“I do not know how she could keep such a secret. Waneta and Zebediah are good people—God-fearing people. They would have been sad to learn of Sadie’s death but they would not have been angry at Elizabeth.”
She studied Ben closely for any indication his thoughts had traveled in the same direction as Jakob’s, but saw nothing. No, he hadn’t put two and two together. If he had, they certainly weren’t adding to four.
He continued, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides in a rare show of emotion. “I wish only that I could know why Elizabeth did not tell. But it is too late to know such things.”
“Maybe it’s not.”
Ben pinned her with a stare. “My wife died many years ago, Claire.”
“But the others she mentioned in that notebook are very much alive.” She hoisted herself back onto her stool and snuck a quick peek at the remaining sandwich half. “Maybe one of them can shed light on why Elizabeth didn’t speak up. Or, better yet, why none of them spoke up when it happened . . . or came forward with an explanation when the body was found three days ago.”
Confusion gave way to surprise as the meaning behind her words appeared to sink into his head. “I . . . I had not thought of that. But it is true. There are others who would know. Three others, if I remember correctly.”
“Miriam Stoltzfus—then, Hochstetler—Leroy Beiler, and Michael O’Neil.”
“I do not know a Michael O’Neil.”
She paused to take another bite of her sandwich. “He is English. He is running for mayor of Heavenly.”
“Perhaps they will talk to me. Tell me why Elizabeth kept such a secret.”
“No!”
He drew back at the fierceness of her response and she rushed to explain. “You have to let Jakob take care of this, Ben. It’s his job and he’s very good at what he does. He’ll find out all of those answers in due time. I promise you that.”
“I cannot ask Miriam? I cannot ask Leroy? I cannot ask this Englisher?”
“Not directly, no.”
“I do not understand.”
“There are subtle ways to find information, Ben. Like in casual conversation with Miriam. Esther said she is a wonderful seamstress. Perhaps she would have items to sell here in my store . . .”
A pop of understanding fired across Ben’s face just before he reached for the remaining piece of sandwich. “I am to go to Stoltzfus’s farm this afternoon to bring supplies to Jeremiah. If you are not busy, you could come. Speak with Miriam about the store.”
Her stomach rumbled as Ben nearly swallowed his half sandwich whole. Licking her lips, she reached into the basket and retrieved a still-warm chocolate chip cookie. “Now that sounds like a great idea.”
* * *
The buggy pitched to the right and then the left as Ben guided his horse around the corner and up the dirt driveway belonging to Jeremiah and Miriam Stoltzfus. To Claire’s naked eye, the land on either side of them appeared brown and somewhat barren, but she knew better. Because just below the surface, waiting for the first hint of spring, were rows and rows of what would soon be rye and barley.
Straightening on the narrow wooden slab, she shifted her gaze to the brand-new barn that had been nothing more than a goal three days earlier. “Wow. It still amazes me that something so large could be built so quickly,” she mumbled, as much to herself as the man seated beside her.
“When many hands work together, much can be accomplished.”
“I can see that,” she said. “Jakob brought me here Wednesday night to see the volume of people who had come to raise the new barn. He said they would raise it quickly, but I guess I didn’t get it until now.”
Ben’s hands tightened ever so slightly on the reins as they rounded a slight bend in the dirt lane, the buggy lurching to the left and the right as he navigated them through a series of ruts. “The barn was to be where the old one had been, but it was raised a bit to the right at Jakob’s request.”
“Jakob’s request?” she echoed, only to have her question answered by the path of Ben’s outstretched finger. There, not more than ten yards from the new Stoltzfus barn, was a ten-by-ten stretch of land cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape. “Ahhh. That makes sense. That way the family could still get their new barn without having to wait until the scene is released.”
“I do not know why there is still tape. They have found Sadie’s body.”
“Because, in the event they need to revisit the site, it won’t be compromised any further than it already is.”
The horse stopped beside a long water trough and Ben dropped the reins. “How do you know such things?” he asked quietly. “Is police work something all English know?”
She gathered her purse from the board beneath her feet and hoisted it onto her lap in preparation for their exit from the buggy. “Those with an aunt who must be in front of the television every Tuesday night at nine o’clock to watch Investigators sure do.”
He returned her smile with a slight one of his own and then jumped down from his seat. She followed suit and met him in front of the horse just as Jeremiah Stoltzfus emerged from the new barn.
“Good evening, Benjamin.” The man’s bushy eyebrows arched upward as he took in Claire with a quick nod. “Ma’am.”
“Stoltzfus, this is Claire Weatherly. She owns one of the shops on Lighted Way.”
Again, Jeremiah nodded, his dark eyes narrowing in on her black trousers and simple white sweater. “Mizz Weatherly.”
“Please, call me Claire.” She extended her hand and watched as it disappeared inside the man’s large, callused one. “My store is next to Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe and Ben happened to mention that he’d be coming out here this evening to bring you some supplies. I asked if I could come along . . . to talk to your wife.”
Hooking his thumbs inside his suspenders, he jutted his chin in the direction of the simple white farmhouse just beyond Benjamin’s buggy. “Miriam is in the house. Preparing supper. Just go on in.”
“Thank you.” Then, excusing herself from the pair, she sidestepped as many ruts as possible and headed toward the sparsely furnished front porch. At the open door, she stopped and cleared her throat. “Hello? Miriam?”
The sound of running footsteps was her response, followed by the sight of two disheveled-looking boys in black pants, suspenders, and pale green shirts. “Mamm says you should come in,” the older boy said. He tapped his younger sibling on the head and rocked back on his bare feet. “He is Daniel. I am David.”
Claire stepped into the front room and held out her hand to each boy, the warm sticky feel of their skin a perfect accompaniment to the sweet smile they each wore. “My name is Claire. It’s very nice to meet you.”
A woman in her midthirties with a simple maroon dress and black aproned front poked her head around an interior wall and shooed the boys away with a few last-minute chores before dinner. When they were gone, she addressed Claire. “Sometimes I do not know what to make of their energy. It is boundless.”
Claire laughed. “I imagine yours must be as well, then.” She followed the center hall to the kitchen and stopped inside the doorway. “I told your husband I was hoping to speak with you and he told me to come up to the house. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course. I am Miriam Stoltzfus, Jeremiah’s wife.”
“And I’m Claire Weatherly. I—” The introduction died on her lips as a burst of pastel hues registered in the corner of her eye. Turning, she clapped her hands together. “Oh, Miriam, that quilt is absolutely beautiful.”
“It is not done quite yet. But soon.”
“Do you sell your quilts?” she asked.
“If someone wants to buy my quilts, I sell.”
She watched as Miriam returned to her dinner preparations, the Amish woman’s simple black lace-up boots making nary a sound against the wooden floor. No more than a few years older than Claire herself, Miriam’s face was lined, her eyes void of anything resembling a sparkle. How much of that was indicative of a hard
life and how much of that came from harboring an awful secret, though, Claire could only guess. For now, anyway.
“I happen to know a quilt like that would go very fast in my store.”
Miriam pulled a stack of dishes from a corner cabinet and carried them to the table. “You have a store?”
“Yes, I own a specialty gift shop in town, called Heavenly Treasures. Esther King—I mean, Esther Miller and I worked there together until she and Eli married.” She stopped and smiled. “In fact, now that I think about it, I think I remember seeing you at their wedding in December. I was the only English person there. Well, actually, I was one of two. Jakob Fisher, Esther’s uncle, was there with me, too.”
“The police detective,” Miriam whispered.
“That’s right. I imagine you’ve seen him out here a lot since your friend Sadie’s body was found on your property the other—”
A strange garbled sound emerged from Miriam’s throat just before the stack of plates clattered onto the table. “Yes, Daniel, I will be right there.” Keeping her eyes cast downward, the woman made her way around the table and in the opposite direction of Claire. “I am sorry, Ms. Weatherly, but my boy needs me. I must go. Good evening.”
Startled by the abrupt dismissal, she grabbed for the only delay she could find. “When would be a good time to talk about selling your quilts in my shop? I really think they would sell quickly and at a very good price.”
Miriam moved toward the stairs and the call for help Claire was certain had not come. “I do not know. I must first talk to Jeremiah.”
“Can I check back with you in a few days?”
The woman paused, her back to Claire. “That would be fine.”
Chapter 10
Claire rolled onto her side and plucked her phone from the nightstand, its vibrating alarm welcoming her to a new day. Yet even as she fumbled for the button in exactly the same way she did every morning, she knew something was different.
She looked down at her wrinkled trousers and long-sleeved blouse and then around the room, taking care to shield her eyes from the brighter-than-normal morning light that poked around the edges of her window shades. A quick glance at the digital clock beside her bed reassured her she hadn’t overslept.
Slipping out of her bed and into her slippers, she pulled her door open a crack and listened. But, try as she could, she couldn’t make out any of the sounds she’d come to equate with morning since moving in with Diane.
There were no creaky floorboards as her aunt made her way down the stairs and into the kitchen . . .
There was no soft humming as the woman moved from room to room on the first floor, opening drapes, fluffing pillows, and preparing coffee for the guests’ breakfast that would commence in just under an hour . . .
And there was no greeting of the paperboy at the front door . . .
Instead, there was only deafening silence, punctuated every so often by a rhythmic scraping that sounded as if it was coming from the front porch, or, perhaps, the stone walkway that linked the inn to the parking area. Pushing the door shut once again, Claire turned, crossed to the window, and pulled back the shade, sucking in a breath at the unexpected winter wonderland below.
A thick blanket of muting snow covered the porch roof, the yard, the driveway, the guests’ cars, the tree-mounted birdhouses, the main road, and the Amish fields in the distance. Rays of morning sun reflected off the glistening snow-covered limbs outside her window and accounted for the added brightness in her room. And as she stood there, watching, a quick blast of snow from somewhere underneath her window, followed by the now-familiar rhythmic scraping sound, filled in the final piece of the puzzle.
Pulling her hand from the shade, she reached into the closet, retrieved the parka she’d pushed to the back when spring had begun to announce its premature arrival two weeks earlier, and slipped it on. A quick trade of her slippers for some boots had her out the door and down the stairs in record time.
Only this time, instead of heading to the kitchen as she would every other morning, she zipped her coat all the way to the top and stepped out onto the porch, shaking her head at a smiling Diane as she did.
“Did you know it was supposed to snow like this?” she asked in greeting.
“I did when I closed the drapes in the parlor around nine thirty. It was falling fast and furious.” Diane propped her shovel against the porch rail and tightened the wrist straps on her waterproof gloves. “When I came up to bed, I poked my head in your room to tell you but you were fast asleep in your clothes and I didn’t have the heart to wake you. So I simply covered you with your afghan and tiptoed my way back out of your room.”
“I guess I was more tired than I realized after we got everything cleaned up after dinner. I’d intended to put on something more comfortable and then come back down and spend time with you in the parlor, but I guess I fell asleep.” She met her aunt beside the railing and leaned forward enough to see the main road. “It doesn’t look like a plow has come through yet.”
“Oh, it’s come through. It’s just snowed again since then.” Diane pointed to the top of her car in the small parking area beneath the snow-covered weeping willow tree. “Near as I can tell, we’ve gotten a good ten inches, maybe a foot. Either way, I think it’s safe to say you’ve been given a much-needed and well-deserved day off from the shop.”
She looked from Diane, to the car, to the road, and back again. “You mean I shouldn’t open the shop?”
“You shouldn’t open the shop.”
“But why?” she asked.
“Because any tour buses scheduled to come into Heavenly today have canceled on account of the weather, and the locals aren’t going to venture out of their homes to buy much of anything besides cat litter for their sidewalks and provisions for their refrigerators. Heavenly Treasures doesn’t sell those items so you might as well stay closed and take a little time for yourself. You’ve earned it, dear.”
Rocking back on the heels of her boots, she couldn’t help but squeal just a little. Diane was right. She needed a day off. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a day away from the shop, I’m not even sure what to do.”
Diane went back to shoveling, her tone light and playful. “Well, if you hadn’t fallen asleep by eight last night, I’d say sleep. But, since you did, maybe you should just read the hours away.”
“Read the hours away,” she echoed in a whisper. “That sounds wonderful . . .” She reached out, hijacked the shovel, and shooed her aunt toward the door. “First, though, you need to go inside and make sure the egg and ham casserole you have planned for the guests is on target. I’ll get the rest of the porch, the steps, and the walkway cleared. When I’m done, I’ll join you inside for whatever breakfast prep still needs to be done.”
Diane folded her arms across her down-covered chest and shook her head. “Shoveling and helping me with breakfast isn’t taking the day off, dear.”
“I’ll take the day off after I shovel and help you. Now, go on inside before my reading time is marred by cranky guests.”
“You don’t know how to slow down, do you?” Diane said, shaking her head in mock frustration.
“Gee, I wonder where I learned that . . .” She brought the edge of the shovel to the porch floor and began to push, her breath marked by a plume of smoke in the chilly air. “I’ll be in soon. This won’t take long.”
* * *
She’d just settled onto her favorite couch in the parlor when she heard the quick knock at the door. Part of her wanted nothing more than to ignore the sound and wait for someone else to answer. But, considering the fact her aunt was in the basement doing laundry and the guests were playing a rousing game of cards in the dining room, the task fell to Claire.
Marking her page with a bookmark, she dropped her stocking-clad feet onto the floor and stood, a second and slightly louder knock guiding her to the front hallway. When she reached the door, she took a deep breath, turned the knob, and mustered the closest thing she could fi
nd to enthusiasm—an emotion that turned genuine the second she caught sight of the man standing on the other side. “Jakob! Hi! Isn’t this a nice surprise . . .”
A smile raced across his face like wildfire, calling his dimples into service as it reached the finish line. “Looks like someone got that day off she’s been needing for quite some time now.”
She leaned against the doorframe and allowed herself a moment to take in the hint of blond hair visible around the edges of the royal blue knit hat, the strong, capable arms that filled out the sleeves of his navy blue parka, and the amber-flecked hazel eyes that gazed back at her with unmistakable fondness. “To listen to you and Diane, I must have been acting like a real shrew, with the way you both were so determined I have a day off.”
“The word shrew doesn’t belong on the same planet as you, Claire,” he said matter-of-factly. “Your aunt and I just know that working seven days a week, every week, for coming up on three months now, isn’t healthy for anyone, including you.”
“The two of you worry too much. I’ve got this.” She pushed off the frame and waved the detective inside. “Come on in. I’ve got a nice fire going in the fireplace, and the parlor feels really cozy right now.”
He remained exactly where he stood, his smile giving way to a mischievous grin. “I’ll take you up on the fire soon. For now, though, I was kind of hoping you’d put on your coat and gloves and come on outside with me for a little while.”
“In the snow?”
“Yup.”
“But why? It’s cold out there.”
“True. But I’m pretty certain this”—his hands disappeared from her sight only to reappear holding an old-fashioned wooden sled—“would mark up your aunt’s floor if we tried to ride it down the stairs.”
“You want to go sled riding?” she gasped.
“With you, yes.” He nudged his chin in the direction of the coat closet and flashed another of his dimple-laden smiles. “So come on, put on some warm socks and boots and come play. This snow will be gone by midweek.”
Suspendered Sentence (An Amish Mystery Book 4) Page 8