Assaulted Pretzel

by Laura Bradford

  Even in the dim porch light, Claire could see the flash of hope in Diane’s eyes just before a soft clapping exploded from the vicinity of the stairs and made them both jump.

  “Hey, it’s just me. Jakob.” Stepping into the lighted section of the porch, Jakob held up his palms in surrender. “Sorry about that. I guess I got so caught up in what you were saying just now, Claire, that I didn’t really think about announcing my presence in a way that wouldn’t give you both a heart attack.”

  Diane unclutched her hand from the front of her chest and managed a wan smile for the detective. “Jakob. I’m so sorry. We didn’t hear you…”

  Jakob’s laugh slowed the beating of Claire’s heart in her ears. “I’m the one who’s sorry. For scaring the two of you just now and for not making things clear where yesterday’s break-in is concerned. My failure to do so has obviously made you doubt yourself, Diane, and for that, I’m doubly sorry.”

  Claire motioned to her aunt while silently acknowledging the way this man spoke to her on a level that had nothing to do with talk of break-ins and murder and everything to do with the alluring mixture of kindness and strength he exuded just standing there in faded blue jeans and a navy blue Henley. “Tell her, will you? She doesn’t seem to get what happened here.”

  Tipping his head in her direction, Jakob crossed to the swing and sat down, taking Diane’s hand in his as he did. “The key word in what your niece just said, Diane, is determined. What happened upstairs wasn’t a random break-in. If it was, your china would be gone, your guests’ jewelry would be gone, and virtually any item of monetary value would be missing. But none of that was taken.”

  Diane stopped fiddling with the loose thread on her dress and met the detective’s eyes. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that whoever came in here yesterday came with a purpose. And that purpose had nothing to do with Sleep Heavenly and everything to do with one particular guest who’d chosen to stay here.”

  “Rob Karble,” Diane whispered.

  With a nod of confirmation, Jakob moved on. “Whoever it was who did this was on a mission and I don’t think there’s anything you could have done to deter him or her from that mission.” Claire saw the gentle squeeze he offered Diane’s hand and swallowed, the sudden need to feel his hand on hers unnerving. “Which is why I’m here. Or, rather, why I showed up on your porch steps just now.”

  Desperate to fill her mind with something other than the way Jakob’s blond hair faded just above his ears or the broad set to his strong shoulders, Claire turned toward the house and began walking. “You need to see Room Six?”

  Jakob rose to his feet. “I’d like to, if that’s okay. If it’s too late, I could come back first thing in the morning. As it is, I didn’t even know I was going to stop by until I walked up your driveway.”

  “Do you think you’ll be loud?” Diane asked as she followed them into the front entryway. “My guests have all retired for the evening and I don’t want them to be disturbed.”

  “Nope. I’m looking for something very specific. I have no intention of being loud and what I’m looking for shouldn’t take all that long to locate.” Jakob stopped at the base of the staircase and motioned his chin to the top. “Which room is Mrs. Karble in?”

  “She’s in a room here on the first floor but she’s sleeping. The shock of everything that’s happened has drained the poor thing,” Diane explained in true caretaker fashion. “You don’t have to speak with her at this late hour, do you?”

  “No. Anything I need to ask her can wait until morning.”

  Twenty minutes later, while Diane was bustling about the kitchen catching up on her premorning prep work, Jakob came down the stairs and met Claire in the parlor, his face grave. “Well, that’s all I need. I’m sorry I had to intrude on your evening like this.”

  She set the paperback mystery novel she’d been reading onto the coffee table and patted the vacant sofa cushion to her right, the burst of happiness she felt as he accepted her invitation warming her cheeks. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  Jakob propped his elbows atop his thighs and rubbed at the skin around his eyes. “When I turned up your driveway this evening it’s because I was out walking. Thinking about my sister and Isaac. All I want to do is help them, Claire. So they don’t have to worry anymore and…”

  His voice faded along with his focus, prompting her to touch his shoulder. “Go on, Jakob. Finish your sentence.”

  His hands moved upward to cradle his head. “I want them to think I’m okay. I want them to think I made a good decision when I left to become a cop. I want them to think”—he stopped, swallowed, and then continued on, his voice barely more than a raspy whisper—“that I’m still an okay guy. An okay brother.”

  “And that’s changed all of a sudden?”

  Dropping his hands to his knees, Jakob leaned against the back of the couch and looked up at the ceiling. “I still want those things, want them more than I can ever completely explain. But now, I’m doubting that’ll ever happen.”

  She shifted her body so as to afford a better view of the detective, the urge to reach out and touch his face almost more than she could bear. Instead, she tucked her hand beneath her leg and willed her voice to remain as neutral as possible. “I don’t understand. What’s changed in the last forty minutes or so?”

  A long pause was followed by a labored shrug. “Everything.”

  “Tell me.”

  Shifting his gaze to hers, he tried to muster a smile for her benefit but gave up when it became obvious a grimace was the best he could offer. “Do you remember the roller track plans we saw on the victim’s camera this morning? The ones Ben said were Isaac’s?”

  She pulled her hand out from under her leg. “Yes.”

  “The time stamp on the corner of that photo said it was taken yesterday morning. When I asked your aunt what time Karble came back to the inn yesterday, she said he came back prior to going to the festival. When he did, he had a briefcase in one hand, and his camera in the other.”

  “She told me that, too,” Claire offered.

  “Diane also said that within ten minutes, he was back down the stairs and heading out the door for the festival with only the camera around his neck.”

  “Okay…”

  “His return to the inn was after that picture was taken.”

  At a loss for what to say, she simply waited for him to continue.

  “Don’t you see?” he asked. “Those plans should still be in his briefcase or, in the event he removed them before leaving for the festival, somewhere in his room upstairs.”

  And then she got it. “And they’re not, are they?”

  “Nope. Not a trace of them anywhere. In fact, there are absolutely no signs there was any contact between Karble and either Daniel or Isaac to be found anywhere.”

  “Except in the camera,” she whispered.

  He nodded, slowly. “Except in the camera. Which was on Karble when he was killed.”

  She tried to make sense of what she was hearing but came up short. “So what, exactly, are you saying?” she finally asked.

  “I think I figured out what was driving the determination to get into Room Six.”

  “The roller track plans?”

  Again, he nodded, this time with even more resignation. “That or anything having to do with the Back to Basics line as it pertained to the Amish. I mean, let’s face it, if a man with Karble’s clout comes to town to make a business deal, don’t you think there’d be at least some paperwork to be found?”

  She pushed off the sofa with her hands and meandered her away around the room, stopping to straighten a book or move a votive candle every few feet. When she reached the last set of shelves, she turned back to the detective. “And you’re thinking the memo that made its way around the festival yesterday is what drove either Isaac or Daniel to come here—while everyone was gone—and go tearing through Mr. Karble’s room?”

  “It’s the only theory that
makes any sense so far.”

  She stared at Jakob. “And the murder? What about that? You can’t possibly be considering either one of them for that, can you?”

  He, too, pushed off the sofa, his shoulders, his stance, every bit as wooden as Claire’s. “I repeat, it’s the only theory that makes any sense so far.”

  Chapter 11

  She lifted her face to the warmth of the sun’s late morning rays and inhaled slowly, savoring the peaceful Amish countryside spread out around her. No matter how much she adored her shop, no matter how quaint and perfect she found the tourist-friendly section of Lighted Way to be, there was simply no getting around the fact that this side of town was Claire’s vision of peace.

  Here, everything was different. The pace slowed, storefronts gave way to wide open fields tended by fathers and sons, and the most pervasive sound was silence. A windmill off to her right turned round and round with purpose, delivering an alternate source of power to a group of people who saw no need to rely on the outside world for such things. On her left, just beyond a small sheep-tended cemetery with several rows of simple headstones, was a large white farmhouse with a buggy parked off to its side. She didn’t really need the various-sized dresses and pants swaying back and forth on the clothesline to know a large family lived inside. That was simply a given with the Amish. But still, she smiled. In this particular home, the mother had obviously purchased a bolt of lavender fabric, as every shirt and dress on the line—whether male or female—was the same color, save, of course, for the darker shade used on her own dress.

  Claire followed the bend in the sparsely graveled road and looked ahead to the farmhouse about a quarter mile away. The house, like the one to her left, was large, too, with a recently harvested field just beyond its back door and a small white outbuilding to its side. With any luck, Daniel Lapp would be inside, crafting toys and open to the kind of questions he didn’t normally field from Keith Watson’s tour bus customers.

  She’d planned to work in the shop all day, rearranging the front display window while Esther took care of the customers. But as soon as she walked in the back door and put her stuff on the tiny desk in the alcove she used as her office, she knew she couldn’t stay. All night she’d tossed and turned thinking of little else besides Jakob.

  The detective wanted nothing more than to reestablish some sort of bond with his sister. And finally, just as it looked as if there might be a chance for real interaction between the two, he’s forced to have to look at their brother as a possible suspect in a murder.

  A suspect with motive, no less.

  What, if anything, she actually thought she’d accomplish by talking to Daniel Lapp was a complete mystery. She just knew she needed to try.

  For Jakob. And for Martha.

  She looked up as a horse-drawn buggy passed, the orange triangle affixed to its back a reminder to English drivers to use caution when approaching. A little girl in a head cap peeked out at Claire from the buggy’s back flaps before disappearing inside with the hint of a smile playing across her cupid bow mouth.

  “Good day, Claire.”

  Startled, she turned to her left to find Benjamin driving a second buggy she hadn’t heard approaching. “Hi, Benjamin. I didn’t see you there.” She stepped over to the side of the buggy and looked up at the Amish man, the Pavlovian flutter virtually instantaneous inside her chest. “How are you?”

  “I am good.” He loosened his hands on the reins and nodded his head ever so slightly. “You are not working today?”

  She turned her head just long enough to take in Daniel Lapp’s farm before meeting Benjamin’s deep blue eyes once again. “I was supposed to be. But I asked Esther to cover for me while I take a walk.”

  “You are still troubled about your aunt?” he asked.

  There were so many things she was troubled about at that moment she didn’t know how to respond. Sure, she was still worried about Diane. Having a mourning woman staying at the inn brought a very different feel to Sleep Heavenly and left Diane seeming almost directionless. But as hard as that was to witness, the stronger worry at that moment had far more to do with the man Benjamin once considered a childhood friend than with anyone else.

  “I’m troubled about the whole situation,” she finally said after running various responses through her head.

  “Situation?” Benjamin repeated as he followed her gaze down the road to Daniel’s place. “Ahhh. I share the same worry.”

  She froze in place. “You do?”

  “It is the talk of the town, Ruth says. People believe Mr. Karble was killed in anger and frustration. I can not dispute the anger. I can not dispute the frustration.”

  “And the killing part?” she whispered.

  Silence filled the morning air between them before Claire stole a peek in Benjamin’s direction only to find him studying her with an expression she couldn’t identify. What, exactly, he was thinking, she couldn’t be sure. But whatever it was, it made her stand a little straighter and straighten the hemline of her long-sleeved hunter green blouse atop her formfitting black slacks.

  Benjamin cleared his throat and looked away, his hands tightening on the reins once again. “Daniel Lapp is a good man. He would not kill.”

  Shaking off the sudden desire to run a quick finger comb through her shoulder-length auburn hair, she made herself focus on the conversation and not the man. “And what about Isaac Schrock? Can you say the same thing about him?”

  An unexpected pause gave way to his response. “I can.”

  “Why the hesitation?” she asked.

  Benjamin pulled his left hand from the reins and rubbed at his clean-shaven face, an indication to those around him that he was unmarried. His foray into facial hair over a decade earlier had been cut cruelly short by the death of his young bride mere weeks after their wedding. Whether or not he’d ever remarry was a subject Claire had managed to avoid thus far during their months-long friendship.

  “I do not mean to hesitate. Isaac is a good man. Hard worker. He has just been”—Benjamin cast about for the correct word before settling on one Claire found more than a little curious—“addle-headed lately.”

  “How so?”

  “He said he would bring a bench wagon to his sister’s home. He did not.”

  Thanks to her ties with Esther, Claire knew that a bench wagon was the way in which the Amish transported church benches between homes. Without the benches, the nearly thirty families that descended on the host family’s home for Sunday morning church service wouldn’t have anywhere to sit.

  “Did he get in trouble from the bishop?” Claire asked.

  “No. I did not tell of his mistake. I brought a bench wagon, instead.” Benjamin looked again toward the very farm Claire sought and released a quiet sigh. “Isaac has made many mistakes the past month or so. I think he has much on his mind.”

  She took in everything she was hearing and reconciled it with what she knew. “The notion of his and Daniel’s deal with Karble Toys had to be in the forefront of his mind, don’t you think? I mean, they had a chance to provide jobs to many of their friends.”

  “He had much on his mind before Mr. Karble was to come here.” Benjamin gestured toward the Lapps’ farm with his chin. “May I give you a ride the rest of the way?”

  Feeling the flutter resurrect itself inside her chest at the invitation, Claire willed her head to answer what her heart could not. “I…I think I could use the walk. Besides, it’s such a beautiful day, don’t you think?”

  Her words morphed into a quiet gasp as an unmistakable look of disappointment flitted across Benjamin’s face before disappearing behind his usual Amish stoicism. Tipping his hat forward a smidge, he managed a smile that stopped just shy of his breath-hitching blue eyes. “Then enjoy your day, Claire. I hope it is special. Like you.”

  A lump formed in the base of her throat as his horse continued down the road, the sight of the orange triangle on the back of Benjamin’s buggy leaving her a little unsettled. From
the moment she first laid eyes on Ruth and Eli Miller’s older brother, she’d felt a pull. At first, she’d chalked it up to the almost movie-star good looks the plain Amish dress was unable to mute. The defined cheekbones, emphasized by the slow, genuine smile didn’t hurt, either. But it was more than that. Much more.

  Benjamin Miller was kind in the way he listened and the way he responded. He led his brother and sister by example. And there was something about him that earned people’s respect whether in the Amish community as the leader Esther often described, or in the English world as a caring and thoughtful neighbor.

  Even without Diane’s not-so-subtle reminders, Claire knew nothing could ever come of her feelings for the widower. He was Amish; she was English. But despite everything her head knew to be true, her heart never seemed to be able to completely let go.

  Then again, she also felt a pull toward Jakob. With the detective, it had started in the same place, only instead of movie-star good looks, Jakob’s were more of the boy-next-door variety. The boy next door who grew up to be a knockout, anyway.

  But just as had been the case with Benjamin, Jakob’s looks became all the more appealing once she got to know the man inside. A man who treasured the memories of his family so deeply he was willing to put his own heart on the line just to be closer to them.

  She knew where Diane came in on the subject of Jakob thanks to some very different not-so-subtle remarks. And her aunt was right.

  Still, Claire was torn.

  Shaking her head free of the mental debate, she quickened her pace, anxious to get to Daniel’s before the afternoon run of Heavenly Tours’ customers demanded his attention. What she was going to ask the toy maker was a work in progress. Many of the questions were probably ones Jakob had already asked. If he hadn’t, they were surely on his list. But maybe, just maybe, she would stumble across something he’d missed, something that would allow him to enjoy the act of helping his sister without simultaneously worrying whether that same help would destroy any inroads he hoped to make.