A Churn for the Worse

by Laura Bradford

  “My sentiments exactly.” Diane lowered her lemonade glass to her lap and looked out across her property, a determined set to her jawline. “Which is why I will be setting up a meeting with the mayor this coming week . . .”

  Claire couldn’t help but chuckle at the polite fierceness behind the woman’s words. “You’re going to give him what-for, aren’t you, Aunt Diane?”

  “I’m certainly going to have my say. After twenty years of running this inn in this town, I’ve earned that right.”

  “If you want me to go along as the voice of another local business owner, I’ll have Annie hold down the fort for however long it takes.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, dear.” Diane dabbed at her thin lips with a napkin and then brushed the current subject off with a flick of her hand. “So, Hank, what are your plans for tomorrow? Anything special?”

  “I thought I’d check out a few more in-home businesses. Someone at the coffee shop in town told me about a woman who sells homemade cookies to a tour group that comes through her property and a man who actually has turned his homemade birdhouse business into an online venture as well. With a full-color, glossy brochure to boot.”

  “Both worthwhile businesses to study, no doubt.” Claire dropped her foot back down to the floor and used it to set the swing in motion once again. “But you’ll have to wait on those until Monday.”

  “Oh?”

  “Claire is right.” Diane set her glass on the wicker table beside her chair and readjusted her glasses across the bridge of her nose. “Tomorrow is Sunday. The Amish don’t work on Sunday. It is a day of rest and worship.”

  Hank pulled his right hand from behind his head and used it, instead, to smack his forehead. “I knew that . . . Or, at least I did earlier in the week . . . Wow. Now I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

  “The English-owned shops along Lighted Way will still be open. Many of us sell items made by the Amish,” Claire reminded him. “So although the Amish themselves are either gathered at whichever home is hosting church that week or visiting with relatives on the off week, some of them are still earning an income through their partnership or consignment work with us.”

  “And how long is this church service?”

  “About three and a half hours, right, Diane?” At her aunt’s nod, Claire continued, “But then they remain at that particular home for lunch and sometimes even dinner.”

  “So they’re there almost all day long,” Hank mused.

  Claire and Diane nodded in unison. “They are.”

  Hank swung his legs over the step and stood. “And they all go?”

  “They all go,” Diane confirmed quietly. “And in the evenings, the teenagers often go to a different home to socialize with one another via a hymn sing or a volleyball game.”

  “Hmmm. Okay, then I guess I better head inside and spend a little time rethinking my day.” He headed toward the front door only to stop a few feet shy of his destination. “Thank you for a very nice evening, ladies. I’ll miss this when I head home in a few days.”

  “Good night, Hank.”

  “Good night, Diane.” He turned his head to take in the swing next. “Good night, Claire.”

  And then he was gone, the swath of light from the inn’s front foyer disappearing from the porch as quickly as it had come. A few minutes later, a similar swath of light appeared on the front walkway as they heard Hank settle in to his second-floor quarters via the telltale creak of the desk chair through his open window. Somewhere to their left, a window slid closed and a different patch of walkway grew dark.

  “He’s a nice man,” Diane said. “Very smart.”

  Claire nodded, her cheek finding the inside edge of her arm once again. “Esther is really starting to show now.”

  “I certainly hope so. She only has another, what? Two months to go?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I imagine they’re excited.”

  An image of Esther and Eli standing side by side in Claire’s rearview mirror brought an instant smile to her lips. “They are. Eli is already planning ahead with a new horse he thinks will provide more reliable transportation for Esther and the baby. It’s cute.”

  Sure enough, the mention of a horse had Diane’s ears practically standing upright. “When will he be doing that?”

  “He already did. Only the horse isn’t fit for buggy duty just yet.”

  The woman’s eyebrows perked upward as well. “Oh? Why not?”

  “Esther said she has a strained tendon or something like that and Eli is nursing her back to health. Frankly, I was surprised he bought an injured horse, but I guess he thinks the issue is fixable and the horse solid.”

  “Eli has always been good with horses. I’ve heard Benjamin say that many times.” Diane smoothed her hand down the front of her calf-length skirt then returned her hand to her lap. “What is her name?”

  “You mean the horse?”

  “Yes.”

  “Esther called her Carly. Said Eli got her at the same farm where Annie got her beloved Katie.”

  Diane nodded. “The Weaver farm. That’s their business, you know—buying and selling horses. Retired Standardbred racehorses, mostly.”

  “Racehorses?” she echoed. “Why? Buggies and farm equipment move slow.”

  “These are mostly trotters. They are trained to pull things.”

  It made sense on some level, but still it surprised her. “Wouldn’t a racehorse go for a lot of money?”

  “Not always. Most owners just want their retiring horse to go to a good home.”

  “They don’t keep them?”

  “Some do, I suppose. But most of them are in the business of racing. Looking after retired horses is something else entirely.” Diane reached over the arm of her chair for her lemonade glass and then rose to her feet, the approaching ten o’clock hour serving as some sort of internal alarm clock for the innkeeper. “On occasion, owners have been known to virtually give their horses away to make sure they go to good homes.”

  Intrigued, Claire leaned forward. “As opposed to what?”

  “As opposed to them ending up with someone who has other plans.”

  “Like . . . ?”

  “Selling them to a slaughterhouse.”

  Claire sucked in her breath. “Someone would really do that?”

  “As long as there is a buck to be made, there will be someone looking to make it.” Diane scanned the rest of the porch for any additional glasses that may have been left around during the course of the day and then inched her way toward the door. “That’s why it does my heart good to see someone like Annie love a horse the way she loves Katie.”

  Shifting her focus from Diane’s face to the darkened fields in the distance, Claire tried to pick out Annie’s farm, but it was no use. The moonlight only cast a glow over so much . . . “She really does love that horse, doesn’t she?”

  “She does. But I’d also venture to say that Katie loves her as well. There is no mistaking the way that mare turned her head every time she heard Annie’s voice out in the parking lot the other day.” Diane stopped just shy of Claire’s swing and looked off into the darkness. “It doesn’t take an animal long to identify kindness and to develop a fondness for someone.”

  “You’re thinking about that woman and her horse, aren’t you?” Claire asked. “Carrot Thief, right?”

  “I am. You only had to read two or three sentences of that original feature story on the two to know they were extremely close. I can only imagine how worried, and profoundly sad, Ms. Palermo must be.”

  “Maybe Carrot Thief will still turn up.”

  Diane’s eyes, magnified behind her bifocal glasses, came to rest on Claire. “We can certainly hope. Well, dear, it’s time I head off to bed. Tomorrow will be here before we know it. You probably should be thinking about sleep soon, to
o. I know you’re on your own at the shop tomorrow.”

  “I’ll head inside soon. I promise. I just want to enjoy this perfect night air for a few more minutes.” She leaned her cheek forward to collect her aunt’s kiss and then smiled up at the woman. “Sweet dreams, Aunt Diane. I love you.”

  Chapter 15

  One glance at the line snaking its way up to the counter and Claire knew her chances of reaching the register and the hot chocolate she’d been craving since her feet hit the ground were slim. Still, she had to try.

  Taking her place behind fellow shopkeeper Drew Styles, she allowed herself a moment to inhale the aroma wafting from the mugs of those customers who’d planned their morning better than she had.

  “Ahhh, yes, the pitfalls of hitting that snooze button one too many times.”

  She opened her eyes to find Drew studying her with the same amusement she’d heard in his voice. “You say that as if you’ve done it yourself a time or two.”

  “I’m only one person in front of you, aren’t I?” Drew joked. He let his eyes drift back to the front of the line long enough to shake his head in disgust at himself. “And Sunday morning is not the time to gamble with the caffeine boost.”

  And he was right. Just as Claire employed Annie to help at Heavenly Treasures, Drew’s second pair of hands around Glorious Books belonged to an Amish teenager as well—an Amish teenager who joined the rest of her Amish brethren in a day of worship or rest each and every Sunday.

  “I tried to get up,” she said. “I really did. But my bed seemed more comfortable than normal this morning.”

  “They always do on Sunday mornings, don’t they, Al?”

  At the mention of her landlord’s name, Claire turned to see the owner of Gussman General Store ambling toward them, his still-tired eyes following the line up to the counter and back before settling on his wristwatch. “Ohhh . . . this isn’t looking good.”

  “Good morning, Al,” she said. “One too many snooze buttons for you, too?”

  He flashed a quick smile at Claire just before it morphed into a yawn and disappeared behind his hand. “Oh. Wow. Excuse me. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Too worried about the recommendations this Jim Naber is making to the council.”

  Drew stepped forward with the line and then turned back to Claire and Al. “I’m not familiar with that name.”

  “Jim Naber. He’s the consultant the mayor was telling us about at the last business owners’ meeting, remember?” Al replied. “The one who was hired to come up with ways to help increase the town’s tourism revenue . . .”

  “He’s staying at the inn,” Claire added, as much for Al as for Drew. “Nice enough man.”

  “You mean misguided—grossly misguided, to be even more accurate.” Al surveyed the dining area to their left and right and then stepped closer to the pair, dropping his voice to a near whisper as he did. “This guy thinks we need to attract someone who is looking to set up a bar in that vacant storefront next to the police station.”

  Drew stepped back as if he’d been slapped. “A bar?”

  Again, Al moved forward. “Keep your voice down. I, for one, don’t want any of the tourists in here getting wind of the fact Heavenly is even thinking of going that route. That gets out prematurely, and we’ll disappear from every senior citizen travel blog out there.”

  “But a bar? On Lighted Way? Is this—this Naber guy blind or something?”

  Claire motioned for Drew to move forward as a second barista opened another register and the line magically, mercifully, split. “He was hired to make recommendations. One of his recommendations is to target a younger demographic—a demographic who will want and need the kind of nightlife options we don’t have in Heavenly at the present time.”

  “You think this is a good idea?” Drew asked.

  “No. Of course not. But he’s doing what he was hired to do.”

  “I would imagine Diane has argued the ludicrousness of this idea with this man, yes?” Al claimed the left line as Drew and Claire took the right.

  “She’s expressed her opinion, sure. But this man is her guest, too. She’ll save her stronger protest for the mayor.”

  Al rubbed at his stubbled chin and then folded his arms across his broad chest. “Maybe what we need to do is sit down with the mayor as a group. Let him know that we think this idea is detrimental to everything that has made this town the draw that it is.”

  “Count me in,” Drew said.

  Claire nodded. “Me, too.”

  “My son is coming in to help at the store today. Maybe, if there’s a lull in traffic at any point, I’ll start making the rounds of everyone. To make sure they’re all on board with this and to find a time that everyone can descend on the mayor’s office this coming week—the sooner the better, if you ask me.”

  A quick jingle was followed by another as Howard Glick and Jakob entered the coffee shop within seconds of each other.

  “Howard.” Al nodded. “Detective.”

  The plump and bald proprietor of Glick’s Tools ’n More veered toward Claire’s line but changed course at the last minute and waved Jakob into that spot instead. “I imagine you’d like to stand with your girl, Detective.”

  “I would indeed. Thank you, Howard.” Jakob slid his arm around Claire’s back and pulled her in for a quick kiss. “I swung by the shop just now. When I didn’t see you inside, I figured maybe you’d be here.”

  She nestled her face against his shoulder and used the strength and warmth she found there as the boost she needed. “For a while there, it was looking as if a morning jolt wasn’t in any of our futures,” she said, gesturing toward Drew in front of her and Al beside her. “But then they put another girl at the registers.”

  A flurry of movement in front of Drew put Claire and Jakob second in line for their drinks. While Drew placed his order, Howard rocked back on his heels. “So who’s ready to work like a dog today?”

  “The day-trip bus is expected to arrive at noon,” Al said. “My son is coming in at eleven thirty. So I’ll be more than ready.”

  “Rub it in, why don’t you?” Howard’s laugh reached beyond the confines of their respective lines and earned him a few returning smiles from around the dining room. If he saw the smiles, he didn’t let on, his focus still on the conversation at hand. “Every once in a while I think about hiring non-Amish, but then I remember how hard they work and I don’t.”

  “You could always hire a Sunday-only employee,” Claire suggested.

  Howard followed behind Al as their line lurched forward. “My wife says that every Saturday evening when I’m moaning about the next day’s workload. One of these days I probably should listen to the woman.” He leaned across the gap between lines and pointed from Jakob to Claire and back again. “Here’s some free advice for you, son. Don’t wait so long to listen to this pretty lady right here. Otherwise you’ll be old like me and knowin’ you should listen, but too set in your ways to actually do it.”

  Jakob’s laugh rumbled against her ear. “I’ll keep that in mind, Howard, thank you.”

  “So who’s hosting church this morning?” Al glanced up at the menu behind the counter as the person directly in front of him placed her order. “Anyone know?”

  “The bishop is in his other district today.” Jakob dropped his hand from Claire’s shoulder to the small of her back and guided her into the spot Drew had just vacated. To the petite barista behind the register he said, “We’ll take one large hot chocolate and one large coffee. Black.”

  Claire looked up at Jakob, her internal antennae instantly raised. “Black? Is everything okay?”

  When the girl left to fill their order, he raked a hand through his hair and shrugged. “I talked to Luke last night.”

  “Luke?”

  “Gingerich. Rebecca’s father.” Jakob reached into his back pocket, extracted his wallet, and
handed the returning barista a ten-dollar bill. She gave him his change and the cups, and then turned her attention to Howard, who’d slipped into the empty spot behind them.

  “So you were right on the family she belonged to?”

  “I was.”

  “Well, good. I’m glad her father talked to you.”

  “Thanks to Ben, anyway.” He motioned toward the front door and the workday that was now just minutes away from starting.

  “Ben went with you?”

  “Not at first, he didn’t. But when Luke refused to talk to me, I went and got Ben. With Ben’s help, Luke was finally willing to listen.”

  She bit back the frustration that always accompanied news of the cold shoulder imparted on Jakob by his former community and instead focused on the topic at hand. “Did he confirm money was missing? Did he see the man that Rebecca mentioned? Did he let Rebecca talk to you? Is she going to sit down with the sketch artist the way Henry did?”

  They stepped onto the sidewalk outside the coffee shop and turned left into the path of the sun. “Yes. No. Yes. No.”

  She lowered her to-go cup and ducked her head. “Okay. That was a lot of questions at one time. Sorry about that.”

  “No worries. I followed them.”

  “I kind of forgot the order in which I asked them . . .”

  He laughed. “Okay. Luke did, in fact, confirm that money was missing from the home. He was out in the fields at the time this man stopped by, so he didn’t see anyone. He permitted Rebecca to speak to me. And no, she’s not going to sit with a sketch artist.”

  When they reached the alley between Heavenly Treasures and Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe, she turned left. “But why not? I mean, if it helps you do your job, how can she not?” She reached her free hand into her purse and pulled out her key ring, her fingers instinctively finding the correct key and unlocking the back door.

  Once inside, they parted ways—Claire toward the front door and Jakob to the main room’s light switch. “I showed her the picture that was done with Henry.”