A Killer Carol

by Laura Bradford

  She looked beyond him, to the images filing past her mind’s eye in rapid succession: Jakob’s own father turning his back to Jakob at Esther and Eli’s wedding, the way Jakob’s sister, Martha, acted as if Jakob didn’t exist if other Amish were near, the—

  “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? I can see it on your face.”

  “I do,” she admitted. “But it’s not always like that.” Though, even as she said the words, her thoughts lit on Eli’s face as she and Jakob had approached the mourners’ line. Had his blatant dismissal of the detective really been about the questioning of his sister, Ruth, or was it because he was surrounded by other Amish and Jakob was the black sheep. The thought, the question, was unsettling at best.

  Tommy’s eyes narrowed on hers. “You know, if you two were to get married and have kids, they’d speak to you, right? Even have a relationship with you and your kids. But not him . . . In theory, he could be there, wherever you all are, but they’d keep their backs turned to him while engaging with you and your kids.”

  “I know. But that’s just the way it is. The way it’s always been.”

  “Said Jakob. Said Abe.” Tommy threw his head back in disgust. “And they’d be okay with that happening because they actually think that kind of treatment is what they deserve. But they don’t. No one does. Except Lloyd and Greta.”

  Slipping his hands into the pockets of his coat, he nudged his chin toward the door. “At least now Trishy won’t be having to grin and bear that kind of thing with Abe’s mamm.”

  “Your sister?” Claire asked, wandering back to Tommy. “Why?”

  “She and Abe got hitched a few months after Maw set him straight that time. They’re expecting their first next summer.”

  “I see. So you’re going to be an uncle . . .”

  Something resembling a genuine smile flashed across his face, only to disappear as a long, steady creaking sound pulled their full attention toward the barn door. Less than a second later, Abe stepped through the opening, followed by Jakob, the former’s eyes cast down at the floor.

  Tommy closed the gap between them with a half-dozen long strides, his focus flitting between Abe and Jakob. “Did they give you any trouble?”

  “Abe’s sister and her husband weren’t pleased to see either of us inside their home, but Bishop Hershberger saw to it that Abe and I got some time alone in the room.” Jakob clapped a hand on Abe’s back en route to Claire. “He’s a good man, Annie’s father; a fair man.”

  Abe’s nod was slow and labored but genuine, too. “It wouldn’t have been that way with the last bishop, so I’m grateful—to him and to you, Jakob. I . . . I needed that chance—to say good-bye.”

  “And I’m glad you had it, Abe.”

  “Hey, you okay, man?” Tommy asked, moving in beside his friend.

  “I don’t know. Verdict’s still out.”

  “Feel what you need to feel for however long you need to feel it and then get back to the business of living.” Jakob slid his arm across Claire’s shoulder and pulled her close to his side. “You have good memories from your Amish upbringing. I know this because I do, too. Focus on those. They’re every bit as real as the stuff that came later, but a whole lot nicer to think about.”

  Again, Abe nodded. “I just wish my son or daughter could have met them.”

  “They still can, through your memories. Tell them about your life—the stuff you did, the fun you had. No one can take those memories away from us unless we let them.” Jakob looked down at Claire and motioned toward the still-open door. “Well, shall we? It’s getting pretty late, and I want to stop at the station on my way back from bringing you home.”

  “Jakob, you need some sleep,” she protested. “The station will still be there tomorrow.”

  “It won’t be a long stop. I just want to make a few notes about the case and see if anything came in while I was here.”

  “You’ll let me know as soon as you know anything, right?” Abe asked, stepping forward to shake Jakob’s hand. “Because I’m pretty sure Lloyd and Greta won’t tell me anything.”

  “You were Mary and Daniel’s son, yes?”

  Abe’s Adam’s apple moved with his swallow. “I was—I mean, am.”

  “Well, in the eyes of the law, that makes you their next of kin every bit as much as your sister Greta.” Jakob met and held Abe’s sad eyes. “Which, translated, means we’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter 10

  They weren’t more than a few car lengths away from the Chupp farm when she abandoned her passenger side view of the moonlit countryside in favor of the man behind the steering wheel. Jakob Fisher was, in a word, handsome. Even in the dark cabin of his station-issued sedan, she could make out so many of the features she could lose herself in if given the chance.

  The sandy blond hair that looked like spun gold when the sun hit it just right . . .

  The amber flecks in his hazel eyes that seemed to dance when he smiled at her . . .

  The dimples that had a way of weakening her knees every single time she saw them . . .

  The broad frame capable of shouldering whatever life threw his way . . .

  Aware of the growing mist in her own blue-green eyes, Claire reached across the center console for his hand. Sure enough, he lowered his hand to hers, threaded their fingers together, and then gently kissed her skin. “Hey, I’m sorry that went longer than either of us planned.”

  “Are you kidding me? You were incredible back there with Abe. Everything about the way you handled that was perfect.”

  His laugh, low and short, filled in the space between them. “You really need to stop making me sound like Superman all the time. It’s going to go to my head one of these days, and you’ll be wishing you’d held your tongue.”

  “Not a chance. If I make you sound like that, it’s because, in my eyes, you are. In all the best ways, anyway.”

  “Wait. Does that mean there are things about Superman you don’t like?”

  She followed his gaze to the road in front of them, the gas-powered lanterns of Lighted Way growing closer. “The way he went off into those phone booths all the time? I don’t know . . . that could get a little weird.”

  “Note to self: Stay out of phone booths when with Claire.” He let up on the gas as they transitioned from the graveled countryside road to the cobblestones of the quaint shopping district. “Anything else I should avoid?”

  Grinning, she tapped her chin in thought. “Hmmm . . . the web thing could get cumbersome.”

  “Superman was the one with the cape; Spiderman was the one with the web. But since you brought Spiderman into this, I have to say I think the web thing would be pretty cool.”

  “I’m listening . . .”

  “Think about it,” he said, swinging his attention from Heavenly Brews on their left to Gussmann’s General Store on their right. “If I wanted one of your aunt’s cookies and they were on a table on the other side of the room, I could use my web to get one. And when I’m at work and I’m craving a little time with you because the chief is driving me nuts, I could open the window and snag you with my web.”

  “The chief’s window faces the back of the station,” she reminded.

  “I know. But Spiderman is gifted enough, his web isn’t limited to just one direction.”

  “Ahhh . . .” She squeezed his hand once, twice, and then rested her left cheek against the headrest as they inched their way past the first few storefronts. “But seriously, so you know, I really did think you were amazing with Abe. The way you talked to him, the things you shared, I think you reached him in a way no one else could have tonight. You should be proud of yourself.”

  “Maybe because I get it, I get him. I just wish things could be different, you know? I wish he didn’t have to beat himself up over a life choice . . . I wish he could mourn the way he needs to without the added pain of
being told he’s unwelcome . . . And I wish the head and the heart didn’t have to be at such odds all the time . . . because if they weren’t, then I’d be better able to navigate the waters between rebukes and kindness, kindness and rebukes.”

  It was subtle, the shift in subject, but she caught it and it made her heart ache. “Hey, it is possible Eli didn’t even see you. He does have a three-month-old at home. Which means he’s probably short on sleep most days.”

  “He saw me, and he saw you, too. His reaction had nothing to do with lack of sleep.”

  “Okay, so maybe you’re right. Maybe he is angry about you questioning Ruth. Eli has always been ultra-protective of his twin, you know that. But he’s married now. To your niece. I think that will swing this back into your favor in the end.”

  “We don’t know how Esther feels yet . . .”

  She motioned for him to pull over. When he shifted into park in front of Glorious Books, she released her seat belt and turned so her back was parallel to the passenger side door. “Esther loves you, Jakob. There is no doubt to be had on that one.”

  “Maybe. But Eli is her husband. The second he becomes anything but okay with me stopping out at the farm, or the desserts on his front porch with everyone facing out at the driveway, or the subtle nods and smiles in my direction when they see me in town . . . it’ll all stop. Because the truth of the matter is, they’ve been defying the Ordnung where I’m concerned this past year or so. If it’s seen by someone like Abe’s sister, Greta, or Greta’s husband, Lloyd? Eli and Esther will be shunned at church. Eli might’ve been willing to risk that before, but he’s not going to be willing to risk it for someone who upset his sister the way I did, and it will get even worse when I start questioning Samuel, too.”

  “Jakob, I really think this will all go away when you start looking at people who—”

  He released her hand to hold up his own, stopping her mid-sentence. “Can we talk about something else for a little while? I really don’t want to go back to where we were yesterday when this subject came up.”

  She wanted to protest, but really, when the top thing she wanted to say involved pleading Ruth and Samuel’s case again, it was best to do as he asked. After all, if everything went according to plan with Ruth in the morning, Jakob would be on to a real suspect soon enough. Action always trumped words. Always.

  “What would you like to talk about?” she asked.

  “You . . . sleep . . .” He peeked out at the shops and the decorations. “How people are going to flock to Lighted Way even more than normal because of how magical this place looks right now . . .”

  She laughed. “From your mouth to God’s ears.”

  “Really, it looks amazing. You guys outdid yourselves this year. “

  He was right. They had. Every shop, every front porch, every nook and cranny of Lighted Way, was dressed to the nines in its holiday finery. Festive . . . inviting . . . warm . . . They were all words that came to mind as she looked ahead toward Heavenly Treasures, the lighted garland each storefront sported glistening like a thousand twinkling stars.

  “Tommy Warren thinks the Amish have a stranglehold on business in this town,” she said, widening her field of vision to include Taste of Heaven(ly) and the other shops beyond Glorious Books.

  “A stranglehold?” Jakob echoed. “How does he figure that? You’re English, Harold is English, Drew is English. That’s three shops right there. And Sandra with Heavenly Brews . . .”

  “He seems to think the only reason I have a gift shop is because the Amish don’t. Same with Harold’s tool shop and Drew’s bookshop. But it’s not about Amish versus English, not on Lighted Way, anyway. That’s more about Al not wanting to lease to doubles of anything. He thinks we’ll all succeed if we complement, instead of compete.”

  “Did you tell Tommy that?”

  “I didn’t, but I wish I had. By not doing so, I let his misperceptions continue.”

  “I wouldn’t sweat it. If you get another opportunity to do so in the future, you take it then. After all, your festival is right around the corner. Maybe he’ll be there.”

  “I wish everyone would stop calling it my festival. One Heavenly Night belongs to everyone—the shopkeepers on Lighted Way, the folks who live here year round, the tourists who are drawn to the very town we”—she flicked her finger back and forth between them—“already love. I want everyone to embrace it as a chance to show this place off a little and come together as neighbors and friends.”

  “I’m kind of hoping Abe shows up. I think that guy needs to feel like he’s connected somewhere, you know? I mean, it’s made a world of difference in my life. Maybe it will do the same in his.”

  “Maybe, once you get his contact info, you can bring him by a flyer,” she said. “I have extras.”

  He returned her smile with a dimple-laden one of his own. “Sooo, we’re a little over a week away until One Heavenly Night? Are you excited?”

  She let her gaze drift beyond the confines of the car once again, her thoughts ricocheting between the decorations and the things on her checklist that still needed to be done. “More like terrified.”

  “Terrified?” Hooking his finger beneath her chin, he guided her eyes back to his. “Why? It seems to me that Harold and the rest of the shopkeepers are all on board with this event.”

  “That’s because they are . . . because I made it out to sound like this idyllic way to showcase our town and forge connections as neighbors.”

  “And you think it won’t be?”

  She looked past him to the opposite side of the street and the simple yet tasteful wreath adorning the front door of Yoder’s Furniture. “I want it to be.”

  “Claire, I’ve seen your plans for this thing, I’ve seen the effort you’ve been putting into it since the board gave you the okay—an okay you got on first mention, I might add. There’s no way this thing isn’t going to be incredible. I mean, just look at this place”—he gestured past the windshield—“it’s stunning.”

  “Al, Harold, Drew, and everyone else have done a wonderful job with their decorations, there’s no debating that,” she said. “But we drew up a plan, and everyone followed it to a tee. The event itself? That’s where the unforeseen variables will pop up—the mistakes, the issues, that sort of thing.”

  He took one last look outside the car and then grabbed hold of her hand. “So if those happen, you roll with it. You’re resourceful and clever. You’ll find a way to make it all work.”

  “If only I had your confidence,” she murmured.

  “I can spare some. I’ve got plenty when it comes to you and what you’re capable of doing in this town.”

  Nibbling against the sudden quiver in her lips, she took a moment to breathe, to revel in the man seated just inches away. Yes, Jakob was handsome for all the obvious reasons. But it was everything else—the sincerity, the kindness, the empathy, the loving nature—that made him someone truly special.

  Their hands glowed blue as Jakob’s phone came to life inside the cup holder. A glance at the part of the screen she could see yielded little more than the first letter of the caller’s name before it disappeared completely with the quick push of his finger. “So, anything new about the festival? Any new surprises you’ve come up with?”

  Even with the limited light streaming in through the windshield from the closest lamppost, she could tell Jakob was flustered. The rubbing of his jaw, the evasive eye contact, and the sudden shifting in his seat made that obvious. Equally as obvious was the why.

  Twice in as many days, Jakob had gotten calls he didn’t want Claire to see or hear. The previous night, while at Heavenly Brews, an incoming call he’d first silenced and then returned had him leaving her alone on their evening date for close to ten minutes. Within seconds of his return to the table, he’d gotten another call—one he’d let go to voice mail rather than answer in front of her. Now, ju
st twenty-four hours later, there was a third call and yet another rush to keep her from seeing the screen.

  With anyone else, she wouldn’t give either incident a second thought. In an age when people were reachable twenty-four/seven, people dismissed incoming calls all the time. She did, Jakob did, and everyone did at some point. But never had those deliberately dismissed calls left him so . . . odd, so uncomfortable, so clearly anxious to be somewhere where he could take the call.

  Without me being here . . .

  She tried to shake off the troubling thought, to relegate it to the impossibility compartment in her brain, but try as she did to stuff it inside, it refused to go. “Jakob? Is—is something going on I should know about?”

  “Going on? What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know . . . It’s like you check out on me sometimes. And”—she drew in a fortifying breath—“that call just now. Why did you silence it?”

  “Because I’m with you and it can wait.”

  “But I’ve never had an issue with you taking work calls when we’re together, Jakob. You know that.”

  He cupped his hand over his mouth, only to let it slip back to the steering wheel. “I know.”

  “Then why won’t you take it?” she persisted.

  “Shouldn’t you be glad I’m not? That I want to spend this time with you instead?”

  Claire drew back at his words. “Of course I’m glad, Jakob. I’m just . . .”

  Wondering who keeps calling you when we’re together?

  Worried that you’re keeping something from me?

  Suddenly afraid you’re going to break my heart?

  Repositioning herself against the seat back, Claire pulled the belt across her torso and clicked it into place. “It’s been an incredibly long day for both of us, and I certainly don’t want to keep you out any later than necessary, especially if you still want to stop at the station before calling it a night.”

  Oh, how she wanted to read the sudden sag of his shoulders as disappointment. But the quiet, almost imperceptible sigh of relief he emitted made that impossible.