A Churn for the Worse

by Laura Bradford

  “Who do you talk to when you are sad?” Annie nibbled at a cookie and then went back to the grapes, her gaze never leaving Claire’s face.

  “That depends on what I’m sad about, I guess. But mostly I’d have to say my aunt Diane or Jakob.”

  Annie stopped chewing. “But Jakob is not your friend. He is your boyfriend.”

  “He’s both. And that’s why I love him so much. He cares about me as a person every bit as much as he cares about me as a girlfriend.”

  “Do you think you are the same to him?”

  “I certainly hope so.” She lowered the chicken leg to her napkin and studied Annie, the girl’s wide eyes and rapt attention connecting the girl’s questions in Claire’s head. “The person you choose to spend your life with, Annie, needs to care about you—your opinions, your dreams, your health, your being. And, likewise, you need to care for him in the same way.”

  “I care for Henry that way,” Annie whispered. “I smile when he smiles, I am sad when he is sad, and I worry when he worries. It has been that way since we were in school.”

  “That’s a good start.”

  “This morning, when I was bringing a plate of Eva’s cinnamon rolls to Henry’s mamm, I saw him. He was quiet.”

  Claire nudged her lunch to the side and propped her elbows atop the counter. “That makes sense. It has been little more than thirty-six hours since he found his father dead in the barn, right?”

  “This was a different quiet. It was troubled, not sad.” Annie reached across the gap between their lunches and sheepishly helped herself to a few more grapes. “After I gave the plate to his mamm, I stopped in the barn to check on Henry. I asked him what was wrong.”

  “And?”

  “At first, he would not say. He just asked about me and how I am doing. But I did not answer. I said that it was his turn to talk and my turn to listen.” Annie ate the rest of the grapes and then settled her back against the edge of the counter. “He knows he is to look after his mamm, but he must work many hours now to replace what is gone. I told him everyone would help.”

  “It doesn’t make it easier, but he and his mother and siblings will find a routine as the days and weeks go on.”

  Annie waved Claire’s words away. “It is not the routine, it is the money that is gone. He will need to work many hours and many jobs to put that back.”

  “Wait. I’m confused. Put what back?” she asked.

  “The money that is now missing.”

  She felt her breath hitch. “What money?”

  “His dat’s money. It is all gone.”

  Dropping her arms back down to the counter, Claire stared at her employee, the girl’s words catching her by surprise. “I thought Henry told Jakob nothing was missing.”

  “The money can was in the kitchen, not the barn. Henry did not see that it was empty until this morning. He did not want to worry his mamm, but he knows he must tell her today.”

  “Does Jakob know this?”

  Annie stuffed the rest of her lunch back into her pail and then shrugged. “I do not think so. I do not know how he could.”

  “We have to tell him, Annie, and we have to tell him right now.” Claire slipped off her stool and retrieved her cell phone from the cupboard beneath the register. The previous night, they’d been lacking for motives. But now, in light of what Annie had just shared, things had changed.

  “But why?”

  “That empty jar might be as simple as Henry’s mamm moving the money to a different location. Or, it could be connected to the death of his dat.”

  Annie sucked in her breath so hard and so loud, Claire had to strain to make out the detective’s greeting in her ear. Fortunately for her, he repeated it.

  “Claire? Are you there?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m here.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “I’m not sure.” She took a moment to reign in her own breath and to compose her sentence as succinctly as possible. “Annie spoke with Henry Stutzman this morning. It seems money is missing from their home.”

  “Missing?”

  “That’s what Henry told her,” she relayed.

  Jakob sighed in her ear. “Why didn’t he tell me this yesterday?”

  “Because he didn’t realize it was gone until this morning.”

  “Okay, I’m on it.” The creak of his chair in the background let her know the detective was on the move, whatever immediate plans he’d had prior to her call now shelved. “Thanks, Claire. This could be the break I’ve been looking for.”

  Chapter 7

  With the toes of her right foot acting as a door prop, Claire hoisted the last of the boxes up off the back stoop and carried them into the long but narrow back room that served as her staging area for all of her shop’s treasures, Amish or otherwise. There, she could cull through the occasional supply delivery, sorting the picture frames she would soon embellish into one area and the jars and pedestals she often used for her homemade candles into another.

  “Claire? May I come in?”

  Peeking over her shoulder, she smiled at the tall, blue-eyed man visible through the screen door. The afternoon sun beat down on his broad-brimmed straw hat and created an almost halo-like effect that fit the man well. His dark brown hair, visible beneath the inside edges of the hat, curled ever so slightly in the humid air.

  “Benjamin, hi. Yes . . . please. Come in.” Claire set the box down, wiped her hands along the sides of the jeans she’d donned to deal with the delivery, and crossed back to the door just as the Amish man stepped through it. “I didn’t hear your buggy in the alley just now . . .”

  “That is because Eli dropped me off on his way to Gussman’s.”

  “I’m glad.” And she was. Benjamin Miller was special. He was kind, he was gentle, he was considerate, and he was the kind of steadfast friend everyone wished they had. The fact that, at one time, he’d been willing to leave the only life he’d ever known in order to have one with her was simply the icing on one of his sister’s second-to-none cakes. “Did you check on Ruth?”

  “Yah.” He gestured to a stack of napkins with his callused hand and, at her nod, plucked one off a shelf. Unfolding it to its true size, Ben used it to wipe the sweat from his high cheekbones. “She says it has been busy today. She has sold many pies and cakes.”

  “She always sells a lot of pies and cakes.” Claire crossed to the boxes she’d stacked in the corner and retrieved her water bottle from its resting spot on the floor. She held it out to Ben. “Here. Finish this.”

  He started to protest, but when she placed it in his hand, he accepted, the water disappearing in a matter of two large gulps. “Thank you, Claire.”

  She took a moment to really take in his attire—black shoes, black pants, pale blue shirt, and suspenders. It was the traditional dress for Amish men like Benjamin, but still, it was July . . .

  “I could turn on the fan in my office and we could sit in there for a little while if you’d like,” she offered, gesturing toward the open doorway at the opposite end of the room. “It really helps on a hot day like this.”

  He smiled but remained standing in exactly the same place. “Do you need any help?”

  “No. I’m fine.” She guided his gaze toward the trio of boxes with her own. “I was just carrying in the last one when you appeared at the door.”

  “You should not carry such boxes. You should leave them for me or for Eli. We will carry them.”

  “Carrying my boxes into my store isn’t your job, Benjamin.” She turned back in time to catch the longing look he cast at the now-empty water bottle in his hand. Without giving him a chance to protest, she took his hand, led him to her office, and insisted he sit in the path of the oscillating fan that made the July day feel a bit more like May. “Now, can I get you some more water?”

  He lifted his chin as the fan-power
ed air moved across his face. “Yah. If it is not too much trouble.”

  “It’s not.” She lowered herself to her desk chair, yanked open the bottom drawer, and fished out one of a half dozen water bottles it stowed. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I take it you’ve been working in your fields all day?” she asked.

  “Yah. In Stutzman’s fields, too.”

  She opened her mouth to question the increased workload, but closed it as reality sank in. It didn’t matter how much work Benjamin had on his own plate; it was in his nature to help others, Amish or otherwise. All she had to do was look around her store and remember how close she’d been to losing everything to know that.

  Because of Benjamin, she had the kind of bigger-ticket items that made a difference to Heavenly Treasures’ bottom line. And because of that, she’d been able to stay in Heavenly, with the friends she adored and the man she envisioned spending the rest of her life with one day.

  Jakob . . .

  Forcing her thoughts back into the room, she waited for Benjamin to finish his latest gulp of water. “Did you know Wayne Stutzman well?”

  He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and recapped the bottle. “Yah.”

  “I’m sorry to hear of his death.”

  “Yah. He leaves behind his wife, Emma, and seven children.”

  She ran her finger along the edge of her desk and then glanced toward the shop’s main room. “Annie is friends with the oldest boy, Henry.”

  “Henry will be a great help to Emma. He will look after the fields and help with his brothers and sisters. He is a hard worker.”

  “It’s a shame he has to be,” she murmured.

  Benjamin drew back. “I do not understand.”

  Taking a deep breath, she tried to explain her words. “Henry is sixteen like Annie, yes?”

  “Yah.”

  “He just got his first horse and is learning to drive a buggy just like Annie. And, because of the loss of his father, he will now have to move straight to adulthood.”

  Benjamin said nothing and, instead, looked around the room, taking in the calendar, the calculator, and finally, the framed photograph of Claire and Jakob on the swing outside Sleep Heavenly. He pointed at the picture. “Jakob will find the truth.”

  “About . . .”

  “Wayne’s death.” Benjamin sat through one more swipe of cool air and then stood. “If he died by another man’s hand, Jakob will know.”

  She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat, the strides made between the two men over the past several months almost unfathomable. Six months earlier, the tension between the childhood friends had blanketed each and every space they inhabited together. Now, in the wake of a case that had necessitated conversation back in the early part of the year, there was a semblance of peace and mutual respect.

  “So you believe Wayne Stutzman was murdered, too?” she said, her voice still raspy with emotion.

  “I do not know what to think. But Eli makes good points.”

  “That’s because your brother is a smart man . . . like you.” She followed him back out into the hall and toward the door that would take him into the alley between Heavenly Treasures and his sister’s bake shop. “It isn’t any wonder why Ruth has not found the right man yet. Her yardstick is set quite high thanks to the two of you.”

  “Yardstick?” Benjamin repeated. “What yardstick?”

  “Never mind.” She rose up on the balls of her feet and planted a friendly kiss on the man’s smooth-shaven skin. “Ruth will marry when she is ready.”

  He pushed open the screen door and stepped outside, his gaze flitting between Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe and Claire. “Mamm believes there will be a winter wedding.”

  “For Ruth?”

  “Yah. She is courting.”

  She made a mental note to ask Ruth about her mystery man the next time they spoke and then looked up to find Benjamin studying her closely. “What?”

  “Maybe she is not the only one who will have a wedding one day . . .”

  More than anything, Claire hoped he was right—for himself as much as for her. Benjamin Miller was simply too special to continue living his life alone.

  * * *

  She was just getting ready to lock the front door when a familiar face waved to her through its glass panel.

  “Mr. Naber, hello. Please, come in.” Claire reopened the door, swept her arm toward the interior of the shop, and then closed the door behind her aunt’s guest. “It seems we’re always seeing each other in passing.”

  The balding man rocked back on his heels and nodded. “It does, indeed. But I’ve had both breakfast and dinner meetings the past two days. Of course, the people I’ve been in meetings with keep telling me all about the wonderful food I’m missing by not eating at the inn.”

  She laughed. “I wish I could put your mind at ease on that one, but I can’t. You’re missing out.”

  “Thank you for that.” His brown eyes skittered across the shop just before he plucked a notebook from his pocket. “You’ve done a nice job in here. It’s quite warm and inviting.”

  “Thank you.”

  He paused his pen-holding hand above the notebook and smiled at Claire. “In fact, warm and inviting seems to be the prevalent feel throughout this entire town.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. In fact, it’s why I’m living here today.”

  “And it’s certainly a feel that has its merit. One only has to look at the demographic stepping off the tour buses on a daily basis in this town to see that.” Jim wandered over to the shop’s large front window and the view of Lighted Way it afforded to the left and to the right. “It’s the other demographics that need this town’s attention now.”

  She came to stand beside him, her own gaze traveling up and down the road. “So how’s it going with the mayor and the councilmen? Are you coming up with some interesting ways to advertise Heavenly?”

  “We are. But we can’t advertise to the younger demographic until we have something that appeals to them.”

  “Do you mean little kids?” she asked.

  “No. I mean the twenty-somethings.”

  She turned her back to Lighted Way and focused on the man. “Why? They’re not retired.”

  “Folks don’t have to be retired to enjoy Heavenly. Open up a few bars, tweak a few of the countryside tours, and suddenly we have more than elderly folks walking the streets of Heavenly.”

  “But this isn’t a bar town,” Claire argued. “You bring bars in here, and we’ll lose the demographic that actually has real money to spend.”

  “Trust me, Claire. The twenty-somethings have money to spend. They just want to spend it in different ways.”

  She worked to steady her breathing, to remind herself that the man standing in front of her had merely been hired to make suggestions. “Besides bars, what else are you envisioning?”

  “Countryside tours with a slightly different appeal than the ones being offered now.”

  “Oh?”

  “Sure. The tour company could offer one or two runs a day that show tourists a different aspect of the Amish lifestyle.”

  “Different? Different, how?”

  “That would be up to the tour bus companies, of course, but anything that shows another side to the Amish is a safe bet. I mean look at the shows on TV these days. People want to see—”

  “Things that aren’t true?” she finished.

  “Does it really matter? It’s captured interest. And that’s all we want to do here—capture interest.” Jim made his way over to a postcard display and gave the caddy a spin. When he found the one he wanted, he waved it toward the register, indicating he was ready to pay.

  She wound her way around the counter, stopped in front of the register, and rang up the postcard. “People equate Heavenly
with warmth and peace, Mr. Naber. You start changing that basic foundation and replacing it with something ugly and this town will be hiring you back to do damage control.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He handed her the correct change, took the narrow paper sack containing the postcard in exchange, and headed back across the shop.

  “You disagree?”

  “Of course.” When he reached the front door, he waved his paper bag in her direction. “A job is a job, Claire. You take one wherever you can get one.”

  Chapter 8

  Claire peeked over the top edge of the paperback mystery she was reading, the amusement she felt mirrored on the face of the man seated in the single back chair to her right.

  “Okay, Aunt Diane, it’s time to let us in on whatever it is you’re doing over there that has you so focused.” She rested the book, spine-side up, on the armrest of the sofa and stretched. “Mr. Turner and I are jealous.”

  “Hank,” the man reminded as he closed his book on marketing strategies for small businesses. Then, training his focus on the sixty-two-year-old woman hunched over the desktop computer in the corner of the parlor, he added, “Yes, Diane, please. Enlighten us. My book is proving to be a sleep tonic I don’t particularly want or need at eight o’clock in the evening.”

  Diane removed her hand from the wireless mouse, checked her wristwatch, and then swiveled her chair to the left, her cheeks reddening by the second. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to waste so much time like this.”

  Waving her hands in protest, Claire stood and made her way over to the computer. “No one could ever accuse you of wasting time. Ever. We’re just curious as to what you’re”—she took in the full screen of print as she approached—“reading over here. It sounds fascinating.”

  “Fascinatingly sad, yes.” Diane turned back to the computer, gesturing at the online article displayed on the monitor as she did. “This is a weekly bonus sent out to subscribers of The Stable Life. It usually includes puzzles and tidbits and photographs. Unfortunately, I’m not very good about staying up on them and I got to this one a few days late.”