events---one which can convey unforeseen touches of God's grace and get to the bottom of the tragedy that has shaken this quiet Amish neighborhood
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Extra resources for A Perfect Square (Shipshewana Amish Mystery, Book 2)
I wouldn’t look, or want to know. Anyway, I’m trying to tell you, she never did it like that. She always made it look like an accident. The cops always cleaned up after her. She used to laugh about it. ” “To impress me. She was like a guy that way.
I hadn’t defended a murder case in more than a decade. ” “Say you found out. And she knew that you knew. ” 28 n R I C H A R D C A H I L L “Not real secure, but there’s a lot of things you could do before you stick somebody three times. You could move out. Straight across the country, if you had to. You could change your name. You could join a cult with communal sleeping quarters. You could shack up with a rougher, tougher lesbian. Above all, you could call the cops and let them deal with it. ” “I think it was a sudden thing.
T R U T H O R B A R E n 59 I drove the Cadillac up my drive and filled up the radiator with the garden hose. The cat, in a rare miscalculation, stuck its face out from underneath the porch while I had the hose in my hand. I let it have a shot right in the ear. Fortunately the women’s jail was in East County and for the most part downhill. The temperature light only flickered once on the way over. I gave the sheriffs my name and the name of the prisoner. I half expected to be turned away, but Jill Congliaro must have passed the word down the line.