An unbelievable warmth spread down her arm as his hand touched her skin, the sensation so unlike anything she’d ever felt that it nearly took her breath away. “Claire, what happened here was not your fault. This was set in place over sixteen years ago. Old wounds and all, you know? The only issue that truly matters anymore is Eli Miller’s possible involvement in a very real murder. That can’t be swept under the carpet by anyone … even me.”
Chapter 18
For the second night in a row, Claire found herself following Lighted Way as it made its way past the popular yet quaint shopping district and branched out toward the Amish side of town. Only this time, she was accompanied by someone who knew life from the perspective of both the Amish and the English.
“I traveled this road on bare feet more times than I can count.” Jakob reached into his pocket and extracted a pack of gum, holding it out to her first. “It was certainly a different upbringing from the one my friends in New York gave their kids.”
“What was it like?” she asked, her curiosity in overdrive.
“By the time I was two, I was helping around the farm—gathering eggs, weeding in the garden, helping with the wash—you name it.”
“Wow. That’s young.”
“We didn’t know any better.” They meandered down the road, stopping from time to time to admire the picturesque setting created by the Amish farms and their neatly planted crops. “That’s not to say, though, that it wasn’t fun. Because it was. We got to visit with friends and relatives on Church Sundays, and we got to play with homemade scooters and wagons.”
“And you got to swim when you were a little older,” she reminded, despite the nagging internal voice warning her to steer clear of the potentially hurtful topic. “That watering hole on the milk can Martha painted looked like a mighty special place.”
If the subject bothered Jakob, he didn’t let it show. “Did you happen to notice the tree along the outer edge of the pond that overhung the water near the center?”
She closed her eyes briefly as she tried to recall the painted setting, the tree in question revealing itself fairly quickly. “I did. Why? Did you jump off it or something?”
Dimples appeared in his cheeks just before he laughed. “You better believe we did.” With a gentle hand to the small of her back, Jakob guided Claire off the road and down a narrow gravel path. “We’d run down this very path, spread our arms wide, and jump right in … See?”
They rounded a grove of trees and there, on the other side, was the watering hole Martha had so expertly depicted with a paintbrush and a palette of paint. “Oh, Jakob,” she whispered. “This is lovely.”
“It is, isn’t it?” He jogged over to the tree on the edge of the pond and pointed upward. “And this is the tree … the one we jumped off.”
She stared up at the tree and tried to imagine a young Martha and a young Jakob swimming and playing there. The Martha part wasn’t hard. All she had to do was think of Esther. But Jakob? He was a little harder to picture.
“You don’t have any childhood photographs do you?”
“Nah. No pictures. Just memories. But they’re plenty clear.”
“For you, maybe,” she said, making a face. “But it’s a little tough for someone like me to picture you as a kid.”
“I was cute. Real cute.”
It felt good to laugh, the sound echoing in the still evening air and wrapping her in a much-needed bear hug. “I bet you were a little pistol with those dimples.”
“And you’d bet right.” Wrapping his hands around the branch overhead, he let his body hang for a few seconds before dropping to the ground once again. “Can I ask you something?”
She tried her best to hide her surprise at the sudden tone shift, but she wasn’t all too successful. “Uhhh, okay, sure.”
“Unlike so many others in this town, you didn’t grow up in Heavenly. Therefore, it stands to reason that you’ve made assessments of folks based on the here and now rather than who they might have been a decade ago.”
“I suppose.” She leaned against the tree trunk and did her best to answer as truthfully as possible. “Though, in all fairness, I had a slight window as to who everyone was and how they fit based on things my aunt told me.”
“What kinds of things?” Jakob bent over and rummaged around on the bank of the pond until he found a flat rock. Clasping it between his thumb and index finger, he straightened and looked across the water, the last of the sun’s rays making the amber flecks of his eyes dance.
She watched as he pulled his arm back and then, with a flick of his wrist, released the rock, skipping it once, twice, three times before it disappeared into the water. “Basic things, like who owned the bakery and who owned the toy shop. Who was Amish and who was English. Who was chatty and who kept to themselves. That sort of thing.”
He stared out at the water before turning his back on it to look at her. “What’s your read on Eli Miller?”
Pushing off the trunk of the tree, she wandered over to the shoreline and scanned the ground for a suitable rock of her own. When she found what she thought would work, she gave it a toss and watched it sink at the site of its first hit.
His answering laugh was warm. “Looks like someone needs a course in rock skipping.”
“Are you offering to teach it?” she asked, the playful words escaping her lips before her mind had even fully registered what she was saying.
He bent over once again and retrieved a rock from beside his feet. “Now hold it in your hand, just like this.” The warmth from his earlier touch duplicated itself tenfold as he moved in behind her, grabbed hold of her hand, and bent it around the rock. “Feel that?”
“What?” she whispered.
A momentary hesitation let her know he felt it, too. It was an unexpected confirmation that kicked off a flurry of nerves she struggled to tamp down.
“Pull your arm back, like this.” He guided her arm into the desired position and then held it firm. “Now flick—hard—with your wrist.”
Grateful for the opportunity to think of something other than the feel of his hand, she did as she was told, the rock sailing across the water before hitting the surface once, twice. She squealed in pleasure. “I did it!”
“Yes, you did.”
She glanced back, surprised by the sudden rasp in his voice. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just dealing with a few mixed emotions.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she turned the conversation back to his question. “I don’t know Eli all that well. But what I do know is that despite his work in the fields, he still shows up in the alley periodically throughout the day to check on his sister. Sometimes he stays and helps, particularly when she has even more customers than normal because of a tour-bus stop. He even helped me one day when the hinges on the shop’s back door came loose.”
He nodded but said nothing.
“We always know when Eli arrives because his horse releases a very distinct snort when Eli parks the buggy. Esther knows the sound, too.”
Jakob’s eyebrow rose. “Esther?”
“Esther is crazy about Eli.”
Understanding lit his eyes, softening his stance in the process. “Ahhh. So that’s why she is so protective of him.”
“That’s certainly some of it.” She led the way over to a nearby stump and sat down. “But I think some of it is also the simple fact that she thinks he’s a good person.”
“Tell me about his temper.”
She took a deep breath, then let it slowly release, her heart acutely aware of the harm her words could bring to someone she cared about very much. “I’ve heard stories from others but I’ve not seen it with my own two eyes all that often.”
He squatted in front of her. “But you have seen it then?”
Oh how she wanted to say no. To tell him that the only version of Eli she knew was the kindhearted one who looked after his twin sister with obvious love.
But she couldn’t.
She glanced down
as his hand covered hers, the warmth of his contact making it difficult to speak. “Once … maybe twice.”
“Tell me,” he urged.
Tell him. It sounded so simple. But it wasn’t. Especially when she knew why he was asking and what it could mean for Eli and Esther.
“Please, Claire.”
“The first time came the day I signed the lease. Mr. Gussman, the landlord, had just handed me the key when Eli rode up in his buggy.” She closed her eyes as her words provided the accompaniment to the scene playing out in her thoughts. “I waved and said hello. Told him who I was and why I was there.”
“Go on.”
She opened her eyes to find Jakob grimacing ever so slightly. Scooting a bit to the right, she patted the empty portion of stump to her left and continued. “It was like watching a thunderstorm roll in across these fields until the sky is completely black and you have no doubt what’s coming.”
When Jakob said nothing, she offered a translation. “He got real angry and asked if I was going to rip off the Amish like my shop’s former tenant did.”
“Walter Snow,” Jakob muttered.
“Eli said that Mr. Snow was a crook and that he’d fooled a lot of people … including him and his family.”
Jakob cupped his hand over his mouth and then let it slide down his chin. “The guy was a crook.”
She stared out over the water, the peaceful scene giving way to the memory of what came next, a memory she was hesitant to share.
“Claire?”
“He—he said that it took them a while to catch on to what Mr. Snow was doing but that they did. And he would pay … dearly.”
Jakob sat up straight, his gaze fixed on her face. “But Snow was gone when you took over the shop, wasn’t he?”
Looking down, she swallowed. Hard. “Eli pointed that out. But …”
Hooking a finger beneath her chin, he guided it upward just enough to bring her focus back on him. “Tell me, Claire.”
“He said he suspected Mr. Snow would come back one day. And that when he did … Eli would be waiting to”—her voice dipped to a barely audible whisper—“settle things once and for all.”
A deafening silence enveloped them, broken only by the occasional chirp of a cricket and the on-again, off-again roar of guilt in her ears. “I just hurt her, didn’t I?” she finally asked.
“Hurt who?”
“Esther.”
“You answered a question with the truth. If Eli is not responsible for Snow’s murder, Esther will be fine.”
“And if he is?”
“Then she’s better off knowing before she wastes the rest of her life on a man who isn’t suitable for her.”
It made so much sense when he said it like that, but still …
“So tell me about the other time.”
“Other time?” she echoed.
“You said there were two times you saw Eli’s temper.” Jakob dropped his hand to his side but kept his focus firmly planted on Claire. “Tell me about the other one.”
“It happened the day before I came to the station to meet you. I’d gone into the shop early because I was finishing up in the stockroom. Mr. Snow had left a ton of merchandise behind, and I’d finally whittled it down to a manageable level that I could get it cleared out once and for all.”
“Okay …”
“Anyway, I heard some noise outside in the alley, and I went out to see what it was.”
“Eli?”
She nodded. “He was furious over a shipment of pie boxes that went missing.”
“Pie boxes? Why didn’t I hear about this?” Jakob threw his head back and stared up at the sky. “Wait. Don’t answer that. I know why I didn’t hear about it.”
She resisted the urge to touch him and, instead, stayed on task. “When I asked Eli what happened, he punched the bake shop’s back door so hard I cringed. When I went to help him, he said it was all Mr. Snow’s fault. He was convinced Walter was back … seeking revenge on Eli’s family for outing him as the crook he is.”
“And little more than thirty-six hours later, Walter Snow turned up dead in that very same alley.” Jakob released a sigh big enough for the both of them. “Wow.”
Wow was right.
So, too, was the renewed sense of dread that came from sharing her memories of Eli’s temper aloud.
She looked out over the water. “Can I ask you a question, Detective?”
“Of course. What’s on your mind?”
Inhaling sharply, she made herself face him on the stump. “How did he die?”
“You mean Snow?” At her nod, he offered a quick shrug. “He was strangled.”
“I know that part but I don’t know how. Did they use a rope or something?”
“Nope. The killer used his bare hands.”
She sucked in a breath. “But how could someone do that? Wouldn’t that take …” Her sentence petered out as she looked at the water once again, an image playing in her thoughts while Jakob provided the narration.
“Someone would have to be mighty angry to strangle the life out of another human being like that.”
Oh, Esther …
A muted vibration made them both jump. Standing up, Jakob reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “I’m sorry, Claire, but I’ve got to take this. It’s the station.”
At her nod, he flipped it open and held it to his ear. “Detective Fisher.”
She tried to look away, to give him a measure of privacy as he spoke, but it was hard. There was a certain quality about the man that drew her in and made her want to know him better.
“How bad?”
Something about the tone of his voice broke through her woolgathering and made her sit up tall.
“I’ll be right there.” He snapped the phone closed in his left hand and reached for Claire with his right. “C’mon. We’ve gotta go. There’s been a fire at Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe.”
Chapter 19
The acrid smell of smoke permeated her nose as she stood on the sidewalk watching firefighters enter and exit Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe with decreasing urgency. The shell of the store looked fine, as did the front window and much of what she could see, thanks to the old-fashioned gas-powered streetlamps that bordered Lighted Way. But still, she worried.
Ruth Miller had been through enough the last few weeks, the vast majority of which she’d shouldered alone rather than seek support from her overprotective twin and their older brother. The only reason Claire had become privy to the trials the young Amish woman faced was a simple matter of timing.
“Miss Ruth isn’t going to be able to keep this from her brothers.” Howard Glick rocked back on his heels and shook his head. “There’s nothing in my store that can make remnants of a fire go away before morning.”
“If only there was.” But even as she said the words, she knew the truth was long overdue. Putting isolated incidents off as pranks only worked so long before the cumulative picture became too hard to ignore.
The clip-clop of a horse off to their left grew steadily louder until it ceased altogether not more than ten feet from where they stood.
“Here come the real fireworks,” Howard mumbled as Eli’s gloved hands released the reins, and the brothers jumped down from their buggy.
“What happened?” Benjamin barked. “How is there fire?”
Howard stopped Eli’s passage with a firm hand and a soothing voice. “You can’t go in there yet.”
Claire stepped forward and supplied what little information they had. “From what Mr. Glick and I can see, it looks like the fire department has things under control.”
“There was no reason for fire.” Eli pulled his arm from Howard’s grasp and paced in a little circle. “I check every day when I come to collect Ruth.”
“I’m sure Detective Fisher will tell us what he can when he comes out.”
Benjamin’s gaze left the shop long enough to size up Claire. “Jakob is here?”
Before she could answer, the front door of the b
ake shop opened, and Jakob stepped onto the porch, beckoning for them to come closer. When they did, he gave his assessment. “Thanks to Mr. Glick’s expert nose and the fast action of the Heavenly Fire Department, there is very little damage. What there is is basically confined to the kitchen in back, where it started.”
Eli repeated his earlier assertion. “There was no reason for fire. I check every day when I collect Ruth.”
Jakob sat down on the top porch step and held up his hands. “It didn’t start like that, Eli.”
Benjamin’s eyes widened beneath the brim of his hat. “Then how?”
“We believe it was started with gasoline.”
They were seven simple words but, when put together, they brought a collective gasp from everyone gathered.
Claire and Howard exchanged alarmed looks, while Eli and Benjamin said nothing. “Any chance someone spilled a little bit while filling a lawn mower or an automobile?” Howard finally suggested.
Keeping his gaze locked on the Miller brothers, Jakob gave a quick shake of his head. “Not unless that lawn mower or automobile happened to be sitting inside the kitchen when someone tried to fill it.”
The implication wasn’t lost on Claire or Howard.
Benjamin shifted his weight away from Jakob, confusion evident in every facet of his handsome face. “I do not understand.”
“Is someone angry with your sister or your family?” Jakob asked.
Benjamin drew back. “Angry? At Ruth?”
Jakob rested his elbows on his thighs and enclosed his mouth in tented fingers for several beats. Claire felt her stomach twist in response.
“When we were told about the note your sister received, you neglected to say anything about the stolen pie boxes or”—Jakob shifted a quick gaze at Claire—“or the broken milk bottles. Had we been told of those incidents as well, I wouldn’t have been so quick to write it off as a harmless teenage prank. But you didn’t.”
“Stolen pie boxes? Broken milk bottles?” Benjamin turned to his brother. “Eli? Do you know of such things?”
Eli toed the ground.
“Eli!”
Eli’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened. “Mr. Snow has done things … to Ruth’s store. To strike at our family.” The young man’s voice roared through the night like a freight train gathering momentum for the mountain climb ahead.
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