By the time Claire walked through the back door of Sleep Heavenly, she was nearly spent, the emotion-filled day taking more of a toll than she’d realized until that moment. Suddenly, the thought of chopping vegetables and filling salad bowls alongside Aunt Diane held none of its normal appeal. Neither did the notion of making chitchat with the guests before and after dinner.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love helping, because she did. And Lord knew she’d met some amazing people around her aunt’s dining table. But just this once she wanted nothing more than to escape to the parlor with a glass of wine and the parade of thoughts that had nagged at her all afternoon, making it difficult to concentrate on anything but the mess surrounding Walter Snow’s death.
Tossing her purse onto the catchall table just inside the doorway, Claire took a moment to soak up the sights and smells of the haven she’d come to treasure. Diane’s kitchen was everything a person dreamed of when it came to such a room. The vast counter space and state-of-the-art appliances were a cook’s dream, yet somehow her aunt had managed to create the kind of homey feel that conjured up images of long talks across a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies.
And they’d surely had their share of those since she’d made her escape from the city in favor of a new life.
She lifted her nose into the air and sniffed, the hearty smell of her aunt’s beef stew wafting out from the lid of an enormous Crock-Pot situated on a counter beside the stove.
“Mmmm …”
“I thought I heard you come in, dear.” Diane breezed into the room by way of the swinging door that separated the dining room from the kitchen, where she was no doubt in the throes of preparing the table for the guests’ evening meal. “How was your day?”
“Exhausting, confusing, heartbreaking—take your pick.” Flopping onto one of two breakfast bar stools, she laid her head on the cool countertop.
Diane stopped midstep, worry creasing her brow. “What happened?”
She blinked once, twice. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“You always know everything that goes on in this town,” she mused in shock.
“The Bakers are heading home to Kansas in the morning, and they insisted I accompany them for lunch in Breeze Point.” Diane’s hands found her hips. “What happened?”
She lifted her head, processing the information as she did. Breeze Point was a small farming community, three towns over, known for its old-fashioned cooking and delightful fruit and vegetable stands. It was no wonder Diane had left her precious Heavenly for a few hours …
“They’ve found Walter Snow.”
“They did? Oh, that’s wonderful news.” Diane reached over, plucked an apple from the fruit bowl, and thrust it in Claire’s direction. “Eat this. You look a bit peaked.”
She took the apple from her aunt’s outstretched hand and simply stared at it, her appetite virtually nonexistent despite having skipped lunch.
Her aunt prattled on. “It’s about time he developed a conscience and returned all that money he stole from the Amish.”
“He won’t be returning anything to anyone.”
Diane stared at her. “Why on earth not?”
“Because he’s dead.”
Diane gasped. “Dead?”
Setting the apple down in front of her, she nodded.
“Where did they find him?”
Claire inhaled slowly, searched for the best way to break the news. Unfortunately, her lack of energy made locating any tact virtually impossible. “Behind my shop. Near the alley between Shoo Fly and Heavenly Treasures.”
The woman grabbed hold of the closest counter. “But how? He wasn’t more than, what? Forty-five? Maybe fifty?”
“Murder is a bit less age discerning than regular death.” The second the words were out, she wished she could recall them. Just because her day had been the stuff of nightmares didn’t mean she had to take it out on her aunt.
“Did you say murder?”
She pushed her stool back from the counter and swiveled her legs to the side. “I’m sorry, Aunt Diane, I shouldn’t have told you like—”
“That can’t be,” Diane balked. “This is Heavenly. We haven’t had a murder here in sixteen years.”
Oh how she wished that were true.
For her aunt.
For Esther.
For Eli.
For Ruth …
Reaching into the pocket of her skirt, she pulled out the same heart-shaped piece of construction paper she’d been staring at since shortly after Jakob left the shop. She looked down at the now-familiar words and felt the telltale churn to her stomach at their meaning.
“We do now,” she whispered.
In an instant, her aunt was by her side, holding her close. “Why didn’t you call? I’d have come right away.”
She blinked against the tears that threatened to escape the corners of her eyes. “Everything got crazy. Fast. And then, when things finally settled down enough that I was able to breathe again, I found this …”
Pulling back from her aunt’s warm embrace, Claire opened her hand to reveal the carefully cut piece of paper that had haunted her thoughts for the past few hours.
“What is this?” Diane took the note and squinted at the masculine writing it featured. “What does it say?”
Claire leaned over and handed a pair of reading glasses to her aunt. “I need you to read it yourself.”
Diane’s confusion disappeared behind ten-dollar glasses as Claire silently read along.
My Sweet Amish Love,
Roses are red, violets are blue,
you need me, and I need you.
All my love,
W.
“Where did you find this?” Diane asked when she was done, the bewilderment on her face surely a mirror of Claire’s the first umpteen times she read the same words.
“Crumpled up and shoved under the register.”
“What register?”
“My cash register.” Even now she still couldn’t fully wrap her mind around the notion that had come to her in one heart-stopping moment at the shop.
“How on earth did it get there?”
“Someone hid it there, I guess.”
“Who’s W, and who would hide this under your …?” Her aunt’s voice disappeared briefly as their eyes met in a moment of frightening clarity. “You don’t think this is Esther’s, do you?”
She shrugged. “Who else would shove something under the register?”
Diane seemed to consider her words, her head shaking side to side after the briefest of moments. “But this says W … not E.”
“I realize that.”
“Do we know any Amish men whose names start with W?”
She traced the pattern on the counter with her forefinger, hoped the gesture would soothe her somehow.
It didn’t.
“Not any Amish men, no.”
Diane’s eyes narrowed on Claire. “You think the person isn’t Amish?”
“If he were, why would he address her in the way he did?” Again, she held the note out for her aunt.
“Okay, so he’s not Amish.”
She couldn’t stand it anymore. She blurted her fears out in the open, where they could be discarded by a woman with far more sense than Claire possessed. “I think W stands for Walter.”
“Walter?”
“As in Walter Snow.”
She waited for the laugh, watched it build momentarily only to disintegrate away just as quickly. “I suppose it’s possible. It certainly wouldn’t be the first Amish girl he’s taken an interest in. But why Esther? She wasn’t working when he owned the shop—”
“Diane? Claire? Are you in there?”
Spinning on the balls of her feet, Diane ran a quick hand down her apron. “Yes, Gerry, we’re in here.”
The door pushed open to reveal Gerry Baker and his wife. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s a fellow out in the parlor looking for Claire. Said his name is Jako
b Fisher.”
“Jakob is here? To see me?” she asked before glancing at her aunt and noting the slow smile that appeared on the woman’s face.
“That’s what he said.” Gerry hooked his arm through his wife’s and turned toward the hallway. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to have a last walk around this delightful town before it’s time for yet another meal designed to make me gain weight.”
Quickly, Claire crumpled the note inside her hand and shoved it back inside her skirt pocket. “I can’t imagine what Jakob could possibly want with me …”
“I can.” Turning to focus on her niece once again, Diane reached out and tucked a renegade strand of auburn hair behind Claire’s ear. “I don’t want you worrying about dinner tonight. The bread is cooling, the stew almost done, and the salad bowls are already filled and in the refrigerator. In fact, there’s enough extras that the two of you can take supper on the front porch if you’d like.”
“Come to think of it, I’m sure he’s simply here to follow up on everything that happened today. Walter Snow’s body was essentially found outside my back door.” Still, she couldn’t keep from taking a quick peek in the mirror. Satisfied with what she saw, she headed toward the swinging door, stopping as she reached it. “Can we talk more about the note later?”
“Of course.” Diane pulled open the door of the floor-to-ceiling cabinet that housed the evening’s dishes and pulled out five—two for the newlyweds, two for the Bakers, and one for Arnie. “But don’t rush, okay? Enjoy your time with the detective.”
Her time with the detective …
“You’re incorrigible, Aunt Diane. You know that, don’t you?”
“No, I just have a keen sense of reality.”
Claire paused, her hand on the door. “And what reality would that be?”
“The detective has noticed.”
“Noticed?” she asked, studying her aunt closely. “Noticed what?”
“You, dear.”
Chapter 9
She peered at Jakob across her wine glass and silently marveled at her aunt’s ability to orchestrate an entire evening with nothing more than a smile and a well-timed head tilt. It was a gift, quite frankly. A gift Claire herself hadn’t been bestowed.
“This is the best beef stew I’ve ever eaten.” Plucking his napkin from his lap, Jakob set it on the table beside his plate and pushed his chair back a few inches. “Do you cook like this, too?”
“I kind of got away from cooking when I lived in the city, but it’s coming back now, thanks to Diane.”
“Oh?”
Claire nodded. “She’s even let me take the lead on a few of the meals.”
“No, I mean, what made you get away from it when you lived in the city? Didn’t your apartment have a kitchen?” Jakob teased.
“It had one. But cooking for two and always eating alone has a way of making takeout look attractive.” Claire pushed her hands into the air above her head, then let them drop back down to her lap. “But helping Diane cook for all her guests and having them appreciate our efforts in the way that they do has brought a little of the fun back.”
“He thought you odd for liking simplicity, and he didn’t come home for dinners you prepared,” Jakob said, tracing his index finger around the mouth of his wine goblet. “So what drew you to this guy in the first place?”
“That’s hard to remember these days.” It was a simple answer but no less accurate. “Which is why I’d prefer to focus on my now. Less second-guessing that way.”
“Ahhh. Second-guessing. I know about that.” Pushing his wine glass to the side, Jakob leaned back in his seat, his eyes taking on a faraway quality before narrowing back on her. “You must be wondering how I can be Esther’s uncle and not be Amish.”
“I think I’ve put two and two together.”
“If I’d left during Rumspringa, they wouldn’t have shunned me the way that they did. But I didn’t. I came back. And then, after I was baptized, I decided I had to be a cop. I couldn’t spend my life farming when bad things were happening.”
She listened to his words, tried them on for size. “How old were you when you left?”
“Nineteen.”
“Nineteen,” she repeated softly. “So Esther was what? Three?”
“Almost four.”
Tipping forward, he reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. He flipped it open and turned the empty sleeve of pictures for her to see. “With the ban against pictures I had growing up, I was left to just my memories all these years.”
She swallowed over the pain that rose up in her throat. “You’re a brave man, Jakob Fisher.”
A bitter, almost sarcastic laugh emerged from the detective. “Brave?”
“Far braver than I am, that’s for sure.”
Cocking his head to the right, he studied her closely. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I was running from my mistakes when I came here to Heavenly.” Slowly, deliberately, she reached past the last swallow of wine that remained in her goblet and grabbed hold of her water glass. “You, on the other hand, knowingly charged into enemy territory when you came back here.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But at least by being here I can see my loved ones’ faces once in a while.”
“Are you content with that?” she asked.
“I have to be.”
She considered arguing but knew it was futile. The Amish had rules, and Jakob had broken them. Mostly, she just felt bad for him.
“I made my choice to come back here, and now I have to live with it. I just didn’t realize how my past would make it so difficult to do my job.”
She thought back to that afternoon, to the tension in the air at the simple notion that Jakob would have questions to ask of the Amish. “I could help, you know.”
“Oh?”
“I’m close to Esther, and, through her, Eli. I just met Benjamin, but he seems nice, and—”
“Looks can be deceiving, Claire.” An unmistakable cloud rolled across Jakob’s face, taking with it any semblance of warmth.
She drew back. “So that … that whatever it was between you and Benjamin in my shop was more than just your being shunned?”
“Much more.”
“I … I mean I just met him today, but he seemed so nice.” She heard the incredulousness in her voice but could do little to stop it. His words and his attitude just didn’t mesh with what she knew. “Why, he drops off fresh milk for his sister every morning before any of our shops are even open.”
Jakob grabbed his goblet, downing the last of his wine. “That’s Benjamin Miller for you. Always helping. Always nice. Always doing everything better than the next guy.” A momentary pause gave way to a weary shake of his head. “Gosh, I sound bitter, don’t I?”
“You must have your reasons.” She pushed back her chair, stood, and felt the flutter in her chest at the instantaneous disappointment on his face.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get all heavy on you.”
“You didn’t. I just feel like sitting on the swing. Will you join me?”
The corners of his mouth lifted upward as he, too, vacated his chair and crossed the porch to Claire’s favorite piece of furniture. Together, they sat down, the weight of their bodies and the synchronized motion starting them off in a swing. “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”
Resting her head against the back of the swing, Claire closed her eyes and inhaled, the last of Diane’s stew wafting its way onto the porch from the parlor’s open window. “It certainly helps lighten the day a bit.”
Jakob sighed. “It sure was a doozy, wasn’t it? I’m in town less than a week, and Heavenly has its second murder? Only this time, rather than an Amish man being killed, it appears as if an Amish man was behind the crime.”
She sucked in her breath as her eyes flew open. “You can’t truly believe what that woman said about Eli, can you? I mean, he’s hot tempered, sure, but he’s got a big heart.”
Run
ning a hand through his hair, Jakob released an actual moan. “Yeah, but Esther was right. He was arrested about six months ago outside a bar in Breeze Point.”
She closed her eyes again. “He’s not allowed to be in bars, is he?”
“Outside his Rumspringa, no. But at that time, it happens.”
She shifted on the swing enough to afford a better view of Jakob’s face, worried lines and all. “So if it happens, how does that point to the possibility he might have murdered Walter Snow?”
“It doesn’t. The reason he got arrested, does.”
She waited for him to fill in the gaps.
“He smashed a glass bottle over the head of an Englishman during an argument. Guy had to get five stitches.”
“So he had a fight.”
“Witnesses interviewed at the bar said it was unwarranted. That Eli Miller simply exploded. And that’s what has me worried.”
“You think he could have exploded on Walter?” she asked.
“Why not? That man swindled his family of money. Money they rightfully earned. And from what I heard around town today, Eli made some mighty powerful threats against Walter just before the man skipped town. That’s not allowed by the Amish, either. So why would murder be any different for him?” Jakob extended his foot to stop the gentle sway of the swing and stood, his troubled gaze looking out over the distant fields of his childhood. “The only real thread of hope I have is that Millers are smart people. Eli had to know that if he killed Walter, the chance of ever getting the family’s money back would be slim to none.”
“That’s good.”
Jakob turned around, perching on the top of the porch rail. “It certainly bodes better for him than a fit of jealousy or a bent toward revenge would.”
“Jealousy?” she echoed.
“Less chance of thinking something like that through before acting.”
Jealousy …
Instinctively her hand moved to her skirt pocket as a new scenario attached itself to the note inside. A scenario that chilled her from the inside out.
“Claire? You okay?”
She looked up and saw the concern in the detective’s eyes. But try as she might, she couldn’t tell him about the note. Not yet, anyway. Not until after she’d spoken to Esther.
Hearse and Buggy Page 6