“My daughter is going to be so tickled when she sees those place mats. That shade of maroon is exactly the right color for her kitchen.” The rounded woman who’d introduced herself as Margaret within moments of entering Heavenly Treasures held two twenty-dollar bills in Claire’s direction, her pleasure over her purchases evident in everything from the tone of her voice to the giant grin that seemed to involve her entire face. “And that candle? I love its lavender scent. Especially as I’m drifting off to sleep.”
Claire placed the money into the register and then counted out the woman’s change. “There has actually been some research done that shows a correlation between lavender oil and slow-wave sleep.”
“Slow-wave sleep?”
“That’s your really deep sleep. When your body is at its most relaxed.” She transferred the change from her own hand to the customer’s and then closed the register drawer. “Anyway, thanks for stopping by. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in Heavenly.”
“I’ve loved every minute here.” Margaret wrapped her wide fingers around the handles of the paper shopping bag and peeked inside. “I know the ladies in my tour group are going to think I’m crazy buying a doll when I don’t have any grandbabies yet, but I couldn’t resist. Even without faces, they’re still the cutest things ever.”
“I’ll be sure to let my friend Esther know that. She’ll be pleased.”
Margaret’s left eyebrow rose. “Did she make them?”
“She did.”
“Is she Amish?”
Claire nodded. “She is.”
“And you two can be friends?” Margaret asked.
“Of course.” Claire came around the counter and walked with the woman to the door. “In fact, many of my friends are Amish, and—”
The shop’s front door swung open, tripping its string of bells and alerting Claire to a customer. Only this time, instead of the sound ushering in a new face, she found herself smiling at one that was not only familiar, but a welcome sight as well.
“Oh, Martha, isn’t this a wonderful surprise.” Claire reached for the loaded milk crate in the woman’s hands and set it on the floor at her feet. “Margaret, this is my friend Martha King. Martha and her daughters, Esther and Hannah, make many of the things you see here in my shop, like the doll and the place mats you just bought for your daughter.”
Her eyes widening, Margaret thrust her hand out and then in and then out again. “I’m sorry . . . um, do Amish people shake hands?”
Martha took the woman’s hand in hers and shook it quickly. “We do.”
“Wow. A real live Amish person. I mean, I’ve seen some of you from the windows of the tour bus, but . . . I didn’t think I’d actually get to talk to one.” Margaret returned her hand to the handle of her shopping bag and headed toward the door. “I can’t wait to tell my friends. They just had to stop and get a cup of coffee before getting back on the bus . . .”
And then she was gone, her wide frame heading down the sidewalk toward Heavenly Brews, her shopping bag clutched firmly in her hand. When she was out of view, Claire turned her focus back on the forty-something woman clad in a muted blue aproned dress. “She sure was excited to meet you.”
“I do not know why.” Martha retrieved the milk crate from the floor and carried it over to the counter, her simple black lace-up boots making nary a sound against the part-tiled, part-carpeted floor. “I have brought some things for the store if you would like to display them.”
“I’m sure I will.” Claire joined Martha at the counter and watched as each new handcrafted item was plucked from the crate. “Your items are always huge—oh, Martha, that is precious . . .” She stared down at the hand-painted birdhouse in awe. “The windows . . . the flowering vines creeping around them . . . oh, Martha . . .”
“You would like to display it, then?”
Reluctantly, she pulled her gaze from the birdhouse and fixed it on Esther’s mother. “How could I not? This is going to fly off the shelf. No pun intended.”
“Then I will make more.” Martha emptied the crate and then gestured toward the half dozen items in front of them. “Whatever you think is fair, of course.”
Claire wound her way around the counter, pulled out her consignment ledger, and jotted down each new item in the section assigned to Martha. She was halfway through the list when the string of bells over the door jingled once again.
“Good afternoon. Welcome to Heavenly Treasures. I’ll be right with—”
A quiet gasp at her elbow brought her attention off the ledger and onto the familiar face beaming back at her from the doorway. “Jakob! Hi . . .”
“Hi, yourself.” He strode toward the counter only to stop mid-step as his gaze fell on his sister. “Martha, hello, I didn’t see you standing there.”
Claire hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until Martha’s whispered reply was followed by her own loud exhale.
“Hello, Jakob.”
“How are you? How are the children?”
Martha removed the empty crate from the counter and held it in front of her torso like a shield. The fact that it was a shield between herself and her brother wasn’t lost on Claire—or Jakob, if the momentary skitter of pain in his eyes was any indication.
The woman’s reaction and its underlying reason was, without a doubt, the single biggest thing Claire didn’t like about the Amish. How someone could be excommunicated for following a noble calling like police work was simply unfathomable to her.
“I am well. The children are well.”
She supposed she should be grateful the woman was speaking to her brother at all, but it was hard to find solace in a reply that was so wooden.
“I need you to be careful when your husband is in the fields during the day. Do not let any strangers into your home. Make sure the children know the same thing.”
Martha’s grip on the milk crate softened. “I do not understand.”
He came around the paneled upright and made his way over to the counter, his focus never leaving his sister’s face. “You are aware of what happened to Wayne Stutzman, yes?”
Martha’s nod was quick but sure.
“We have reason to believe he was murdered.”
“I hope you are not right.”
He stepped still closer, but stopped in his tracks the moment his sister stiffened. “We also have reason to believe the man responsible for Wayne’s death is still in the area, possibly finding his way into people’s homes and stealing their money.”
“My husband said money is missing from the Gingerich farm.”
“That is correct. Someone was also in Benjamin’s home while he was at Esther and Eli’s on Sunday.”
“I was at Esther’s on Sunday as well. She did not tell me money is missing from Benjamin’s home.”
“Because it isn’t. Benjamin, knowing what’s been going on around here, hid his money.”
“How do you know someone was in his home if he was not there?”
“They went through his papers and left a mess.” Jakob leaned against the counter, raking a hand through his hair as he did. “When people are home, this suspect is asking for directions and a drink of water. It is then that he—”
Martha’s quick, yet audible intake of air brought Jakob’s feet square with the floor and Claire around the counter.
“Martha? Is something wrong?”
“There was a man. He was just stepping onto the porch when I came from the barn. He asked if I knew where he could buy some fresh vegetables.”
Something resembling restrained rage rolled across Jakob’s face. “When?”
“Yesterday.”
“He didn’t touch you, did he?” Jakob barked.
“No.”
“Did you let him in the house?”
“No. I pointed the way to the Lehmans’ farm stand.”
/>
“And he left?”
Martha shook her head. “He asked for a glass of cold water. Hannah went inside and brought out a glass.”
The relief that coursed through Claire’s body at Martha’s answer didn’t cross over to Jakob. Instead, he widened his stance and fired off another question. “Then what?”
“He took many sips and asked many questions.”
“About . . .”
Martha lowered the crate to her side and glanced down at the toes of her boots sticking out from beneath her dress. “He asked about the crops. He asked what we grew and when it would be harvested.”
Jakob relaxed his pose somewhat but kept the questions flowing. “Did he say why he wanted to know?”
“He still does not know.”
Claire glanced at Jakob and recognized the confusion he wore. “Doesn’t know what, Martha?”
“What we grow and when it will be harvested.”
“You didn’t answer him?” Jakob asked.
“I answered. He did not listen.” Martha reached her free hand onto the counter and straightened the stack of place mats she’d made. “He would point to the fields and ask his questions, but he would look at the barn.”
“The barn?” Claire and Jakob said in unison.
“Yah. I wanted to invite him to see the horses, but he left before I could.”
Jakob rested his hand atop his sister’s and guided her focus back to his. “Why did he leave?”
“I am afraid he found me to be rude.”
“Rude?” Claire echoed.
“Yah. I heard a funny noise and did not answer his question.”
Jakob pulled his hand back to his side and leaned forward. “What kind of a noise?”
“I thought it was David with the dog. He claps when she does a new trick. But it was not David. He was not in the barn. He was in the field with his dat.” Martha pulled the crate back against her chest and readied herself to leave. “I will bring more items by week’s end, Claire.”
“Wait!” Jakob grabbed hold of his sister’s upper arm, then pulled it away as she stepped back. “I’m sorry. I just need to know what happened after you thought you heard David.”
“I turned to ask the man if he would like to see the horses, but he was walking down the driveway toward the road.”
“He didn’t have a car?” Jakob asked.
“No.”
“Do you have any idea where he was going?”
“To buy vegetables.”
It was hard not to crack a smile at the innocence of the Amish, who believed people did as they said. Yet, as quickly as the urge to smile came over Claire, it was gone, pushed to the side by reality.
Was it possible the man who’d been at Martha’s farm had truly been looking for fresh vegetables? Maybe. But the likelihood of that being the case was slim. Very, very slim.
“Do you remember what he looked like?” Jakob asked as he secured a piece of paper and pen from beside Claire’s register.
“Yah.”
“What color hair did he have?”
“Brown.”
“Eyes?”
“Brown.”
“Any facial hair?”
“No.”
“Any marks on his skin that you remember? Birth marks, moles, scars, tattoos, anything?”
“No.”
Claire could sense Jakob’s frustration building and wished she could wipe it away. She hated seeing him stressed, hated knowing he was worried. The fact that his sister had been in such close proximity to a possible murder suspect only made things worse.
“How about his height?” Claire asked. “Or his build? Was he tall, short, medium? Skinny, heavy?”
Martha scrunched her nose in thought, releasing it along with the simplest of descriptions. “He was not tall like you”—she pointed at first to Jakob, and then Claire—“but he was bigger than you. He was not heavy, he was not thin.”
Once again, they were left with a vision that could be half the Englishers in Heavenly, Pennsylvania, at that moment.
Jakob glanced down at Martha’s description in his notebook and then laid it down on the counter, the smile he flashed at his sister showing signs of fatigue. “Thank you, Martha. For letting me know about this and for answering my questions.”
Martha nodded once at Jakob, a second time at Claire, and then headed toward the door. When she reached it, she turned back to her brother. “We will be careful.”
And then she was gone, the bells jingling softly in her wake.
“He was at my sister’s house, Claire.” Jakob’s fist came down on the top of the counter with a thud. “My sister’s house.”
Closing the gap between them, she snaked her arm around his back and rested her cheek against his side. “You’ll figure this out, Jakob. Soon.”
Chapter 22
Claire climbed onto the step stool, moved Martha’s birdhouse an inch to the right, and then climbed back down to gauge the change.
“Mamm was not sure if you would want a birdhouse in the shop, but I knew you would.”
Whirling around, Claire fluttered her hand to her chest in surprise. “Esther! I . . . I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I’m sorry. I should have come in the front door like the customers.” All color drained from the twenty-year-old’s face as she stepped backward and hooked her thumb over her left shoulder. “I can do that now if you would like.”
“Don’t you dare.” Claire crossed to her friend, took a moment to study her from head to toe, and then pulled her in for a quick hug. “This is exactly what I needed today.”
“This?”
“A visit from you, silly.”
“Is everything okay?” Esther surveyed the shop’s main room and then narrowed her eyes on Claire.
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
Esther reached across the gap between them and gently touched Claire’s forehead. “You were scrunching when I came in. You only scrunch when you are worried.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but, in the end, she merely shrugged.
“Have there been customers today?” Esther asked.
“Yes. Quite a few, actually. Two of them bought your dolls.”
If the continued popularity of her soft Amish dolls pleased her, Esther didn’t let it show. Instead, the young woman simply narrowed her eyes more. “Are you not feeling well?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Is it your aunt?”
“No. Diane is fine.”
Esther glanced back over her shoulder and then forward toward the shop’s front window and Lighted Way. “Is my uncle okay?”
Realizing the questions would not stop without an explanation, Claire led the way to the counter and the pair of stools just beyond it. “Jakob is fine, Esther, I promise. In fact, if you’d been here with your mother about thirty minutes ago, you’d have been able to see that with your own two eyes.”
Esther stopped mid-sit and stared back at Claire. “Did they speak?”
“A little.” Granted, it wasn’t the kind of warm and fuzzy conversation she’d like to see between the siblings, but considering the constraints put on them by the Ordnung and its unwritten rules governing the Amish, it was something. And something was better than nothing.
“I am glad.”
Claire started to fill her friend in on the details of the conversation between Jakob and Esther’s mother, but she changed her mind at the last minute. Esther was a sensitive soul, seven months pregnant or not. Her condition just amped up that fact. The last thing the young woman needed was to get worked up over something that had happened twenty-four hours earlier . . .
“Claire?”
Shaking her head, she mustered the closest thing to a smile she could. “Yes?”
“Your head is scrunching
again.”
She cast about for something to say to distract the mother-to-be from the scent of worry and, instead, flicked her hand toward the display of dolls on the other side of the store. “I’m getting low on the girl dolls. Is there any chance you might have some more by the end of the week?”
“Yah.”
“Phew . . . That’s a huge relief.” She peeked back at Esther to see if her friend was buying her diversionary tactics. The look on Esther’s face said no.
Hightailing it around the counter, Claire made a show of rummaging around on the same shelf where Esther had once housed her lunch pail during the workday. “You know something? My stomach has been acting up all day and now I finally know why . . . I haven’t eaten since I got here at noon.”
“Then you should be looking in your office. That is where you keep your lunch.”
She snapped her fingers in the air. “Oh. That’s right. Give me a second and I’ll go grab that right now. Unless . . .” Claire took in the clock on the back wall and groaned. “Actually, I’ll be closing in about thirty minutes and heading back to the inn, so maybe I should just wait. I’ve handled the unsettled stomach this long, I might as well just keep going, right? But don’t worry, I’ll try to make sure I don’t do any scrunching if any customers come in between now and then.”
“I do not think you are scrunching because—”
Claire placed a gentle hand on Esther’s perfectly rounded stomach and grinned at the instant kick she received in response. “So how is our little kicker today?”
Immediately, Esther’s gaze dropped to her stomach. “The baby is busy today. Mamm says that is good.”
“Are you still feeling good?” Claire asked, pulling her hand back to her side.
“Yah. Eli insisted I sit down shortly after the noon meal and I fell asleep sitting in the chair! I have never done that before.”
“Then you must have needed it, Esther. You and the baby.”
“That is what Eli said when I woke up and went out to the barn to apologize.”
A Churn for the Worse Page 15
