A Churn for the Worse

by Laura Bradford

  “So what time did Jakob leave your house? Do you know?” she asked as she finished the chicken and moved on to the apple and the cookies.

  “It was ten when he left the barn. The others stayed, but he and Benjamin left.”

  “The others?”

  “Policemen. They spent more time in the barn. Why, I do not know.”

  “They were probably lifting fingerprints. To see if the person who is doing this is the same as the person who was at the Millers’ yesterday. If the person has a criminal record, it will show up in a special police database.”

  “If they do not?”

  “Jakob will keep looking for the person behind everything that has happened this past week—the robberies, the trespassing, and most importantly, the death of Henry’s dat.”

  Annie nibbled on her lower lip and then looked up at Claire, her voice barely more than a raspy whisper. “It is scary to think that someone may have been in our barn. What if Dat had been there? What if this person killed . . . Dat?”

  “He didn’t. That’s all that matters right now, Annie.” She wiped her hands on her napkin and then gathered Annie’s hands inside her own. “Jakob will find the person responsible for all of this. I have absolutely no doubt about that. Jakob is very good at what he does.”

  Annie cleared her throat of any lingering fear and narrowed her dark eyes on Claire as if she was searching for something. “You care for him, yah? As someone much more than a friend?”

  “I do.” It was such a simplistic answer, but that didn’t make it any less accurate. “Jakob is a good man. A kind, caring, generous man who wants nothing more than to make sure that everyone in this town is safe from harm. It’s all he’s ever wanted. Sadly, that calling has cost him dearly.”

  “He is happy with you. It is in his smile every time he sees you.”

  She considered likening Jakob’s smile at seeing her to Annie’s smile at the mere mention of Henry Stutzman, but thought better of it. At sixteen, such observations were almost invariably met with defensive words. Instead, she brought Henry back into the conversation via the topic at hand. “Do you think Henry has anything new to offer Jakob about what happened the night he found his father in the barn?”

  Annie’s head was already shaking before Claire had finished her sentence. “Henry was not in the barn when his dat died. He will not be able to help with that, but still he will try. Henry is like that. He likes to help.”

  The bells tasked with announcing the arrival of a customer jingled, prompting Annie to instinctively gather Claire’s trash and stuff it into the wastebasket while Claire slipped off her stool and headed toward the door. “Good afternoon, welcome to Heavenly Treas— Oh, Hank! Hello.”

  The Midwestern college teacher’s reply came via a broad smile, a quick wave, and a brief scan of his surroundings. “Hi, Claire. I’ve been spending so much time out at Amish home-based businesses, that I’ve neglected the shops here on Lighted Way. I figured it was time to change that.”

  “Well, we’re glad you did, aren’t we, Annie?” She glanced over her shoulder at Annie and motioned the girl over. “Annie, this is Hank Turner. He’s staying at the inn while he researches small businesses for the college-level classes he teaches back in Wisconsin. And, Hank, this is Annie Hershberger, my trusty employee and friend.”

  At the word friend, Annie’s cheeks, powered by her smile, rose nearly to her eyes while Hank stepped forward and extended his hand to the Amish teenager. “How long have you been working here with Claire, Annie?”

  Annie’s eyes drifted upward in thought, then back to Claire for confirmation. “Five months? Is that right?”

  “It’ll be five months next week.” Claire slid her arm around Annie’s shoulders and pulled the girl in for a quick side hug. “And she’s been an absolute godsend, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “Is it difficult to work for someone who is not Amish?” Hank asked Annie. “To adjust to their customs?”

  “It is nice to work with Claire. I learn much from her.” Annie crossed to the opposite side of the store and pointed at the wooden chests, footstools, and high chairs displayed there. “Claire gives many in our community a place to sell their handmade goods.”

  Hank followed the girl for a closer look at the items, even reaching out to run his hand across a chest and a high chair. “Why don’t they just open their own shops and sell them on their own like Samuel Yoder does with his furniture store or Ruth Miller does next door with her bake shop? Surely someone who can make handcrafted furniture like this could survive on their own, couldn’t they? Or would they not want to compete with one of their own?”

  “The Amish who make the items you see here are farmers first. Their jobs are in the fields or with the animals,” Annie explained. “Claire’s shop is a way to make money on things they build when they are not farming.”

  Claire ventured over to Martha’s painted milk cans and the shelf containing Esther’s Amish dolls and lifted one of the dolls into the air for Hank to see. “And items like these are ways for many Amish women to make money for their families as well.”

  “How do you work the whole social security tax aspect as an English employer with employees who aren’t required to pay into the system?” Hank asked as he came closer to look at the variety of items displayed to the left and right of Claire.

  “If they work for an English employer, they have to pay it.” Claire took a moment to neaten a stack of handmade baby bibs and a pile of booties. “But even if they do, they still don’t accept anything in return when they retire.”

  Nodding, Hank continued to take stock of her inventory, periodically stopping to touch something or hold it up for a closer look. When he reached a display of quilts, he pulled a pair of glasses from the front pocket of his trousers and slipped them into place across the bridge of his nose to allow a more thorough inspection of their detailed work. “The Amish really do quality work, don’t they?”

  “There’s no question about that. Just ask Annie here.”

  Hank looked from Annie to the quilt and back again, his eyes widening. “You made this?”

  “Yah.”

  “You do beautiful work, Annie. You must make a lot of money with a quilt like this.”

  Annie shrugged. “It goes to Dat to use as he sees fit.”

  “Do you ever think of opening your own shop one day?” Hank asked.

  “No. One day I will have a husband and children. If I am to make money, it will be on quilts Claire sells here, or jams and jellies I sell from a stand.”

  “Amish women do not work outside the home once they are married.” Claire took a moment to restack the selection of hand-sewn doilies, her thoughts flitting between the conversation with Hank and the tasks she still hoped to get done. “Their primary focus is on the family.”

  “So they’re home all day, every day?” Hank asked. “Well, unless they have to run an errand or it’s a church day?”

  “Yah.”

  “Interesting.” Hank rested his arms across his chest and leaned against a small stretch of wall between the shelf of dolls and the shelf of place mats and other table essentials. “So what happens to the bake shop next door when Ruth marries? Will it close down since she can’t run it?”

  That was a good question, and one Claire had never pondered until that moment. “Annie? Do you know?” she asked.

  “Ruth will still bake, I’m sure. But perhaps her younger sister will run the shop.” Annie bent over, repositioned one of the hand-carved footstools, and then straightened. “It will not be long before we know for sure.”

  Chapter 19

  The guests were all there when Claire finally finished with the week’s books and wandered into the parlor, their lighthearted voices and occasional bursts of laughter proving to be just the tonic she needed.

  “If I’d known you were all having so much fun in he
re, I would have abandoned my calculator and pencil an hour ago.” Claire instinctively lifted the half-empty tray of cookies from the table just inside the doorway and made the rounds of the guests. Jeremy, of course, took another, as did Hank and Bill.

  “Then you’d be up until the wee hours of the night trying to finish what is now done.” Diane leaned around her laptop computer and patted the bottom section of her lounge chair. “Put the tray down, dear, and come sit. You really need to see the photographs Hayley has been taking this past week. They’re simply breathtaking.”

  “Let’s not inflate her ego any more than necessary,” Jeremy joked. “Hayley got lucky is all.”

  Diane peered at Jeremy across the top of her reading glasses, tsking playfully beneath her breath. “Now, Jeremy, is that any way to talk to your partner? Especially since it’s you who handed the flash drive to me when I inquired about Hayley’s work?” Then, without waiting for his answering banter, the woman hit play on the slideshow and handed the laptop to Claire. “Look at these. The one of the black horse through the branches of the tree is my favorite.”

  “You should see your face right now, Diane, it’s glowing.” Bill smiled at Claire’s aunt from his seat beside the hearth. “Horses really do make you happy, don’t they?”

  “They’re beautiful creatures.” Diane looked from the pictures fading in and out on the screen in front of Claire to the photographer who’d captured the images. “Hayley, I have to imagine you feel the same way based on these photographs. I mean, there’s almost a tangible reverence here.”

  Clearly uncomfortable being the center of attention, Hayley cleared her throat and volleyed the subject back to Diane. “Have you ever thought about purchasing a horse of your own? Your grounds are certainly large enough to accommodate one.”

  “I did. For a while. But if I purchased a horse, I would want to give it more time and attention than running this inn would allow me to do. So, instead, I enjoy seeing them pull buggies past my driveway, I enjoy seeing them in the fields of my Amish friends, and I enjoy visiting with each and every new horse that comes in for sale at the Weaver farm when my schedule allows.”

  Claire looked up from a photograph of a chocolate brown–colored horse beside a pile of colored leaves and studied her aunt. “You go to the Weaver farm? I didn’t know that.”

  “I don’t do it all the time, dear. But I do it as often as I can. I love looking at them between worlds.”

  Hank lowered his pen to his notebook long enough to address Diane. “Between worlds?”

  “Most of the horses that Mervin Weaver buys at auction are retired racehorses. The majority of their lives has been about racing. Once they’re purchased by Amish farmers, their lives are very different. They’re slower, for one thing. And their primary responsibility shifts from entertainment to transportation. It’s just . . . different.”

  “Retired racehorses, eh? I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

  “It actually makes perfect sense. Trotters are skilled at pulling a sulky. They’re a natural fit for an Amish buggy.”

  Hank closed his notebook on his day’s business notations and then stretched his arms above his head. “I’m telling you, the Amish are resourceful and incredibly smart.”

  “Yes, they are,” Diane agreed.

  Claire rewound the dialogue in her ear back to the part that had taken her by surprise. “But when do you go out to the farm and how did I not know this?”

  “What am I going to say, dear? ‘I spent a half hour introducing myself to a dozen or so horses I may never see again’? You’d think I’d gone mad.” Diane wiggled her way past Claire on the chair and stood, her self-allotted time for rest clearly in her rearview mirror. “Which is what everyone must be thinking right about now, anyway.”

  “No. I . . . I’d think it was neat. And I’d want to hear more. Maybe even go with you to see them sometime.”

  Bill’s nod was nothing short of emphatic. “I’d enjoy that as well.”

  “I could take pictures,” Hayley chimed in. Then, poking an elbow into Jeremy’s side, she added, “And maybe you could turn it into a blog when I got back.”

  Jeremy lifted his head off the back of the couch and forced his eyelids open. “Huh? What? What’d I miss?”

  “Go upstairs and go to sleep,” Hayley said, rolling her eyes as she did. “You’re just taking up space on the couch that Claire could have right now.”

  Claire waved her hands back and forth above her computer-topped lap. “Hayley, I’m fine. There’s plenty of room for Diane and me on this chair. Assuming, of course, my aunt would actually sit back down.”

  Diane readjusted her apron across her hips and then slowly looked from Claire, to Hayley, to Bill, and back again. “Would you really like to accompany me out to the Weavers’ place?”

  All three heads nodded in unison, followed by a raised index finger from Hank. “Don’t forget me. I haven’t visited a horse business yet.”

  “I’ve never done a—a . . . field trip before,” Diane replied. “Are you sure?”

  Claire took in the expressions on the faces around them and then looked up at her aunt. “Annie’s on the schedule alone tomorrow morning . . .”

  “I could do tomorrow morning.” Hayley eyed her sleeping coworker and rolled her eyes again. “And he could just stay behind and sleep.”

  “Do you think they’ll have a fresh shipment of horses ready to be sold off?” Hank asked.

  “There’s no guarantee what Mervin has on any given day, but it’s more likely he’ll have some horses than no horses.” A slow smile erupted across Diane’s face and traveled to her eyes. “I’m so pleased about this!”

  Bill took a sip of coffee from the cup beside his chair and then rose to his feet to face Diane. “What time do you anticipate we’ll head out?”

  “How about nine o’clock? That will give me time to get the breakfast dishes cleaned up.” At everyone’s ready agreement, Diane took Bill’s empty cup, added it to Hayley’s and Hank’s, and then ventured toward the parlor doorway. “You are all in for quite a treat. Mervin has a knack for finding the sweetest horses.”

  * * *

  Claire had just settled her head against the pillow when her cell phone rang—the sound, coupled with her certainty as to the identity of the caller, propelling her up onto her elbow with a smile. Reaching over to the nightstand, she plucked the device from its resting spot, confirmed her suspicion, and then held it to her ear.

  “Hi, Jakob.”

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “No, no. I hadn’t even turned off the light yet. How are you? Busy day?”

  “Busy enough that I didn’t get to come and see you like I’d hoped.” Jakob’s voice faded off momentarily, only to return with a slight huskiness. “That’s always my favorite part of any day, you know. Seeing you.”

  She felt her face warm in response to his words. “I feel the same.” And she did.

  “I’m glad.”

  Twisting her body to the side, she hiked her pillow upward against the headboard and then leaned back. “Annie told me that Henry spent some time with you this afternoon. Did anything come of that?”

  “Nope. I keep hoping that Henry is suddenly going to remember some previously unshared detail that’ll blow this whole case wide open, but so far it’s a no-go.”

  “You’ll find it, Jakob. With or without Henry.”

  His answering laugh was void of any humor. “I wish I could say your confidence is on target, Claire, but it’s not. I mean, I know everything that’s happened around here with the missing money and Wayne’s death is all related somehow, but beyond that I’ve got nothing, and it’s incredibly frustrating.”

  “So you really think someone was out at Annie’s father’s farm on Sunday?”

  “I do. I think someone took advantage of the fact they were at church and used that
as an opportunity to snoop around their farm.”

  “But nothing was missing or disturbed inside the house, right?”

  “That’s right. But that could be a result of an inability to figure out the door, or because this guy got spooked away before he could get inside.”

  She shivered in spite of the warm July evening. “Do you think Annie coming home could be what spooked him?”

  “It’s hard to say, Claire. Maybe. But that’s just me trying to figure out why he found his way into all the other homes except the bishop’s.”

  For a moment, she merely stared up at the ceiling, her thoughts picking their way through everything Jakob had said and everything they knew at that point. “Jakob? Is there any way to know whether Henry’s dat was killed before or after the man came to the house?”

  “We’re likely looking at a difference of ten minutes, so no. Not really. But I have to believe that someone isn’t going to kill a person and then go up to that same person’s home—where his family is playing games—and calmly ask for directions.”

  “Do we know it was calmly?” she asked.

  “I actually asked Henry if the man seemed upset or winded, if he was sweating from exertion. Henry was insistent he was not. So my gut says he killed Wayne after having been in the house.”

  She considered Jakob’s words and tacked on another layer. “So after he’d stolen the money, too . . .”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay. But then why go into the barn at all? It doesn’t seem to me to be a place people would keep their money, you know?”

  The momentary silence in her ear gave way to a grunt. “True.”

  “So maybe, in addition to money, he’s looking for something else.”