“You were still out, dear.”
She released her hold on the doorknob and crossed the wood-planked hallway. “You don’t have to wait up for me, Diane. I’m a big girl, and I promise I’d call if there was a problem.”
“I know it’s silly of me to worry, but I do.” Diane waved Claire into her room and then kissed her on the forehead. “This is probably why I never got married and had children. I would have worried myself into an early grave.”
“Then I’m glad you didn’t have kids, too, because I need you around for a long time to come.”
Diane climbed into bed and then patted the empty spot by her feet for Claire. “Sit. Sit. Tell me about your evening. Did Jakob go with you to Esther and Eli’s? Wait. You don’t have to answer that. The way your eyes lit up just now is enough of a yes all on its own.”
“Oh, Diane, I wish you could have been there to see him . . . and her . . . and even Eli. They were all so happy. The way it’s supposed to be between family.”
“They talked directly to Jakob?”
“It was more like everyone talked in a way that included everyone else. If Eli said something funny, or Jakob said something funny, it was kind of just out there for anyone to laugh about or respond to. And when they took us into the barn to meet Carly, it was just all so natural.” She flopped onto her stomach next to her aunt and pillowed her cheek atop her hand. “It’s actually kind of hard to explain, but somehow it just worked. And it was wonderful.”
“They have common ground that connects them now because of you.”
“They’re family, Diane. They always have been.”
“Yes, but that changed when Jakob left.”
She felt her smile begin to slip away, and she forced it back into place. “Let’s not talk about that right now.”
“Why? Their common ground is you, dear. Esther loves you. Eli loves you. And Jakob loves you. Because of that, and because of you, there will be opportunities for that kind of general interaction again, provided it’s done correctly.”
She nodded her cheek against her hand at her aunt’s overall sentiment, but it was one sentence in particular that had her peering up at her aunt, wide-eyed. “Do you really think that’s true?”
“About you being a common ground for Jakob and Esther?”
“No. The part about Jakob loving me.”
“I don’t say things I think are untrue, dear.” Diane smoothed a lock of Claire’s auburn-colored hair to the side and then continued to gently stroke her head in much the same way she had when Claire was little. “Your hair is well past your shoulders now. It’s really quite lovely.”
Tilting her chin upward, she looked up at her aunt. “How do you do that?”
“Do what, dear?”
“Make me feel so . . . I don’t know . . . right.”
Diane paused her hand on the side of Claire’s face. “I make you feel right?”
“Yes. Like I’m pretty and smart and someone worth”—she stopped, inhaled sharply, and added—“loving.”
“Because you are. Anyone with even half a brain knows that.”
“Peter didn’t.”
“Anyone who puts more into their career and their possessions than their spouse has no brain at all.”
Soft yet rhythmic squeaking from the other side of Diane’s closed door brought Claire back to a seated position. “Sounds like someone else is still awake.”
Diane held her index finger upright and listened to the distinctively male-sounding footsteps that had clearly reached the top of the steps and were now making their way past her room. “If I’m right, that’s probably Hank getting back from Heavenly Brews. Hayley and Jeremy were just getting back from their latest assignment when I came upstairs at nine thirty.”
“I just came from Heavenly Brews and I didn’t see Hank.”
“Maybe he changed his mind and went somewhere else.” Diane inched her upper body lower against the headboard until just her shoulders and head were propped above her pillow. “He’s really working hard to put the information he’s learned these past ten days or so into usable lesson plans for his students this fall.”
“I have a feeling he’s a really good teacher. Very animated.”
Diane opened her mouth to answer, but yawned instead. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m sitting here, chatting away with you, when it’s past your bedtime as it is.” Claire swiveled her legs until her feet were on the floor and then stood. “I’ll make sure that whatever I do in my room is quiet.”
“You’re not going to sleep?”
Shrugging, she leaned across the side of the bed she’d just vacated and planted a kiss on her aunt’s head. “I’m still way too keyed up from the day to fall asleep anytime soon, but I will. Eventually.”
Diane pointed at her nightstand and the stack of paperback novels that teetered precariously close to its edge. “Take any one but the top one. I always find that reading in bed makes my eyes tired enough to sleep.”
“If I try to read a book as I’m falling asleep—especially a murder mystery like one of those—I won’t sleep at all because I’ll have to keep reading and reading and reading to find out who did it and why.” She stepped back from the bed and turned toward the door. “Do you want me to hit the overhead light as I’m leaving?”
“You don’t have to read a book, dear. You could flip through a magazine instead. I have several over there on my desk.”
Claire followed her aunt’s gaze to the rolltop desk situated to the left of the curtained window. Sure enough, a half dozen or so magazines were stacked neatly on top. “I don’t know, Diane, I think I’ll be okay.”
“You’ll be more okay if you actually get some sleep—something you don’t get enough of in my opinion, dear.”
She walked around the bottom of her aunt’s bed and stopped beside the desk. “Should I take this top one?”
“Take whichever one you want to, dear.”
Shrugging, she lifted the stack of magazines into her arms and rifled through them one at a time.
Cooking Secrets . . .
Innkeepers Quarterly . . .
Bed & Breakfasts Around the World . . .
The Stable Life . . .
She stopped riffling and stared down at the cover and the black horse gliding over a rocky wall with breathless ease. Turning the magazine so her aunt could see it from her pillow, she said, “Mind if I take this one? You’re always so up on the things that are important to me that it seems only right I take the time to do the same thing for you.”
“You do enough for me already, dear. But if you’d like to read that until you fall asleep, that’s fine. I just ask that I get it back when you’re done with it.”
She held on to the horse magazine and placed the rest back down on the desk. “Of course. You’ll have it back first thing in the morning.”
“There’s no rush, Claire. Keep it for a day, a week, however long it takes you to read the articles that interest you most. I just ask that you bring it back to me when you’re done as I like to keep that magazine more than any of the others I read.”
“You got it.” She tucked the magazine under her arm and made her way back to the door. “Good night, Aunt Diane. I love you.”
“I love you, too, dear. Sweet dreams!”
Flipping the light switch, Claire closed Diane’s door and headed across the dimly lit hallway to her own room. Once inside, she closed and locked her door, turned on her light, and flopped onto her bed.
She pulled the magazine out from under her arm and placed it on her stomach, scooting upward on her pillow as she did. Yet no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the horse depicted on the cover, or the trio of faces watching him from a fence line in the background, all she could think about was Jakob.
Was he still at D
aniel Lapp’s?
Had he found something that could help in the investigation?
Had the man been in Daniel’s barn like he had been at the Stutzmans’, the Gingerichs’, the Millers’, and the Hershbergers’?
And, finally, was Diane right? Did Jakob love her?
Releasing her hold on the magazine, she covered her eyes with her hands and groaned even louder. What was she doing? Couldn’t she just enjoy the moment with Jakob? Enjoy the romance that was brewing and see where it went?
After all, if his feelings were moving toward love as hers were, he’d say it, wouldn’t he?
Then again, she hadn’t said it yet . . .
She dropped her hands onto the bed and groaned. “Keep this up and you’ll never go to sleep,” she hissed at herself.
Swinging her feet back onto the ground, she set the magazine to the side and headed into the bathroom to prepare for bed. Once her teeth were brushed, her face washed, and her clothes exchanged for her favorite silky pair of summer pajamas, she returned to her pillow and the magazine.
Concentrate on the magazine . . .
Concentrate on the—
A quick vibration from the other side of the room had her scurrying back toward the bathroom and the tiny table just outside its door where she’d set her cell phone. Snatching it from its holding spot, she smiled down at the name displayed on the screen.
Jakob.
Pressing the message icon, she carried the phone back to her bed and settled against her pillow.
Hi. I probably shouldn’t be sending this at this late hour, but I kind of feel like I got cheated out of a proper good night. I’m still out at Lapp’s, but I wanted you to know I had a great time with you tonight at both Esther’s and Brews. Thank you. I’ll call you sometime tomorrow and we can talk.
“I can’t wait,” she whispered as her eyes immediately moved back to the beginning of the text and focused in on Jakob’s words once again.
Finally, reluctantly, she relinquished the phone to her nightstand and the charge it needed in order to accommodate the phone call she was already looking forward to, like a child waiting for Christmas morning to arrive.
Still, she wasn’t tired. If anything, she was even more awake than she’d been when she first entered her room. Groaning once again, she grabbed hold of her aunt’s magazine, flipped open the cover to the first page, and promptly began to revisit her evening with Jakob—cookies on Esther’s front porch, watching Carly shower Esther with genuine adoration, laughing at Jakob’s playful banter, and continuing more of that same banter at the coffee shop when it was just the two of them, alone.
It had been, in a nutshell, a perfect evening. Right up until the moment Daniel Lapp came through the front door of Heavenly Brews, anyway . . .
She yawned up at the ceiling and then let her increasingly bleary eyes drop back down to the magazine and the cheerful welcome letter from the editor of The Stable Life.
Greetings, horse lovers! As I sit here, writing this, I am experiencing a wide range of emotions. Joy, anticipation, sadness . . .
Chapter 26
Turning her face toward the light, Claire stretched her arms above her head and slowly opened her eyes. The position of the sunlight peeking around the bottom edge of her window shade told her it was a little after seven o’clock and time to start the day.
Part of her wished she could roll over, bury her head under her pillow, and get back to the best sleep she’d had in a while, but she couldn’t. Diane was counting on her to help get breakfast started for the guests, and Annie wasn’t scheduled to come into the gift shop until lunch.
Slowly, she lowered her hands to her stomach, only to startle just a little when they touched something other than her body. “What on earth . . .” The words disappeared from her mouth as her gaze shifted from the window to the open magazine sprawled across her midsection.
“Maybe Diane was right,” she mumbled. “Maybe I should read in bed more often.”
She struggled up first onto one elbow, then two elbows, then up against the headboard. Once she was situated in a comfortably reclined position, she lifted the magazine off her stomach and smiled down at the horse depicted on page three. With its sleek gray head held high, the horse peered out at its photographer with nary a care in the world.
Moving on to the next picture, she couldn’t help but register the white-haired woman who’d stolen the horse’s focus from the photographer. If it was possible for a horse to show joy, this one did.
The last picture showed the horse from the side, the woman running a brush across its body and toward its black, curly tail . . .
“Perhaps she uses a curling iron, Detective.” Chuckling to herself, Claire relinquished the magazine to the top of her nightstand and threw her feet over the edge of the bed and into her waiting slippers.
Twenty-five minutes later, showered and dressed, she stepped out of her room and let the scent of baking cinnamon guide her down to the main floor. At the bottom of the stairs, she started toward the kitchen, only to double back at the sound of hushed voices just inside the parlor door.
“Oh, good morning, Hayley. Good morning, Jeremy. You’re both up early. Busy day ahead?”
Jeremy rested his head against the back of the floral couch, shaking it as he did. “You say that like it’s an unusual occurrence.”
“For you, it is,” snapped Hayley. Then, looking up from the computer desk in the far corner of the room, Hayley found a smile for Claire. “Hey, your aunt said something about a book on Lancaster Amish. Do you happen to know which drawer she keeps it in? I thought she said the top drawer, but it’s not in there.”
“Middle drawer on the right.”
“And while we’re asking questions, do you happen to know exactly what your aunt is cooking in there that’s making this place smell like heaven?” Jeremy asked. “Because I want whatever it is . . .”
“That is the smell of Diane’s homemade cinnamon rolls again.” Glancing back at Hayley, Claire confirmed the woman had found the requested book and then hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “Well, I better get in there with her now. Everything should be on the table by eight.”
Jeremy hiked his feet onto the coffee table and lifted his chin to the morning sun streaming through the large front window. “I’ll be there.”
Pivoting on her toes, she resumed her original trek toward the kitchen, passing the staircase just as Hank appeared at the top. “Good morning, Hank. Breakfast will be ready in about fifteen minutes.”
“Sounds good, but can I ask you something first?” He jogged down the steps and thrust his open notebook into her hands. “Could you give this a quick glance-over and see if I’m missing anything?”
She looked from the notebook to Hank and back again, the names and addresses of many of her fellow shopkeepers and local business owners listed down the center of the page. “What is this?”
“It’s a list of the local Amish-owned businesses in the order in which I’ve visited them.”
Slowly, she made her way down the list, her gaze registering a few unfamiliar names amid the many she knew and tried to support. “What do the different-colored marks next to them mean?”
“The ones with the red check next to them are the ones I’ve visited so far. The ones that also have a green check next to them are the ones that really embody everything I want my students to see in terms of growing a successful business.”
About halfway down his list, she started mentally skipping ahead to names she’d yet to see.
Stoltzfus’ Equipment Repair . . .
Fisher’s Corn Maze . . .
Lapp’s Toy Shop . . .
She opened her mouth to suggest those, but reversed course as she reached the last entry on the list. “Oh. You’ve got Lapp’s on here.”
“I got that one yesterday. Did you know he actually was in t
alks to make a line of wooden toys for the Karble company?”
“I did. It was kind of big news around here for a while.” She considered filling him in on the details surrounding the offer and the rescinding of that offer, but opted, instead, to keep it light. If the subject was something he chose to research on his own, he could do that. Talking about deceit and murder so early in the morning wasn’t her cup of tea. “You know, I better head in to help Diane. I kind of got Jeremy thinking about cinnamon rolls and it’s probably best for business not to mess that up.”
Hank’s face fell, reminding her almost instantly of his initial request. “Oh, wait. I’m sorry, Hank. I got sidetracked thinking about the Karble deal and forgot what you asked me to do.” She ran her index finger down the list, then tapped it on the empty space two lines below Lapp’s. “I know it’s not operating at the moment, but you still might want to talk to Mose Fisher if you get a chance.”
“Oh?”
“Mose runs a seasonal business, and it pulls people from all over the county.” She handed him back his notebook and waited as he added Jakob’s father’s name to the list. When he looked up, she continued. “He runs a corn maze during the last three weeks of October. His trails are quite intricate, with easy ones for kids and families, regular ones for most everyone else, and an expert course for people like me who love the challenge.”
“Okay, yeah, that sounds mighty interesting.” Hank tucked the notebook under his arm and leaned against the stair rail. “Does he make much money doing that? Do you know?”
“Considering the line of parked cars that goes on for nearly half a mile most Friday and Saturday nights throughout the fall, absolutely. He charges five dollars a head on weekdays and eight dollars a head on Friday and Saturday nights.”
“How do people do the maze at night in Amish country? There aren’t any lights.”
She felt her smile before it even claimed her mouth. “Which is what makes it even more fun for a weirdo like me.”
“You mean you do it in the dark?” Hank asked.
A Churn for the Worse Page 18
