Assaulted Pretzel

by Laura Bradford

  Diane lifted the book off the armrest and flipped it over, a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips as she took in a line or two of the story before setting it in her lap. “It’s actually quite good. But it’s hard to read when you’re worried.”

  “Aunt Diane, please tell me you’re not still blaming yourself for what happened upstairs. Because whoever did that to the Karbles’ room would have gotten in no matter what security measure you put in place. They were motivated to get into that room.”

  With careful fingers Diane removed her reading glasses to afford an unobstructed view of her only niece. “No, dear. The worry I’m talking about is the worry I have when I think of what you’re doing to yourself.”

  “Doing to myself?” she echoed. “What are you talking about?”

  “When you married Peter, I wanted nothing more than to talk you out of that decision because I knew he wasn’t right for you. He was too focused on his image and himself to ever see you the way he should.” Diane stopped, took a breath, and then continued, the woman’s spot-on assessment making it difficult for Claire to breathe. “But I said nothing because you seemed so in love with him and all I wanted was for you to be happy.”

  She reached out, gently squeezed her aunt’s forearm, and then stood, the angst that always accompanied talk of her ex-husband propelling her feet around the room with no real destination in mind. When she reached the thick velvet drapes that hindered her view of the night sky over Heavenly’s Amish fields, she turned back. “I’m not sure I really knew who I was then. At least that’s the only reason I can come up with for not seeing what was in front of my face all along.”

  “You are a smart woman, dear. Just look at everything you’ve accomplished in the past year.” Diane swiveled her body around to face Claire. “You found the courage to leave New York and come here, you recognized the difference in how you felt in these surroundings, you crafted a business plan for Heavenly Treasures, leased a storefront, opened the shop, and made new friends. Good friends.”

  All she could do was nod. Diane was right. Her life was so much better, richer now.

  But she already knew that…

  “I couldn’t agree more,” she finally said as she wandered past her aunt and over to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that adorned the wall opposite the window.

  “Then how can you come so far in such a short period of time in those aspects, but be exactly where you were with Peter when it comes to not seeing what’s in front of your face?”

  She whirled around to find her aunt eyeing her closely. “Diane, I don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re driving at right now.”

  “I’m talking about Benjamin, dear.”

  Her cheeks warmed at the mere mention of his name. “Benjamin?” she parroted.

  “From the first moment you laid eyes on him outside Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe, you knew he was Amish. In fact, there’s no way you could miss that fact. He wears black pants, black shoes, a simple long-sleeved shirt, suspenders, and a black rimmed hat. He doesn’t have a beard but only because his wife died within six months of their marriage.”

  She steadied herself against the back of the couch, then made her way around it to sink into its depths. Everything her aunt said was right and it was everything she knew in her head to be right, as well. But her heart didn’t want to see those things. Her heart wanted to see Benjamin for something he wasn’t.

  Just like Peter…

  Pitching her body forward, she dropped her head into her hands and bit back the sob that was no more than seconds away. “Oh, Diane…what am I doing?”

  “You’re feeling again, dear.” Slowly, Diane rose from her chair, crossed the room, and sat down beside Claire. “And that’s good. It’s what I want for you. But I don’t want you to go down a road that is nothing more than a dead end. And that’s what this is with Benjamin, dear. It can’t go anywhere. For either of you.”

  “My head knows that, it really does. But, Diane, he sees me. He hears me. He makes me feel”—she swallowed back the lump that crept its way up her throat again and again—“special.”

  She felt Diane’s arms around her, felt their normal warmth and understanding, but for the first time in Claire’s life she doubted whether they could make things right.

  “Because you are, dear. And Benjamin is not the only one in this town who sees that.”

  At her answering silence, Diane began to tick off names. “I see it. Esther sees it. Eli sees it. Howard sees it. Al sees it. Everyone who ever stays in this inn sees it. Jakob sees it…”

  Disengaging herself from her aunt’s arms, she met the woman’s gaze head-on. “You always do that. You always bring Jakob into every discussion we have about Benjamin. Why do you do that?”

  “Because Jakob is a much more suitable partner for you, dear.” Diane folded her hands in her lap and leaned heavily against the back cushions of the couch. “He is handsome, smart, genuine, kind, and more than a little smitten with you.”

  Claire snorted. “Smitten with me? Uh, no…he might be all those other things but he’s most definitely not smitten with me.”

  Diane’s eyes widened, affording Claire a look at her own reflection in their depths. “How can you say that? He lights up every time he sees you, you’re the only person in this entire town who could actually convince him to go to the festival, and he shows up here much more than he should.”

  The truth in her aunt’s words lifted her spirits momentarily before the reality of Jakob’s recent behavior took center stage. Maybe her aunt had been right at one time. But not anymore. She said as much aloud.

  “Dear, you can’t fault him for becoming discouraged when you haven’t given him any reason to think you have feelings for him, too.” Diane disengaged her hands from each other and reached, instead, for one of Claire’s. “Perhaps he’s beginning to think you aren’t interested.”

  She waited a beat to keep from seeming rude and then tugged her hand from inside her aunt’s and rose to her feet. “I’m not.”

  Diane’s brows furrowed. “You’re not what?”

  “Interested.” Lifting her arms into the air, Claire let them fall to her side just as quickly. “I’m not interested in Jakob. I’m not interested in Benjamin. I’m not interested in anyone right now.” She took a step away from the couch only to reclaim her spot beside Diane as the tears began to fall. “Oh, Diane, what is wrong with me? How can I have feelings for two such different men? Especially when one isn’t possible and the other is showing signs of giving up?”

  She swiped at the tears as Diane’s palm found her back and attempted to rub away the sadness. “Shhh…I don’t believe Jakob has lost interest. I really don’t.”

  “Then you didn’t see him at the monthly business meeting this morning. He avoided making eye contact almost the entire time. And it was so blatant even Howard asked about it.” The words poured from her mouth as the stress of the past few days reached its saturation point. “I…I wouldn’t have thought anything of it if he hadn’t dismissed me the other day when we were talking out by the pond. In fact, once Martha showed up, he couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.”

  Diane’s gasp alerted Claire to her mistake. “Martha?”

  Leaning forward, she dropped her head into her hands and moaned. “Diane…please. Can you pretend I didn’t just say that? I promised I’d keep it quiet.”

  When Diane didn’t respond, Claire repeated her plea. “Please, Diane? I gave my word.”

  “Then I won’t ask and I won’t repeat what you just said,” Diane said. “But you have to know the notion of those two speaking is cause for celebration.”

  “For you and me—maybe. For Martha’s family and the rest of the Amish community—not so much. But, either way, I promised I wouldn’t say anything to anyone.”

  Diane pulled her hand from Claire’s back and used it, instead, to guide her niece’s face up and to the side until they were looking at each other. “Did you ever stop to think Jakob’s odd behavior
might have something to do with that?”

  She blinked against the tears in an effort to clear the hazing effect that made it difficult to truly see Diane in the flickering candlelight. “No. I mean, Jakob knows I’ve been pushing to see the two of them together ever since I met them. And Martha? She has to know it. How could she not?”

  “You could ask him, dear.” Diane wiped a stray tear from Claire’s cheek with a gentle thumb. “Then, if you find out you’ve done something to upset him, you’ll know. If an apology is called for, you give one and you move on. But by asking, you just may find out his coolness is because of stress or any number of things that are completely unrelated to you. Do that, and maybe you can put an end to that ache in your heart.”

  “There isn’t an ache.” But even as she said the words, she knew they weren’t true. She was hurting over Jakob’s sudden disinterest in their friendship. She’d been kind to him since his arrival in town. She’d been a good friend, and even if nothing more ever came from their time together, it hurt to be treated as if she’d done something wrong.

  Fortunately, she didn’t have to contradict herself aloud. Diane simply knew. She gathered her wits long enough to say what needed to be said before her throat closed completely. “I love you, Aunt Diane.”

  The tears that had been confined to Claire’s face made a mirrored performance on Diane’s. “That makes me a very rich woman, my dear. A very rich woman, indeed.” With one last tender touch to Claire’s face, Diane stood and made her way toward the staircase and the all-too-short night of sleep that remained before rising to make breakfast for the guests. At the bottom of the stairs, she turned and smiled at Claire. “Ask him what’s wrong. Whatever answer he gives, it’s better than guessing.”

  And with that, Diane made her way upstairs, leaving Claire to ponder everything with a clarity that had gotten buried under the stressful weight of the last few days. It was time to pull back and look at everything with a fresh pair of eyes.

  Jakob.

  Ann.

  Isaac.

  Everyone.

  Rising to her feet, she took a moment to blow out each of the candles around the parlor before striking out in the same direction Diane had just gone. Somehow, Claire had to find a way to sleep. Doing without it for one night had been bad enough. She didn’t need another encore.

  Step by step she ascended the stairs to the inn’s second floor and the privacy her room afforded at the end of the hall. Perhaps a warm soak in the tub would take the much-needed calm ushered in by Diane and transform it into the precursor for a restful night’s sleep.

  She could hope, anyway.

  Yet as she moved down the hallway, she found herself drawn to Melinda’s partially opened door and the purposeful tap of a keyboard on the other side. She knocked softly. “Melinda? Can I come in?”

  Melinda paused her fingers on the keys and peered out at Claire through the open space. “Uh…yeah. Sure.” Wrapping her hands around her laptop, Melinda moved the gadget to the nightstand beside her bed and sat up tall. “What can I do for you, Claire?”

  She pointed at the still lit screen and the several paragraphs she couldn’t read from the doorway. “You’re up late. Working?”

  Her inquiry was met with a half nod, half shrug. “Trying to. The boss’s murder is proving to be quite a public relations challenge. You know, how to spin it in such a way that Karble Toys is seen as sympathetic.”

  Leaning against the door frame, Claire studied the strikingly attractive woman she knew was in her midtwenties. “I would imagine that would be pretty easy considering the man was murdered.”

  “That may have been the case if he wasn’t murdered in an area inhabited by people the world sees as peaceful. And after the company announced in-house that it was reneging on its word to those same peaceful people.”

  “Wow. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  Melinda gestured toward the screen saver that appeared in place of the document she’d been typing, its image of billowing white curtains parting to provide a panoramic view of the ocean spectacular. “That’s why I’m still up at eleven o’clock. Because I have my work cut out for me trying to spin this whole ordeal. If I don’t get it just right, I’ll be out of a job.”

  “And if you get it right?” she asked.

  “I can write my ticket with any company I want.”

  Claire parted company with the doorway and took a few tentative steps into Melinda’s room. “Your ticket? What ticket?”

  “To that.” Melinda nudged her chin in the direction of the beach scene that faded into darkness a second later.

  “A beach?”

  “A beach house,” Melinda corrected. “My beach house.” Retrieving the computer from its temporary perch, the woman splayed her fingers across the keyboard once again, her face and shoulders suddenly sporting a look of impatience. “Which won’t be my beach house if I don’t get back to this press release. It really needs to go out tomorrow.”

  The statement, while fairly innocuous all on its own, was obviously Claire’s hint to leave. Now.

  “Oh. Yeah. Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll leave you to your work then.” Claire turned and retraced her steps back to the door only to stop and turn toward Melinda once again. “Melinda?”

  The tapping that had accompanied her short trek to the door ceased long enough for a sigh to become the only audible sound in the room. “Yes?”

  “Aren’t you a little worried about what’ll happen if Isaac’s letter gets out?”

  Melinda’s left eyebrow rose upward. “Isaac’s letter?”

  “Yeah. The one you told me about this morning…or last night…or whenever we were talking out in the hall.”

  “The only way it would get out, as you say, is if I let it get out.”

  Claire took in everything about the woman now sizing her up from the bedroom-turned-makeshift-office, Melinda’s not-so-quiet confidence impossible to miss. “What do you mean?”

  “I have the letter, Claire. I’ve had it all along.”

  Chapter 22

  For the second night in a row, Claire watched the moon make its way across her darkened room only to be bullied away by the first of the sun’s morning rays. She’d wanted to sleep, intended to sleep, but when she finally slipped into her pajamas and wiggled under the covers after her impromptu talk with Melinda, her brain simply wouldn’t shut off.

  Quite the contrary, in fact.

  Suddenly her mental list of suspects in Robert Karble’s murder had gotten rather lengthy with each and every member boasting a workable motive.

  First, there was Daniel—the Amish toy maker who had been the only person on the list as recently as twenty-four hours ago. The motive Claire had fashioned for him still held water, with money having been the driving force behind the crime.

  Rolling onto her side, she retrieved the wrinkled piece of paper Sarah Lapp had forced into her hand out of fear for her husband and his future. And even now, in the sparse light invited into the room by the curtains she routinely failed to close, the reason for her suspicion was hard to miss.

  If Daniel’s catalogue business dried up in light of Karble Toys’ ability to mass-produce and market its Amish line on a far superior scale, the soon-to-be father of five would be forced to earn his income elsewhere. Unfortunately, the recent sale of more than half of his farmland to a neighbor eliminated his original income source as a viable option.

  Had desperation made the normally peaceful man snap?

  Next on the list was Isaac with the kind of motive she never could have imagined yet now was incapable of forgetting. She glanced down at the mathematical computations Daniel had agonized over and realized they worked as a secondary motive for Isaac, too. After all, if Daniel’s toy shop suffered, Isaac as his coworker would suffer as well. Though, if she had to guess, she’d still stick with betrayal as Isaac’s motive to kill.

  She rested the paper atop her stomach and stared up at the ceiling. It was painful to imagine the courage it m
ust have taken Isaac to reach out to Robert despite the vast differences in their lifestyle. And then, to have Robert knowingly threaten the livelihood of the very people who’d rallied around his son as a child? Yes, Isaac had every reason to feel betrayed…

  The letter he’d sent Robert simply underscored his place on the list by simultaneously offering a motive for yet another crime—one that proved futile thanks to Melinda’s quick thinking.

  Oh, how she’d wanted to ask if she could see the letter upon learning it was in Melinda’s possession, but something about the woman’s attitude had kept her from making the request. Besides, it really wasn’t any of Claire’s business. All that mattered was that its fate did a fairly decent job of negating the name Benjamin had added to her list midway through their picnic.

  Mentally, she drew a line through Ann’s name, the relief she felt in return taking her by surprise.

  What was it about Ann Karble that spoke to her so clearly? Was it simply the fact that the widow was grieving and therefore sympathetic? Or was it something more? She didn’t know. All she knew was that there was a vulnerability to the victim’s wife that made her likable in a way Melinda really wasn’t. Ann was mourning. Melinda was viewing the tragedy as a way to secure a dream.

  Melinda…

  With a gasp that echoed its way around her room, Claire bolted upright in her bed. “Melinda?” she whispered aloud as her mental pencil hastily completed its line through Ann’s name and went about the task of adding yet another suspect to the list.

  Betrayal was a powerful motive for murder. So, too, was revenge. Add the two together and Melinda Simon’s name earned itself a double underline and a couple of exclamation points to boot.

  The up-and-coming public relations manager had seen a chance to try her hand at product management in the wake of Robert’s newly discovered son. Her boss had championed the idea one moment and removed Melinda from the helm in favor of his wife the next. Killing Robert would have been about revenge. Leading the man’s multimillion-dollar company back from the clutches of a public relations nightmare would be the ultimate coup de grâce.