Shunned and Dangerous (An Amish Mystery)

by Bradford, Laura

  The same worry she’d seen just moments earlier in the pot crept its way across Diane’s face. “Would it help to talk to someone, dear? Because I could arrange for that.”

  “You mean like a counselor or something?” At Diane’s nod, Claire shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

  Diane sidled up to the stove and peered at the beef stew that was a favorite among each round of guests that passed through the inn. “I’m glad to hear that, of course. Stumbling across something like that must eat away at you. But the pacing I’m talking about started before you found Harley’s body.”

  It was time to play dumb, and play dumb she did. “Maybe you heard one of the guests? Or someone’s television? I just know the only things on my mind right now pertain to Harley’s murder in one way or the other.”

  “Such as?” Diane grabbed a stack of stew bowls from the cabinet beside the stove, set them on the counter beside her favorite ladle, then turned to Claire for the answer she sought.

  “Well, I’m worried about Jakob for starters.”

  This time it was Diane’s right eyebrow that lifted in surprise. “Jakob? Why?”

  Claire gave the potatoes one final stir then covered them with a lid to keep them warm. “Having his father in the mix of suspects in Harley’s murder is weighing on him heavily. And then, last night, I went with him to Harley’s wake and the treatment he got from Martha and Esther while he was there cut him to the core.”

  She allowed the words that left her mouth to transport her back to the shop and the odd way her conversation with Martha had ended that morning. “But let’s forget that for a minute and let me ask you something, instead. Jakob’s sister said something really strange today.”

  Diane folded her arms across her apron front. “Go on, dear . . .”

  “If I understood correctly, it almost sounded as if Martha could have a relationship with Jakob’s wife if he got married. Is that true?”

  “Yes, that’s true. Jakob has been excommunicated, not his future wife and any children they might have.”

  She stared at the woman standing just on the other side of the counter while she tried to make sense of the nonsensical. “Wait. So if I’m hearing correctly, you’re saying that Jakob’s wife and kids could share Christmas dinner with his family but he could not?”

  “He could be there, they just wouldn’t talk to him. They’d speak only to one another and to his wife and children.”

  Abandoning her watch over the potatoes, Claire walked around the counter, scooped up the stew bowls, and headed toward the dining room and the table that was virtually set save for a few last-minute additions. “I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t sit there and socialize with people who opted not to speak with my husband.”

  Diane followed with the bread basket and the guests’ butter dish. “You mean if you were Jakob’s wife?”

  Claire stopped short at her mistake. Nothing like drawing herself into the picture her aunt was painting for Claire’s life. “Hypothetically, of course.”

  “Yes, of course, dear . . .”

  She heard the strangled laugh as it slipped between her lips and let it propel her around the table, her fingers depositing stew bowls at each spot as she passed. “How can one Amish man take such good care of his cows, treating them as though they were his children, while another mandates his family cut off one of their own forever?” She headed back toward the kitchen and the last few remaining jobs that needed to be done before the guests arrived at the table for dinner. “There are so many things about the Amish I adore, but that’s not one of them.”

  “The repercussions for leaving after baptism are known by all. They may not be something we understand, but the person who considers leaving does.” Diane retrieved her oven mitts from the center of the counter and used them to lift the stew pot from the stove while Claire gathered up the water pitcher and the ladle. “As for Harley and his cows, they were all he really had. And while none of them were alive when his brother was, they are all descendants of ones who were. I think, in some ways, he cared for and protected them in a way he could no longer do for his brother.”

  She spun around. “Oh my gosh, that’s it!’

  Diane walked carefully through the kitchen and into the hallway that linked it with the dining room. “What’s it, dear?”

  “Ever since Jakob and I went out to Harley’s farm to make sure his pasture gate was closed, something has been eating at me that I couldn’t quite put my finger on until now.” She heard the sound of guests approaching and did her best to share her revelation as quickly as possible. “You said, the other day, that Harley was always chasing down one cow or the other, right? That he joked about his little ladies missing him when he went off to work?”

  “I did.”

  “Why would a man who put in a state-of-the-art latch for his pasture gate leave it open when he left for work?” When Diane said nothing, Claire continued on, putting two and two together and actually having it add up to something that made sense for the first time in days. “I mean, if he was as protective of his cows as you say, and he looked after them the way that Luke Hochstetler said and I saw with my own two eyes when I visited the farm yesterday, the whole careless thing doesn’t make sense.”

  Diane lowered the stew pot to the waiting buffet table and turned to face Claire. “I’ve always attributed it to someone playing a prank. After a few instances, Harley began to think so, too.”

  “A prank would be to do it once. But this happened multiple times, didn’t it?” She lowered her voice as the parade of footsteps grew closer. “Why didn’t Harley tell someone? Why didn’t he report it to the police?”

  “The Amish are wary around the police.”

  “Wary?”

  “First of all, the Amish are pacifists, as you know. They believe that things will work out on their own. A loose cow, or even a dozen loose cows, certainly doesn’t warrant bringing in the police as far as the Amish are concerned.”

  Kyle Reilly was the first into the room, followed by his wife, Megan, and the McCormicks. “Good evening,” Diane said, smiling at each of her guests as they took their place at the table. “How was everyone’s day?”

  “It was good but it’s even better now,” Will said as he beamed at his wife and then Diane. “Why, I smelled that beef stew the second we came in from a walk and I knew what it was right away. My grandma used to make a stew that smelled just like that when I was no higher than her knee.”

  Ten minutes later, when everyone was settled in with a heaping bowl of stew and a large piece of still-warm bread alongside a hefty helping of homemade potatoes, Kyle brought Claire back to the conversation that had been cut short by the dinner hour. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I heard you talking a little while ago about the way the Amish don’t seek out the police. I’ve heard that before and I’ve always wondered if that belief makes them an easy target for would-be thieves who see the Amish as vulnerable. They don’t have phones to call for help, and even if they do, it seems as if the police are some of the last folks they’d call, on account of their beliefs and all.”

  She knew Will responded, even made out bits and pieces of what he said, but, for the most part, her mind was off and running. Kyle was right. If someone was even semi-versed in the Amish culture, they’d know that a certain level of mischief would go unanswered simply because of the whole turn-the-other-cheek way of life they embodied.

  If someone monkeyed with their pasture gate and a few cows got out, the Amish would simply round them up, secure the gate, and proceed on with their day.

  If someone wrote nasty things across a wall inside their barn, they’d merely paint over it and go on with their day.

  “The cows . . . They were a sign, too!” She smacked her hand over top of her mouth as five sets of eyes turned in her direction and let her know with absolute certainty that she’d shared her little revelation aloud.

  “Claire?”

  She grabbed the pitcher from the buffet table and m
ade herself loop around the table, topping off everyone’s glasses as she went, a smile she knew Diane wasn’t buying plastered across her face. “I’m sorry, everyone. Don’t mind me. I was thinking about a book I was reading last night. I’ve been having a hard time figuring who did it.”

  “And did you finally figure it out?” Megan said, grinning.

  “Not yet, but I’m getting a little closer.” She pulled the near-empty pitcher to her chest and backed away from the table. “Is there anything else you need at the moment?” At the collective shake of their heads, she carried the pitcher back to the kitchen, anxious to have a few moments of privacy to pick Diane’s brain.

  “I don’t think Harley’s loose cows were a prank, Diane.” She set the pitcher on the counter closest to the sink and turned to face her aunt. “Not the kind done by someone on a lark, anyway.”

  Diane pulled the dishrag from her apron string and began tidying up, her nightly routine making the larger cleanup job after dinner far less daunting. “You think there was malice behind it?”

  “When you couple the loose cows with the graffiti he was forced to cover in his barn and the graffiti he hadn’t yet gotten to on the side of his house, I can’t help but see a picture that isn’t very nice.”

  “I didn’t know about the graffiti,” Diane offered between swipes with her rag. “I did know about the milk and the cows, but not the graffiti.”

  “The milk? What about the milk?”

  Diane swapped the rag for a sponge and cleaned around the sink and the stovetop before stopping to wash and dry her hands for the inevitable second check on the guests. “Periodically, milk cans would disappear from Harley’s property.”

  “He had a service come in and collect them, didn’t he?”

  “Not on as regular a basis as he once did.” Diane checked her hair in the mirror to the left of the sink then filled the pitcher with fresh water and ice. “The more work he found with his hands, the less interested he became in the business side of having dairy cows. So even though he noticed cans disappearing from time to time, it didn’t seem to bother him all that much. He’d mention it offhand if he was talking about his day, but he shrugged it off in a manner that suggested it wasn’t a big deal.”

  “I’m afraid it was a very big deal.” Claire heard the rasp to her voice and saw Diane stop midway across the kitchen with the pitcher between her hands.

  “What are you saying?”

  “Isaac said his father’s anger toward Harley had been escalating the past few months. He said there were signs of it all over the Zook farm.” Her mind began to race as it worked to tie up all the realizations she now had in one perfect package. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the package she wanted to give Jakob. “I think he was talking about those things—the cows, the milk, the graffiti threats . . . all of it.”

  Diane completed her trip to the kitchen door and leaned partway into the hallway, the sound of happy chatter from the table buying her a little time to stay. “Even if Mose did those things, Harley would be the first person to brush it off as frustration.”

  “Frustration?”

  “You said this was escalating over the past few months, right?”

  Claire nodded.

  “Then it would match up perfectly, wouldn’t it?”

  She stared at her aunt. “I’m not following what you’re saying . . .”

  “Think about what happened in Mose’s life a few months ago.”

  She started to shrug, to repeat her previous statement, but stopped as reality took center stage and brought clarity to Diane’s words. “Jakob. He came back to Heavenly.” And, suddenly, everything she’d been dancing around in her head made perfect sense. Right down to the chill-inducing timing.

  “For someone like Mose who took Jakob’s departure as a blemish on himself, he probably saw Jakob’s return as a reminder to his community that he’d failed as a parent.”

  “And he couldn’t lash out at Jakob, so he lashed out at a man who wasn’t shy about singing Jakob’s praises . . .” She whispered the last few pieces of the puzzle into place and groaned, loudly. “Oh, Diane, don’t you see what this means?”

  “I see a man releasing his anger in the only direction he felt was safe.”

  “Safe?”

  Diane scanned the kitchen looking, no doubt, for anything else her guests might need. When she came up empty, she smiled at Claire. “In the grand scheme of things, letting a few cows wander the Amish countryside so Harley had to run around fetching them isn’t that bad.”

  “And the stolen milk?”

  “Also not a big deal when you consider the fact Harley was only playing at the dairy business the past year or so.”

  “And the graffiti?”

  “That’s what paint is for.”

  “It wasn’t just random words, Diane. The graffiti I saw threatened death.”

  Diane’s face paled. “Death? Well, that’s certainly not right, but sometimes a person has to release their anger. The rest of us, we can scream and shout. For the Amish, it’s different. Harley knew that. And, I believe, he understood that where Mose was concerned.”

  “You think he knew Mose was behind the mischief at his farm?”

  Diane paused, then nodded. “I can’t say for certain that he did, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Claire took in everything she was hearing and held it against her common sense. “If you’re right, how could he let it continue, unchecked?”

  “Harley Zook was a very tolerant man, dear. He was always happy, always smiling despite the heaviness he carried in his heart at the loss of his brother.” Diane took a step toward the door once again, her duty to her guests bringing a rapid end to their talk. “How many other people would seek out the son of their brother’s killer to help him find his way? Not many, if at all. But he recognized the fact that Patrick had been through a lot without his dad, and Harley was determined to make a difference in the young man’s life if he could. Fortunately, he was meeting with some success in that regard.”

  Claire pushed off the counter in surprise. “Wait a minute, Aunt Diane. I thought Patrick hated working with his hands. That he did very little as Harley’s apprentice . . .”

  “I suppose that’s true, but Patrick loved being with Harley. He loved listening to Harley’s stories and his little tidbits about life and hard work.” Diane turned her ear toward the door once again. “Sometimes, if I happened by the room where they were working, I’d stop and simply watch them together. Harley would be working on the door frame or the step or whatever I had him doing that particular day and there Patrick would be . . . handing him an occasional tool and listening with wide eyes to whatever Harley was saying. It was a beautiful sight to see, and it’s one I’ll always treasure from that last day.”

  “Last day? What last day?”

  “The day Harley was murdered.”

  She froze in place as her head tried to make sense of what her ears had just heard. “Are you saying that Harley and Patrick did a job for you the day Harley was murdered?”

  Again, Diane nodded. “I told you that. I told you he was here, working on the back step that Friday morning.”

  “Have you told Jakob they were here that day?”

  “He was here when I said it. He must not have thought it was all that important.” Diane gestured toward the pitcher with her chin and then stepped into the hall. “I really must check on the guests again, dear.”

  “That’s fine, Diane, but I’m betting Jakob didn’t make the connection, either. So will you tell him again? Please? Maybe, just maybe, Harley and Patrick said something that day that could help in the investigation somehow.”

  Diane stopped. “Perhaps Patrick might be able to shed light on the time after they left here, too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Harley drove Patrick home in the buggy that day.”

  Chapter 21

  She repositioned her pillow against the headboard and flipped the page of her latest book of c
hoice, the twists and turns of the story a welcome tonic for a brain that had been unable to stop processing various aspects of her talk with Diane. So much of what Claire’d learned while standing in the kitchen that evening had left her reeling.

  Sure, she could see how her aunt might think the loose cows and stolen milk cans might be harmless in nature if considered on their own merits. But when considered in the context of Isaac taking a job with Harley, they could also be seen as the buildup to the final explosion that was an innocent man’s murder.

  And then there was the reality that had Harley driving Patrick home just before he was murdered. Coincidence? Maybe. Then again, maybe not.

  But if it was Patrick, what made him snap in an instant? Or, was it as Jakob had hypothesized and the violence was being hatched all along?

  She read her way down the page, only to realize she hadn’t absorbed anything in the past few paragraphs. Yes, she’d done it again. She’d allowed her brain to roam off on its very own whodunit. The fact that the whodunit was one she’d rather not figure out if it meant watching Jakob suffer, made it even worse.

  Jakob . . .

  There was no doubt she had feelings for the detective. He was fun to be with, a great conversationalist when he wasn’t tortured by an investigation, and he opened his heart to her in countless ways.

  He was, in a nutshell, everything she’d always wanted Peter to be and nothing he’d ever been. But still, she wasn’t sure. Not entirely, anyway. She had, after all, thought Peter was a good fit once, too.

  A rustling sound outside her partially open window made her sit up tall, the absence of any discernible breeze through the trees only heightening her radar further. But when she set the book on her lap and listened closely, she heard nothing except the sound of a passing car as it made its way through the streets of Heavenly.

  She inhaled slowly, silently laughing at herself as she released the same breath of air. Her plate was full enough with real problems. The last thing in the world she needed to do was add to it with phantom sounds and an overactive imagination.