“The bishop knows this is an active murder case; we talked about it the night it happened. He knows, too, that my job is to figure out who did this. He just wishes, I’m sure, I’d do it somewhere else, far from his district and its people.”
She matched his stride as they crossed the road and made their way up the driveway, his comments pulling at a distant memory. “I remember, back when I lived in the city, there was a case in the suburbs involving a woman and her children who were killed in a home invasion. The killer didn’t know anyone was home when he first broke in. Is it possible this could be something like that?”
“It is, of course. But the things we’d expect to see in such a case weren’t present here.” He set his hand on the small of her back and gently guided her around a series of rain-induced ruts. “There was no sign of forced entry—although there is a possibility the killer came in through a window that was partially open—no indication the victims were in fear for their lives, nothing of significant value missing from the home.”
“So that’s out, then?”
“It’s never completely off the list until the crime is solved, but yeah, I’m not seeing this as a home invasion gone wrong.”
She considered his words as the farmhouse drew closer, her eyes scanning the slowly moving line snaking around the eastern corner of the house. “You believe they knew their killer?”
“I do.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to again plead Ruth and Samuel’s case, but she let it go. Now was not the time or the place to revisit that subject. And even if it was, the best way to truly revisit it was through solid suggestions based on information gleaned rather than simply returning, again and again, to her own personal convictions.
“Which means,” he continued, his hand tightening on hers while dropping his voice to a volume only she could hear, “the killer could be here tonight, sitting out on the road somewhere, watching, or even standing on the viewing line just like everyone else.”
It was a boldness she found difficult to imagine, yet she knew it existed. People capable of doing harm to another human being were cut from a different cloth. She just wished they were easier to identify from a safe distance. If they were, maybe they couldn’t wreak such havoc in the world.
“Eli is here.”
She followed Jakob’s gaze to the left, her own quickly cataloging her way from the back of the line forward.
There was the farmer she recognized from her summer walks . . .
The woman she’d passed in the candy aisle of Gussmann’s General Store the previous week . . .
The teenage girl she knew to be a friend of Esther’s sister, Hannah . . .
An Amish man and woman she’d never seen before . . .
And finally Eli Miller, in his black winter coat and brimmed hat, his blue eyes void of their usual spark. Like his dat and all married men of the Old Order Amish, Eli now sported a beard, the year’s worth of growth blocking his neck from view. Drifting her focus beyond Eli for just a moment, she noted Esther and Sarah’s absence, chalked it up to the hour and the baby’s age in relation to the plummeting temperature, and then returned her thoughts and her smile to Esther’s husband. For a second, maybe two, his lack of an answering smile led her to believe he didn’t see her, but when the addition of a wave garnered a single nod in return, she knew otherwise.
“Well, that didn’t take long,” Jakob murmured, his pace slowing in tandem with an audible breath in and a whoosh of frustration out.
“What?”
“The shutdown.”
“What shutdown?” She dragged her lingering gaze off Eli and, instead, followed the rest of the line as it stretched across the front lawn and up the porch steps, the movement forward offering no sign of stopping. “I thought these viewings go far into the night. Has that changed?”
Palming his jawline, Jakob shook his head, the simple movement pained. “No, it’ll go straight through until tomorrow night if people keep showing up.” He dropped his hand to his side and jerked his chin and her attention back toward the line. “I’m talking about Eli just now. You saw it. He’s already different.”
“Different?” she echoed. “Different how?”
“I could feel his anger before I even saw him. And when I caught him staring, he kept right on doing it, almost daring me to look away.”
“I didn’t see that.”
“Because his anger isn’t directed at you—yet. Though even with you just now, he wasn’t the same.”
His words pushed her back a step. “Eli isn’t angry, Jakob. He’s just at a wake, or—or a viewing or whatever the proper word is in the Amish community. People aren’t usually peppy at things like this.”
“His reaction to seeing me just now? That wasn’t about being at a viewing or mourning the deaths of Mary and Daniel Esch. No, that was all about what went down yesterday. With his twin, Ruth.”
“With his . . .” The rest of her sentence fell away as her focus skittered back to the line and the twenty-something male now actively pinning Jakob with a death stare.
Oh, how she wanted to believe anger was not the reason for Eli’s demeanor, that, in fact, the aura he wasn’t even trying to disguise was simply his way of dealing with grief. But she knew better. So, too, did her stomach if the sudden clenching in its pit was any indication.
“Oh, Jakob,” she whispered.
“It’s okay. I knew this was going to happen, knew Eli and Benjamin would be furious when they found out about my talk with their sister. You know, you’ve seen it. Those two have always been very protective of Ruth. So my going at her the way I did yesterday pretty much guaranteed that look I’m getting right now—a look that would likely be followed with strong words if there wasn’t a funeral going on. But somehow, last night, after you called and told me you understood why I have to consider Ruth and Samuel for these murders, I let myself believe, even a little, that maybe those two would understand, as well. That maybe, just maybe”—his voice broke only to return in a hushed rasp—“there was still a chance I wouldn’t lose ground with Esther because of all of this, but that was wishful, deluded thinking. I knew, the second I put on my cop hat and went at Ruth the way I did, I was done. Whatever relationship I’ve managed to build with my niece and her husband, thanks to you, is over. I am, once again, the turncoat—the guy who turned away from his baptismal vows and his family to pursue an English path.”
Gently she guided him off the driveway and over to the empty paddock, her hand finding his as they reached the fence. “If you’re right and Eli is upset, he’ll get over it when he sees that you’re just checking the boxes you need to check in your investigation.”
“And if it turns into more than that?” He hiked his foot onto the bottom edge of the fence and leaned heavily against the top. “You and I both know Eli and Esther have been walking a mighty fine line engaging with me the way they do. Something tells me, by the time I’m done, they won’t risk being shunned at a church service for me.”
“But you’re almost done, right?”
“With?”
“Checking the Ruth and Samuel box . . .”
Pushing off the fence, he tilted his chin upward until the cold night sky was his only view. “If another lead, another name, comes up, I can start looking in that direction, too. But right now? They’re all I’ve got. And that bid-losing thing with Samuel? I wouldn’t ignore a thread like that in any other case, so how can I ignore it in this one?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to point out the Samuel Yoder they both knew, but she held it back at the last minute. Even in the limited moonlight, it was clear Jakob was wrestling with a lot. The bags under his eyes told that story just fine all on their own.
“It’ll be okay,” she said instead.
His answering laugh lacked anything resembling humor. “I wish I had your confidence.”
“You
didn’t think you’d ever have a relationship with your niece, did you?”
“That was before you.” He draped his arm across her shoulder, pulled her against his side, and pressed his lips against her hair. “Before you became a link back to my past—to my sister, Martha; to my niece and Eli; and now, to my precious great-niece, Sarah.”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” she asked, looking up at him.
“You are. But this”—he swept his free hand forward—“this changes things. I’ve crossed a line.”
“We’ll see about that.”
His eyebrow arched in a welcome hint of playfulness. “Oh, we will, will we?”
The headlight beams of an approaching car bounced across the fence and onto the frozen earth beyond before extinguishing as fast as they appeared. Together, Claire and Jakob turned toward the driveway and the small two-door car that rolled to a stop just outside the barn.
Ever the observer, Claire made a mental note of the color (black, maybe dark blue), the model (a two-door Corolla), and the familiar note or two of the Casting Crowns song she detected before it faded to silence along with the engine. “Even though I’ve seen it before, it still surprises me to see a car on an Amish farm.”
“You and me both,” Jakob said, shrugging. “But between the Amish taxi drivers and the delivery guys who worked for Esch in the past, it makes sense in this situation.”
“It might make sense, but visually, it still doesn’t fit. Not for me, anyway.” She returned her attention to the man beside her, and wiggling free of his arm, she rose up on the toes of her ankle boots and met his waiting lips. “So . . . What do you say we get on that line, pay our respects, and then head back to the inn? I happen to know where Aunt Diane keeps the evening’s leftover cookies.”
Smiling, he kissed her again. “You mean there’s a secret stash?”
“Of course.”
“And you’ve been holding out on me all this time?”
“Maybe . . .”
“Any other secrets I should know—?”
Rapid-fire shouts stole the rest of his words and sent their collective attention racing back toward the barn. Just beyond the car, a handful of Amish men stood shoulder to shoulder across the open doorway, seemingly unmoved by the anguished voice slipping past them into the night. “Jakob?” she rasped. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know, but someone in that barn isn’t happy, that’s for sure.” Glancing back at the line waiting to get inside the farmhouse, he gestured in that direction. “Get yourself in line and I’ll go check out whatever is going on.”
“Jakob, I—”
“I’m fine. Go on. Besides, maybe Eli will be his normal self if I’m not standing next to you.”
“He’s over there,” she said, pointing back toward the growing crowd of males by the barn. “See?”
Another shout, followed by the distinctive sound of metal thumping against wood, had Jakob on the move, his destination clear. For a moment, she considered following, her curiosity over the noises and the crowd of men only growing. But when she started in that direction, a brief peek back at the line of mourners yielded a familiar yet troubled face standing inside the shadow of the farm’s lone tree, watching.
Reversing course, Claire hurried across the mouth of the driveway. “Ruth? Are you okay?”
“Is he coming back?”
“Who?”
“Your Jakob—the detective.”
“When he’s done at the barn, yes. Why?”
Again, Ruth peered at the barn, her anxiety palpable. “Your Jakob, he had many questions for me. Some I could answer, others I could not.”
“That’s okay. Jakob doesn’t expect you to give answers you can’t—”
“Your Jakob said he is to find out who sent Mary and Daniel Esch to be with the Lord, that the person who did it will go to an English jail for a very long time.”
“As he should. No one has a right to do to someone what was done to Mary and Daniel. No one.”
“He said someone who does not tell what they know can get in trouble, too,” Ruth said, fidgeting with the sides of her coat.
“That’s true, I’m sure, but that’s not really anything you need to be worrying about.” Claire inched closer to her shy friend, her voice calm and steady. “On a lighter note, did you speak with Samuel about the cookies I’d like you to make for One Heavenly Night? Is he okay with you doing that?”
For a moment, she wasn’t sure Ruth had heard her, but after a beat or two of silence, she was rewarded with a single fierce nod. “It is just one day of baking, yah?”
“One day.”
“And Mr. Glick and the others will pay for them?” Ruth asked.
“The Lighted Way Business Association will, yes.”
“I know cookies are not furniture or kitchen cabinets, but cookies are how I can help Samuel.”
Something in Ruth’s tone caught her up short. “Is everything okay with you and Samuel?”
Even with the winter shadows created by the moonlit tree limbs, Claire didn’t miss the flinch or the awkward shift that followed in rapid succession. Before she could question them, though, Ruth cleared her throat. “Samuel did not like to hear of your Jakob’s questions, and I did not like to see Samuel upset by them. He has a very full plate without such things.”
Again, she followed Ruth’s eyes down the driveway and over to the barn, where they remained. “Ruth? You need to know that those questions Jakob asked you yesterday were standard fare for a murder case. You and Samuel being the last known people to see Mary and Daniel Esch alive simply means you might have information he needs to find the person responsible for their deaths. Once he’s satisfied you don’t, he’ll move on.”
“But what if he doesn’t,” Ruth whispered.
Claire pulled a face. “Of course he’ll move on. You’re one of the gentlest people I’ve ever known. Thinking you could hurt someone is absurd.”
“He says he will talk to Samuel next.”
“Again, Ruth, this is Jakob just doing his job. Checking the boxes that must be checked. That’s all.”
“I . . . I hope you are right.” Ruth’s body convulsed in a shiver.
“Of course I’m right.”
Ruth’s long lashes closed over her eyes like a thick curtain. “When will the questions stop?”
“When he’s satisfied he has the answers he needs from you and from Samuel, or when another, more viable suspect emerges,” Claire said.
“I wish that would happen soon. I do not like Samuel having more worries. He does not smile as he did at our wedding. Or before.”
Claire studied her friend—the nervous hands, the darting glances, the downward tilt of her full lips, and the pervasive sadness that loomed large—then sucked in a fortifying breath. “Maybe, if we work together, we can get Jakob on to that more viable suspect sooner rather than later. What do you say?”
Clamping her hand atop Claire’s arm, Ruth leaned forward. “Can we really do that?”
“Absolutely. I just need to pick your brain a little. About your visit to the Esch farm, things they may have said, that sort of thing.”
Like a balloon pricked by a pin, Ruth’s whole body deflated. “Your Jakob asked those same things.”
“And I’m sure I’ll ask even more things that are the same. But maybe”—she closed her hand over Ruth’s—“we’ll hit on something he hasn’t even thought to ask, something that will make it so he won’t need to talk to you or Samuel about this case anymore.”
“Yah. That is good.” Ruth stood tall, her chin lifting little by little. “Tomorrow morning, before you go into work, perhaps it would be a good time for you to come to the house. I will tell Samuel you are there to talk about the cookies for your festival. When he goes out to the barn, I can answer your questions.”
Chapter 9
/> She wasn’t sure how long she’d stood there, staring after Ruth as the young woman slipped into the darkness that lapped at the edges of the property, her simple black boots and coat swallowed up by the night. All Claire knew for certain was the inexplicable unease snaking its way up her back and spreading outward toward her neck, her arms, her legs—a chill that had nothing to do with the date on the calendar.
Ruth was nervous—terrified, even; that much was obvious. What wasn’t so obvious was why. Sure, Ruth was shy. One only had to be in her vicinity for a few minutes to come to that truth. Yet there was something more to the newlywed’s angst, something off. It wasn’t anything Claire could put a finger on well enough to articulate to herself, let alone Jakob, but it was there. And the longer Claire stood there, playing their conversation over and over in her head, the less certain her next step became.
Yes, she could tell Jakob, but what was there to say? Ruth was upset? He’d likely think that was normal in light of Ruth’s personality. But if he didn’t, if his radar began to ping like Claire’s, would it be fair for Ruth to open the door the next morning to Jakob instead of Claire?
Probably not.
Besides, would waiting to tell him until tomorrow, when she’d had a chance to see Ruth on her home turf, really make much of a difference in the grand scheme of things? After all, it would only be what? Maybe fourteen, fifteen hours from now?
Her mind made up, Claire headed toward the barn and the occasional rise and fall of a voice from somewhere inside. The group of Amish men that had assembled en masse during the shouting had largely dissipated, with only a few holdouts scattered about. At the open door she peeked inside, scanned the horse stalls, the owner’s parked buggy, the water troughs and feed buckets, and finally, near the back wall, spotted Jakob sitting on a bale of hay next to a dark-haired man dressed in an ill-fitting suit, staring down at his knees with a somber expression. A few feet away, pacing between stalls, was another Englisher—one she vaguely recognized but couldn’t yet place in the proper context.
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