“That is why you sit on your aunt’s porch each night,” Ben reminded her. “After you have eaten dinner.”
“I had a lot to do at work.” She closed her eyes against the memory of Mary’s letter to Ruth. The doubt it had stirred in her heart for her friend was painful enough all on its own without admitting it aloud to the woman’s brother. No, right now she needed Ben, needed his closeness and his friendship.
“Is it Jakob?” he asked, his voice cutting through the darkness like a blade.
Oh, how she wanted to say no. To assure him, as well as herself, that everything with the detective was as wonderful as ever. But she couldn’t.
“Claire?”
Aware of the tears building behind her eyes, she nodded once—fast—and then looked back up at the sky. “Do you remember the very first time we sat out here and I made a wish on the brightest star?”
“You made two wishes. One was to live a simple life surrounded by love and family; the other was for us to figure out who was doing those things to Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe.”
Stunned, she dropped her eyes to his. “You remember them?”
“Yah.”
“Wow,” she whispered.
“Both came true.”
She started to speak but stopped so her heart could bask in the truth of his words a little longer.
“You have many people who love you, Claire.”
“Thank you.”
“And the problems at Shoo Fly were fixed.”
“They were . . .” Then, not wanting the inflection in her voice to take them in a direction she wasn’t prepared to go, she continued on, pointing his attention back to the sky and the brightest star she could find. “If I were to make another wish, it would be for happiness to last forever.”
“And it can’t?”
The tightness in her throat was back. So, too, were the tears she refused to give an inch. “If I close my eyes to reality, it could. But I don’t want to pretend. With anything. I wasted too many years of my life pretending I was happy when I wasn’t, and it ate away at my confidence and my sense of self-worth. I won’t go back there. Not again.”
His answering silence seemed to echo through the bare branches, reminding her she was outside on a cold December night, wearing a jacket designed for style more than warmth. Yet before she could even shiver, his arm was around her shoulders, pulling her in for an awkward yet sweet side hug. “It is as you said about me and Rebeccah—that everyone sees how I am happy with her. It is the same for you and Jakob—everyone knows how happy you are with him.”
“Because I was . . . am. That’s not the issue here.”
“Then what is?”
It was so tempting to tell him, to share everything she’d heard and seen on Lighted Way not more than thirty minutes earlier, but she couldn’t. It was all too new, too raw, to share aloud just yet. Besides, she’d come here, to this spot, to get her head together and make a game plan, not to fall apart.
“The issue,” she said, squaring her shoulders, “is that I’m stronger now. Smarter. I don’t sit back and wonder about things anymore. If I want to know something, I find it out. If I can change something, I change it. If I can’t, I put my efforts toward something I can. And that little voice inside my head? It’s there for a reason, and I should listen to it. I just need to remember all of that and keep on plugging away, as Aunt Diane likes to say.”
The silence returned, only this time, instead of looking up at the stars, Ben kept his eyes on Claire. After several beats, the skin around his eyes crinkled with a slow, knowing smile. “Even if I had not seen you since that first time on this rock, I would know your first wish had come true.”
Her gaze, which had wandered back to the stars, shot back to his, waiting.
“It is clear that you are surrounded by love and family,” he said.
“It is?”
“Yah. You are different now than you were back then.”
Intrigued, she, too, turned her body to face him. “Different? Different how?”
“It is as you just said. You are stronger now. But you do not have to say that for me to know it. It is in how you carry yourself now. It is how your smile, when you are happy, is not just here”—he pointed to her mouth—“anymore. It is here”—he gestured first toward her eyes and then toward her chest—“and here now, too. And that is good.”
She tried his words on for size and realized they fit. Perfectly. “Love and family makes all the difference, doesn’t it?”
“Your aunt Diane is a good woman. I am glad you have her.”
“I am, too. That woman has been a blessing to me for as long as I can remember. She is why I found my way here when everything fell apart. But she’s not my only family here in Heavenly, not anymore.”
His brow furrowed. “Oh? I did not know you had more kin here now.”
“Kin? No. Aunt Diane is my only blood relation in this town. The rest of my blood family is scattered across the country. But blood isn’t the only definer of family, not for me, anyway. It’s also about being there through the ups and downs—lending an ear, a voice, a tissue, a hand, a cheer of encouragement. You’ve shown me that, as have Esther and Eli, Harold and Al, Annie and Bill, and on and on. So yeah, that wish absolutely came true, and then some.”
“You did not say Jakob.”
Startled, she rewound through the names she’d shared in her head, and as she reached the last one, shame came knocking. Because no matter what was going on with him now, Jakob had played an enormous part in getting her to where she was at that moment. “You are right,” she admitted, her voice suddenly choked with an avalanche of both gratitude and pain. “Jakob has been, and done, all of those things for me—and so much more. And I will be forever grateful to him for that.”
She looked up at the stars one last time and then slid off the rock and onto her feet. “I think it’s high time I left you to your own thoughts, don’t you?”
“I am glad you came,” he protested. “I have missed time like this with you.”
“I have always believed that God puts certain people in your life at certain times. In my mind, I’ve always thought of those people as being His angels on the ground.” She met and held his gaze. “That was you tonight, Ben.”
Chapter 17
She let herself in through the back door and hung the car keys on the hook above the catch-all table in the small entryway that doubled as a mudroom. Here, like everywhere else in the inn, there was a place and an order to everything. Hooks for keys, open shelves for shoes and boots, a medium-size umbrella stand, a mail holder for both outgoing and incoming letters and parcels, and a spot where she and Diane left notes for each other when needed.
Slipping out of her coat, she glanced down at the powder blue note waiting for her on the table, Diane’s calligraphy-like penmanship filling it from top to bottom.
Claire,
There is a bowl of beef stew wrapped and waiting for you in the refrigerator in the event you didn’t eat. I saved a roll for you, too. Bill also made sure to set aside two cookies for you, and those are on the counter. If you need me, and I happen to be asleep when you get in, knock on my door.
I love you.
Diane
“You’ll be awake,” she whispered, grinning. “You always are.”
She hung her coat at her spot on the rack, heel-toed off her ankle boots, and carried the still-cold milk into the kitchen and over to the fridge. Sure enough, on the top shelf where the milk was supposed to go was a bowl of stew, just as the note had promised. And for the first time since her lunchtime visit from Annie, she felt as if she could actually eat.
Part of that, she knew, was her time outdoors with Ben—the fresh (albeit cold) air and peaceful surroundings working their usual magic on her body. But part of it, too, was simply taking a step back and forcing herself to look at th
ings with a level head.
Ruth Miller wasn’t a killer. She knew this, believed it with everything she was. But that wasn’t all she knew. She also knew Ruth wasn’t a liar. It wasn’t in the girl’s makeup to weave a story or turn on theatrics.
So as upsetting as that letter from Mary had been, if Ruth said she’d never noticed the yellow envelope, then it was true. Someone else must have spotted it in the stack and opened it without Ruth knowing.
Claire swapped the milk for the stew and carried the bowl over to the microwave on the opposite side of the room. While her dinner heated up, she located the roll and butter, grabbed all necessary utensils from the drawer, and set them at her usual spot on the counter. A pad of paper and a pen from the telephone drawer rounded out her setting.
Soon, with her piping-hot stew at her elbow, she turned her attention to what she knew so far, stopping every few bites to jot notes.
Who opened the letter?
It was a fair question. So, too, was the answer she hated writing down.
Samuel.
Really, aside from Ruth, Samuel was the only other one that made sense. The letter holder had been given to both of them as a wedding gift. Which meant that both had access to it in the buggy and after they’d gotten home.
How long, by buggy and by foot, would it take to get from Ruth and Samuel’s home back to the Esch farm?
When did Ruth and Samuel leave (with their gift) in relation to the time of death? Would there have been enough time for them to get home, for Samuel to read the letter, and then to go back?
She pulled her bowl back in front of her and took a few more bites, her thoughts flocking to Samuel Yoder, a man she really didn’t know all that well. Yes, she’d sat beside him at many business owners’ meetings, and yes, he, too, had gotten on board with the One Heavenly Night plan the moment she verbalized it aloud for the first time, but what did she really know beyond the fact that he seemed nice?
“Not a lot,” she murmured into the empty kitchen.
Then again, Ruth had married him. That alone should say something, shouldn’t it?
Nodding at her silent question, she took another bite of stew and pulled her thoughts back to Ruth, who was shy, yes, but she was smart. Shoo Fly hadn’t turned into the success it was simply because Ruth could bake a mean pie. Had that helped? Sure. But it was Ruth’s instincts and her ability to read her customers that had been the real magic in her success. Someone who could do that was surely capable of spotting the kind of traits a killer would possess, right?
“Unless Samuel simply snapped out of desperation,” she mused.
Pushing the bowl back off to the side, she grabbed her pen and the pad and began to write again.
How bad is Yoder’s really hurting?
How bad is Shoo Fly really hurting?
Was Samuel in debt before the wedding?
She hovered her pen above the last question and considered crossing it out. The Amish weren’t the type to get in debt. In fact, according to Aunt Diane, when the Amish got married and purchased their first house, they almost always had the kind of money socked aside to make a significant down payment.
But maybe Samuel was the exception since he owned a business? Shrugging, she let the question stand as she moved on to the next line.
If not Samuel, if not Ruth, then who?
She tried to think back to the cases Jakob had shared with her during their time together—petty theft cases, insurance fraud, and murder. Looking at possible motives in relation to means had been a big help in many of those cases.
Pulling in a breath, she flipped the page over and slowly, line by line, wrote down the motives for murder she remembered Jakob sharing with her on more than one occasion, stopping after each one to add any possible tie to the Esch murders.
Hate crime. (They’re Amish . . . could that be why?)
Robbery gone wrong. (Jakob said nothing was missing!)
Mob/gang/murder for hire/initiation. (No!)
Jealousy/obsession. (Samuel jealous of Daniel’s success?)
Crime of passion. (Samuel’s anger?)
Money/greed. (Assisted-living deal?)
She wasn’t sure she had them all, but it was a place to start. Next came all possible means she could come up with in relation to Mary and Daniel Esch. Jakob had told her there was no sign of forced entry. Yes, a window had been left open to the elements, but it was unlocked, not broken. There was also nothing to indicate the couple had tried to get away, thus making it seem as if their killer was no stranger . . .
Ruth and Samuel.
An employee.
A neighbor.
A family member . . .
Jerking upright, Claire’s spoon clattered onto the linoleum at her feet. Ruth and Samuel weren’t the only suspects anymore. Abe was now, too, thanks to Annie.
Daniel winning the bid for Breeze Point didn’t just hurt Ruth and Samuel. It hurt Abe, too. Only with Abe, it wasn’t just about losing work. It was about something much deeper.
Her focus zipped back to the paper and the last two motives she’d noted.
Crime of passion. (Samuel’s anger?)
Money/greed. (Assisted-living deal?)
Since a crime of passion could be anger based, didn’t it stand to reason that Abe’s name belonged on that line, as well as the last one, every bit as much as Samuel’s? After all, based on what Tommy Warren had told her in the barn, Abe had been treated unfairly. Many times. Surely such treatment had created some good old-fashioned resentment and bitterness . . .
It made sense. A lot of sense, actually.
Add in the fact that Annie saw Abe running from the home as she and Henry arrived and, well, it was almost a no-brainer.
Grabbing the roll and her knife, she slit it open, slathered the inside with more butter than was probably prudent, and took a bite, the excitement mounting in the back of her head pushing its way to the forefront along with the early stages of a plan . . .
Chapter 18
In the daylight, the Chupp farm wasn’t much different than most of the farms in Heavenly’s Amish country. It had the same sparsely graveled driveway, the same German-style bank barn, the same dark green shades hanging in the farmhouse’s second-floor windows, the same bike rack filled with scooter bikes, and the same hustle and bustle happening between house and barn that was as much a part of the Amish morning as a hearty breakfast.
It was only to the practiced eye of those who called Heavenly home, though, that the differences tied to this particular morning were so clear. Today, the field behind the barn that played host to grazing cows in the warmer weather resembled the kind of parking lot one might see at an outdoor concert pavilion. Only instead of rows and rows of cars, there were several lines of horseless buggies parked one behind the other. Off to the right and under a large white tent were dozens and dozens of horses, the day’s frigid cold temperatures mandating the heavy blankets many, if not all, of them sported. Even from her own parking spot on the road, she could see the animals’ breath dotting the air inside the tent.
Claire knew, from the handful of Amish funerals she’d attended to date, that the service would start soon, followed by the burial and a meal. Since she was a trusted Englisher with ties to Bishop Hershberger’s daughter, her presence, while initially eyebrow-raising, wouldn’t be unwelcomed, and for that she was glad.
Glancing at the dashboard clock, she picked up her phone and dialed the shop.
“Good morning, this is Heavenly Treasures, how can I help you?”
“You sound like a pro,” Claire said, grinning.
Bill’s laugh, strong and hardy, filled her ear. “I’m a quick study, I guess. And you, my dear, are what I imagine first-time parents are like when they leave their baby for the very first time.”
“A first-time parent who
is feeling way more guilt than worry,” she corrected.
His laughter ceased. “Hey. I told you. I’m good with this. Really. Not only is it a way for me to help you out a little, it’ll also give me a chance to see—firsthand—if owning a specialty shop in Heavenly is something I’d enjoy.”
“Like you’d give up your travel agency in . . .” She stopped, sat up tall, and wandered her eyes back down the very road she’d taken to get to the Chupp farm. “Wait. Are you saying what I hope you’re saying?”
“If you think I’m saying what I’m saying, then yeah, I’m saying what you hope I’m saying.”
It was her turn to laugh. “Okay, that just made my head hurt.”
“I can handle this, Claire—really,” Bill said, his calm and reassuring presence on full auditory display. “Getting here when I did has given me plenty of time to figure out where everything is before I have to open. So just do what you need to do, find out what you need to find out, and I’ll text you or call Diane if I run into any major issues.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Oh, hey, Harold stopped by a few minutes ago and mentioned a tour bus that’s due to arrive on Lighted Way around eleven thirty. He said that was a good thing because their likely first stop will be Taste of Heaven(ly), thereby buying me a little more time before their arrival here.”
Groaning, she dropped her head back against the seat. “Ugh.”
“I’ve got this, Claire,” he repeated. “Even if they get here earlier than expected.”
Pulling in a breath, she held it, counted to ten in her head, and then released it along with the impossible notion of being in two places at one time. “Okay. Thank you.”
A Killer Carol Page 17