A Churn for the Worse

by Laura Bradford

  Claire swallowed over the lump now rising in her throat. “He?”

  “An English man. He wanted to buy some furniture. I told him Dat did not make furniture to sell. He asked if I could draw a map to where he could buy furniture. I am not good at such drawings, but I found a piece of paper and a pencil with my sister’s school books and tried. When I returned to show him, he was gone.”

  “And?”

  “Money was missing from her dat’s boot,” Ruth supplied via a shaky voice.

  Claire stepped down from the buggy seat and stood beside Ruth, her focus squarely on Rebecca. “Are you sure the money is missing?”

  “Yah.”

  “And your father—I mean, dat? Is he okay?”

  “Yah. He was still in the field when I left. He will not be happy when I tell him of the missing money.”

  “Did you tell the police?” Claire asked, pointing toward the station just two doors away.

  “There is no need.”

  “No need?” she argued. “Of course there’s a need. Someone stole money from your home! That’s a crime, Rebecca—a crime. If you don’t tell the police what happened, they can’t help you . . . and they can’t track down the money your dat earned with his hard work.”

  “He was a nice man. Kind.”

  Claire drew back, stunned. “You mean the man who came to your house?”

  “Yah.”

  “Kind men don’t—”

  A strangled cry from inside the buggy brought Claire’s attention back to Annie, the teenager’s once-flushed face now ashen. “C-Claire?” Annie stammered. “C-could it be the same man? The same man who did this to Henry?”

  Oh, how she wanted to say no. To assure the bishop’s daughter, Benjamin and Eli’s sister, and the other young Amish women that it was all simply a horrible coincidence. But as much as she wanted to, her gut knew better.

  Someone was preying on the Amish . . .

  Chapter 11

  She saw the matching numbers on the dice, heard his triumphant cheer, and even semi-registered his discs being moved to his side of the board, but still Claire couldn’t quite focus. She tried, of course, but every time she thought she’d left the encounter with Ruth and her friends back on Lighted Way, something stirred it back to the surface all over again.

  First, it was the plate of brownies Jakob set down on the kitchen table next to the backgammon board. The treat, in and of itself, hadn’t been the trigger, but his “I picked them up at Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe after lunch” had fit the bill.

  Next, it was an offhand remark about money. For Jakob it had been about getting his paycheck; for Claire it had been an instant flashback to the fact that Rebecca’s family had been robbed.

  Jakob scooped up his dice and studied her across the table. “You do realize I’m beating you, don’t you?”

  On any other day, she’d be trying to distract him from smart moves with silly stories of her fellow shopkeepers or a litany of tantalizing dessert names until she pulled ahead again, but her mind was elsewhere. “I see that.”

  “What? No Harold Glick stories? No mouth-watering description of Diane’s latest success in the kitchen?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, shrugging.

  His smile disappeared, replaced instead by concern. For her. “What’s on your mind, Claire?”

  Shaking her head, she straightened her shoulders, tossed her own dice onto the board, and then sank against the back of her chair, defeated. “I’m so sorry, Jakob. I’m trying to put it behind me and just enjoy this time with you. I really am. I’ve been looking forward to it all day. But now that it’s here, I can’t keep my mind in this room . . . or on this game.”

  “Is it something with the shop?”

  “No. The shop is good. Great, even.”

  “Annie?”

  “No. Annie is great, you know that. Letting Esther trick me into hiring Annie was one of my smarter decisions.”

  Jakob threw back his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “I thought I was one of your smarter decisions.”

  She laughed in spite of her mood. “You are. Maybe even my smartest.”

  “That’s better.” Winking, he reached for her hand across the top of the backgammon board and then gently tugged her to her feet. “C’mon. Let’s go sit in the living room and talk.”

  Reluctantly she followed him across his kitchen and through its connecting door with the living room. When they reached the oversized couch, she fell into place beside him, the knot of tension at the base of her neck finally beginning to dissipate. The whole world could be topsy-turvy, yet when Jakob’s arm was around her, she knew things would work out okay in the end.

  He did that for her. And, she hoped, she did that for him.

  “Okay, so what’s going on?” he asked. “You have that look.”

  “That look?”

  Jakob’s chin bobbed up and down against the side of her head. “It means you’re worried about something or someone. Is it Diane? One of her guests? Me? Because I can assure you I’m fine. And having you here with me right now elevates that fine to fantastic.”

  “I feel the same.” She ducked the side of her face against his arm and took a long, deep breath. “I guess I just don’t understand how you can handle this whole not-talking-to-you thing.”

  Gently, he guided her face away from his body until he could see her eyes. “Claire, I knew it was going to be like this when I came here, but I came anyway. At least here, I can see them. I knew the drill when I left.”

  “I’m not talking about you being shunned. I’m talking about the Amish not talking to the police in general. It’s crazy. I mean, how are you supposed to help them and keep them safe if they won’t talk to you? Don’t they realize they’re actually facilitating the problem?”

  “Are we talking in general here or more specific?”

  She felt her throat tightening and did her best to loosen it with a swallow or two. “More specific.”

  Raking his hand through his hair, he took in the ceiling briefly before giving her his full attention once again. “What happened now?”

  “Money is missing from another Amish family.”

  His jaw hardened. “Who?”

  “I didn’t get the last name, but the daughter’s name is Rebecca. She’s a friend of Ruth’s.”

  “Same age as Ruth?”

  “I think so. Maybe a year younger . . .”

  “Gingerich?”

  “I don’t know, Jakob. Maybe.”

  He paused as if trying to come up with any other last names that would fit her description and then moved on. “Is she sure it’s missing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anything else?”

  “You mean anything besides money? I don’t think so. She didn’t say.” Claire widened the gap between them just enough to hike her calf onto the cushion and drape her arm across the back of the quilt-covered couch. “From what she said this evening, it sounds like someone—a man—came to her doorstep earlier today asking for directions. When Rebecca sketched them out and turned around to give them to him, he was gone.”

  “Along with some of their money,” Jakob added in a voice that had become suddenly wooden.

  “Yes, from her father’s boot.”

  “Did she tell you anything about this man?”

  “You mean other than the fact that he was kind?”

  “Kind?” he echoed, only to wave off the note of sarcasm as quickly as it had come. “I shouldn’t say that. It’s the Amish way. They do not see the bad.”

  Her gaze wandered off his, skirted the mantel and its handful of framed photographs, and settled on the window and its view of Lighted Way. Few cars and even fewer buggies were on the road at this time of night, but still, she couldn’t help but think about the people of Heavenly and the panic that would ensue if—
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  “Do you think it’s the same person who asked for a drink from Henry Stutzman and walked out with some of his father’s money?”

  “That certainly stands to reason,” Jakob said. “Similar MO, that’s for sure.”

  “MO?”

  “Modus operandi, or method of operation as it’s more commonly known.” He stood and wandered around the room, his words leaving his mouth in almost stream-of-consciousness type fashion. “The first time, he asks for a drink. While it’s being secured, he peeks in Wayne’s jar, sees the cash, and grabs a handful. The second time, he asks for directions. While they’re being drawn, he looks around again. Gingerich’s money was stuffed inside an old boot right there by the door. Our suspect obviously knows his target—at least in a general sense, and is going after them in the way he knows will work.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, he knows the Amish will help. He knows they keep money in their homes and has figured out they tuck it away in plain sight. His request for something simple buys him a little alone time to look around. If he’s lucky, he hits pay dirt. Easy in, easy out.” He stopped in front of the stone fireplace and turned. “No one was hurt in conjunction with this incident?”

  “No.”

  “Where were Rebecca’s parents when this happened?”

  She thought back over the conversation with the young woman and shared what she’d been told. “Her father was out in the fields with her brothers, working. Her mother was at the Stutzmans’ farm helping Emma with the children.”

  “So, if he helped himself to something in the barn before or after he went up to the house, no one would have known.”

  Since Jakob’s observation wasn’t spoken in the form of a question, Claire remained silent. She still had much to learn about Jakob and his job, but one thing she knew was his tendency to talk himself through cases, as if speaking the words out loud helped clarify things.

  “This certainly lends itself to the notion that Wayne was simply the casualty of a robbery gone wrong rather than some sort of intended target,” he mused. “Doesn’t make it any less important, but it does change the game a little bit.”

  “Do you think this person is done?” she asked.

  “If he’s still doing this even after he murdered someone, my guess is no. He’s found a soft target and he likely intends to keep going. If he knows anything about the Amish, as it appears he does, then he’s probably banking on the fact that they won’t call me.”

  It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but empty reassurances weren’t the answer, either. “So what do you do? Especially when we wouldn’t even know about this latest incident if Annie and I hadn’t stopped to say hello to Ruth and her friends after we closed the shop this evening?”

  He walked to the window and stared out at the road, backgammon and spending time together clearly no longer in the forefront of his mind. “Well, for starters, we step up patrols out by the farms. The Stutzmans were robbed in the evening, and this latest one happened during daylight hours, so we don’t have a targeted time, just a targeted group. I’ll advise everyone in the department to keep their ears open around town for any rumblings of more incidents.”

  “I’ll certainly do that, too.”

  He retraced his steps back to the couch and sat down. “I’m counting on that, Claire. And if you do hear something, I need you to encourage the person to speak to me. Remind them that providing us information is the only way we can possibly keep this from happening again.”

  “I know.”

  She felt the familiar thrill of his skin against hers as he sought her hand and held it tight. “I need every pair of eyes and every set of ears I can have out there on this case.”

  Dropping her foot back to the old-fashioned wood-planked floor, she reclaimed her spot in the crook of his arm. “I just wish they would come to you themselves. I mean, maybe Rebecca could describe this man with more details than Henry was able to do.”

  “I’m going to hope that’s the case. In fact, if this Rebecca is who I think she is, I know her father. He was only a year or two older than I was in school.”

  “But he’s Amish,” she reminded him. “And you’re not any longer. That changes everything, doesn’t it?”

  “He still may let his daughter speak to me. Especially when I explain the likely connection between what happened at his farm and what happened at Stutzman’s. If he still won’t after that, I’ll solicit Ben’s help.”

  Chapter 12

  Claire tightened her hand around the trio of rocks she’d located along the southern bank of the pond and carried them back to Jakob and the red-checked blanket Diane had lent them for the day.

  “How’d you do?” he asked as she joined him beneath the tree. “Did you get them good and flat?”

  “Two of them are paper flat, and the other is pretty close. Considering the fact that rocks tend to be round, I think I did pretty good.”

  Grabbing hold of the underside of her hand with one of his, he used his free hand to gently pry back her fingers and take a peek. “Looks good to me. But let’s wait on skipping them for a little while and just enjoy the sun. We’ve both spent too many days inside this week.”

  “Sounds good to me.” She deposited the rocks onto a corner of the blanket and then stretched out beside him, the late afternoon’s rays playing across their exposed arms and legs. “I’m sorry about putting such a damper on our time together last night.”

  He cupped the back of his head with his hands and gave her the dimpled smile she loved. “I needed to know about what happened at the Gingerich farm. So no apologies. Besides, I still beat you in two games of backgammon before that, and we’re here together now.”

  “You sure this is okay?”

  “What?”

  “Spending this time together. I know you have a lot of work to do with the Stutzman case, and now, with what I told you last night, there’s even more.”

  He silenced her words with the touch of his index finger. “It’s late on a Saturday afternoon. I was at it early this morning, and will probably be back at it again this evening. But right now, I need this, too.”

  “I’m glad.” She rolled onto her back and inventoried the clouds. Other than a few sporadic sightings, the sky was a brilliant blue. Still, as beautiful as the day was, and as wonderful as it was to spend some of it with Jakob, she couldn’t help but juxtapose that moment against the one that saw the Stutzman family lay their beloved Wayne to rest earlier that morning. “I told Annie she didn’t have to work this afternoon in light of the funeral, but she wanted to. She really likes being there and interacting with the customers.”

  “You’ve been good for her.”

  “For Annie?”

  “It’s like you’ve grounded her somehow, you know?”

  She turned her head to the left and found him watching her, the intensity of his gaze making her shiver. “She’s a good kid and a hard worker. Frankly, she’s been every bit as good for me.”

  “And maybe that’s true. But she was pretty lost and misguided when she showed up on your doorstep.”

  “I suppose.” She blew a piece of hair away from her eyes and then sat up. “I can’t imagine what it must be like for a girl to navigate the teenage years without a mom. And to have her dad be the bishop? Doubly hard.”

  “I suspect Henry Stutzman, in particular, is going to struggle without his dad. The younger boys, at least, will have Henry to look to for guidance.” Jakob plucked a piece of grass from just beyond the blanket and played with it between his hands. “It’s going to take someone like Ben to be a sounding board for that kid.”

  “Ben? Why Ben?”

  “Because he’s even, he’s good-hearted, and he knows what it’s like to suffer a loss, even if his loss is more in line with Emma’s than Henry’s.”

  She hadn’t considered that aspect, but it made sense. �
��Maybe you could suggest to Ben that he be an ear for Henry. Especially if you do end up needing his help to get Rebecca in front of a sketch artist.”

  Pushing himself up onto his elbow, he dropped the blade of grass onto the blanket and reached for the picnic basket. “Ben is already on it.”

  “He is?”

  “He was at Emma’s this morning. Helping prepare for the funeral. He was his usual quiet self, but I think his presence was good for her and the kids.” He flipped open the lid and peeked inside. “How did I know there would be cookies in here?”

  With a gentle smack of his hand, she took charge of the basket and its contents. First came the paper plates. Next came the napkins. “Was everything okay out there? At Henry’s?” she asked, moving on to the ham-and-cheese sandwiches and the grapes.

  “As good as it can be, considering the circumstances. I guess I just wanted to see that they were all okay and check in with Henry to see if he remembered anything else about the man who wanted the drink of water.”

  “Did he?”

  Jakob accepted the sandwich from her and took a bite. “No.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It is what it is,” he said, shrugging. “But maybe, if Rebecca will work with the sketch artist, I’ll get the break I need.”

  She settled in with her own sandwich and a handful of grapes. “Will she?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll stop by tomorrow and ask.”

  “But tomorrow is Sunday. They’ll all be busy with church.”

  He reached across his own plate, stole a grape from her hand, popped it into his mouth, and grinned. “Bishop Hershberger is at his other district this week.”

  “But they can still go to church in that other district if they want, can’t they?” she asked.

  “They can. And maybe Rebecca’s family will do that. But I won’t know if I don’t try. If they aren’t there tomorrow, I’ll stop by on Monday.”