“Yes . . . yes . . . okay, I’ve got it now.” Claire extended her hand to the woman. “I’m sorry. It took me a moment. You drive some of the Amish to the stores and stuff when it’s too far for them to go by buggy or scooter.”
“An Amish taxi driver, as we’re known among the English.” Nancy took Claire’s hand and shook it warmly before her gaze led Claire’s back to the bulletin board. “I noticed you reading about the Spring Bake-off. Are you a Marty Linton fan, too?”
“Marty Lin—no. I mean, I don’t really know that much about him, to be honest, so I can’t really say one way or the other. But I’ve heard of him. I think my aunt has tried a few of his recipes out on me.”
“Pretty incredible, aren’t they?”
“I don’t really remember, I’m afraid. But that’s because I’m a little biased toward my aunt’s tried-and-true recipes, myself. So, too, are all the returning guests we get at the inn.”
Nancy drew back. “Do you mean Sleep Heavenly?”
Nodding, Claire reached into her purse for a pen and paper. “My aunt is Diane Weatherly.”
“Ohhhh, Diane, yes. Of course. Our paths have crossed on occasion over the years, most often out at Weaver farm when I’m dropping the Amish off to test-drive a new buggy horse.”
“I’m not surprised. Diane is a horse lover. She goes out to Weaver farm a few times a week just to meet any newcomers that might have arrived since her last visit, and to check in on the regulars. It’s her way to unwind.” Claire set the pad on her thigh, leaned back to get another view of the bake-off details, and then transcribed them onto her paper, pausing every few lines to look back at Nancy lest she appear rude. “My way to unwind is sitting on the front porch of the inn trying whatever dessert my aunt has made on any given day.”
“She’s that good?” Nancy asked.
“She’s that good.”
Nancy’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses as she pointed at Claire’s notepad. “Is that why you’re taking notes about the bake-off? Because you think she’ll enter?”
Was it possible? Would Aunt Diane actually . . .
Shaking the momentary question from her thoughts, Claire continued writing, noting the recipe guidelines, the submission requirements, and finally the Valentine’s Day deadline. “No, Aunt Diane wouldn’t enter something like this. I’ve tried to get her to enter the pie category at the county fair each of the last few summers and she always refuses. Says she bakes to feed people, not win ribbons.”
“You thinking about entering yourself?” Nancy prodded.
She couldn’t help laughing. “Uh . . . no . . . I mean, I can bake, sure. I even like to do it on occasion just to clear my head after a particularly busy week. But no, I’m more of a basic baker. Chocolate chip cookies, and brownies from a box, are my go-to recipes these days.”
Nancy shifted her ample weight across her legs. “Recipes for this contest have to be completely original. As in not taken from a cookbook.”
“I saw that.” She made a second and third underline beneath the word original in her notes and then returned the pad and pen to her purse. “I’m quite certain that won’t be a problem for my friend. She has a gift for putting fairly simple things together and turning them into something amazing. I’ve seen her do it in the store with displays time and time again. But what she can do in a kitchen with flavors and textures? It’s—well, I can’t even begin to do it justice.”
“There you are!” A male, Claire guessed to be twenty-five, maybe twenty-six, skidded to a stop not far from Nancy. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”
“Nope, not lost. Just talking to this nice young lady here.” Stepping to the side, Nancy drew the young man into the conversation with a single swoop of her arm. “Claire, this is my son, Tommy. Tommy, this is Claire Weatherly. She owns that gift shop right down the road here—you know, the one next to Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe.”
A momentary hesitation gave way to a single bob of the man’s head before he hiked his thumb in the direction of the coffee shop’s front door and pinned his mother with a not so subtle we’ve gotta go. “Abe called. Viewing starts tomorrow at eight, which means we start at seven.”
“Where is it being held?”
“Greta’s.”
“Greta’s?” Nancy echoed, pulling a face. “Why?”
“They’re not gonna let Abe run things, you know that.”
Turning back to Claire, Nancy’s smile dimmed. “While I normally drive the Amish for happy reasons, every once in a while it’s for something sad, like a funeral. Most of the time I don’t know the person they’re bidding farewell to. This time, though, I knew them both.”
“You’re talking about Daniel and Mary Esch, aren’t you?” Claire asked.
Nancy’s bushy dark eyebrows rose with surprise, only to settle back into place with a slow, even nod. “You knew them, too, I take it?”
“Only by sight, really. Though I did speak with each of them a little at Ruth and Samuel’s wedding last month.” Claire set her hand atop Nancy’s arm. “They seemed like really nice people—very open and welcoming.”
“Daniel Esch? Welcoming?”
Startled, Claire followed Nancy’s angry eyes back to the woman’s son. “Tommy! This is not the time nor the place.”
“I think it’s the perfect time, actually. But . . . whatever.” Again, Tommy hooked his thumb toward the door. “We’ve still gotta go. Preferably now.”
Nancy started to speak, shook her head, and then, falling into step behind her son, glanced back. “It was nice speaking with you, Claire.”
“You, too, Nancy.”
She watched as they exited the coffee shop and headed down the front steps, her view of their similarly colored parkas quickly overtaken by that of Jakob bounding up the stairs, two at a time.
“I’m back, I’m back.” With two long strides, he was at their table, his cheeks ruddy from the cold. “Sorry that took so long, but it couldn’t be helped.”
“Do you need to go back to the station?”
“The station? No. Why?”
She pointed at the phone still clutched inside his gloved hand. “I figured that’s what that call was about?”
“Not this time.” Tucking the phone back inside his pocket, he reclaimed his chair. “So where were we? What were we talking about?”
“You needing sleep, and the case.”
“Right . . . right.” He pulled off his gloves and rested his bare hands on the table. “I’m sorry if my showing up put a stomp on your visit from Esther this morning.”
“You’re never a stomp on anything. Besides, it led you to Ruth, right?”
“It did, indeed. Though I imagine she and Samuel would’ve preferred it hadn’t . . . Oops, I’m sorry, one more second.” Again, he reached into his pocket, and again, he pulled out his phone. This time, though, he held the phone below the table line while he checked the illuminated screen.
She watched him for a few seconds and then forced a smile into her voice and prayed it sounded more believable to his ears than it did her own. “If you need to take it, I understand. You know that.”
“I know, and I appreciate it, but I’ll just let it go to voice mail this time.” He silenced the continued vibration and shoved it back into his pocket. “Right about now you’re probably wishing you hadn’t agreed to this meet-up, huh?”
Reaching across the table, he interlaced her fingers with his own. “The ME put a rush on the autopsies so we could get Mary’s and Daniel’s bodies back to the family. Viewing will start tomorrow.”
“I just heard that. So I take it this means you know how they were killed now?”
“I knew last night. The second Henry said he had to move a pillow to see Mary’s face.”
She felt her mouth gape at his words. “Oh my gosh. I . . . I remember Annie saying something about a pillo
w now, but . . . So you think they were suffocated to death?”
“I know they were. And the medical examiner confirmed it.”
She waited for him to elaborate more and was surprised when he didn’t. “Jakob? Is everything okay? You’re acting a little . . . different. Distracted, even.”
Releasing her hands, he sat back in his chair. “Well, considering I just had a double murder dropped in my lap roughly twenty-four hours ago, I would imagine that makes some sense, no?”
“Yes . . . of course . . . I didn’t mean that. I mean, I get you have a lot on your plate right now. It’s just that lately, even before . . .” Feeling suddenly foolish, she pulled her abandoned hands onto her lap. “I’m sorry, Jakob. I didn’t mean to sound so insensitive. If there’s anything I can do to help, just say the word, okay?”
“I might need you to help run interference for me with Eli after he gets wind of how things went today.”
“Today? Why? Esther wasn’t upset by anything you said.”
“Ruth was.”
“Ruth?”
“I stopped by Bishop Hershberger’s place after I spoke with you and Esther and asked him to have Ruth and Samuel come in to speak with me. Samuel was working, but Ruth came in.”
“Annie noticed Samuel’s buggy outside the station this afternoon. How’d that go?”
Jakob made note of the half dozen or so patrons scattered at tables around the coffeehouse and then leaned in close. “Let’s just say the questions got a little intense.”
“Intense? From Ruth? I . . . I can’t really picture that, but if she got a little upset, I’m sure she didn’t mean it. You know Ruth, she’s about as easygoing as it gets.” She reached for his hand again, but when he didn’t take hers, she wrapped it around her lukewarm cup instead. “I’m sure she’s just grasping for an explanation as to how two people she’d just spent time visiting could be dead later that same day.”
He stared, unseeing, into his own cup, his voice becoming almost wooden. “By the time I cut her loose for the evening, Ruth was pretty much in tears. Which, as I’m sure you can imagine, means Eli is going to be gunning for me once he gets wind of it all.”
Sighing, he shoved the cup into the center of the table and palmed his face. “So, one step forward, ten steps back, where my family is concerned . . .”
“One step forward, ten steps back? I don’t understand.” She tugged his hand off his face and back onto the table with her own. “Hey . . . asking Ruth questions regarding her and Samuel’s time at the Esch farm makes sense. It’s your job.”
“I know that and you know that. And yeah, I want to believe Eli and Esther will understand that, too. But you and I both know that’s not going to be the case. I kissed that kind of understanding good-bye the moment I decided to leave the church to pursue police work in the first place.”
“Wait. Slow down.” She squeezed his hand until his troubled gaze was on her once again. “Daniel and Mary Esch were Amish. Daniel was a respected elder in the church. Surely Eli and Esther and everyone else will want the person responsible for their deaths to be apprehended, yes?”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you . . .”
“No, I know so. And so do you. They know you need to ask questions to get to the truth. You’ve done it before, and sadly, you’re having to do it again.”
“Yeah, but this is Ruth. She’s Eli’s twin . . . She’s Ben’s little sister . . . She’s Esther’s sister-in-law . . . She’s—”
“Hey . . . hey . . .” She scooted her chair closer to his. “They’ll get that you had to ask her a few mundane questions. And if they’re upset about the timing in relation to Daniel’s and Mary’s deaths, I’ll explain how important that is in a case like this. They’ll get it, I promise.”
“They weren’t mundane questions, Claire.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make it sound as if I’m trivializing—”
This time, when he took his hand back, he used it to push away from the table. “Ruth is a suspect, Claire.”
She heard herself gasp, even felt the curious glances it drew from neighboring tables, but in that moment all she could do was stare at the man now gathering their napkins into a ball.
“They both are,” Jakob added, shoving the balled-up napkins into what was left of his drink.
“You—you can’t be serious.”
He stared at her across the mounded napkins. “What kind of questions did you think I was asking Ruth?”
“Stuff that would give you a starting place like you said this morning,” Claire argued. “Something she or Samuel might have seen or heard outside the window when they were visiting . . . or something Mary or Daniel might have said to them that could have indicated they were worried about something. You know, stuff that could help lead you to someone with real means and motive.”
“Someone with real means and motive?” he repeated.
“Yes!”
Setting the cup and its mound of napkins on the table, Jakob slowly lowered himself back onto the edge of his seat. “You mean like being the last known people to see the victims alive? Like Daniel’s cabinetry business securing the bid for that new senior housing development project going up in Breeze Point—the one that Samuel Yoder was positive he was going to get right up until Esch Cabinetry did?”
“Someone had to have been the last ones to see them,” she argued.
“You’re right. The killer, or killers.”
Her mouth grew dry as his words hit her. “But we’re talking about Ruth and Samuel Yoder here, Jakob . . . not killers.”
“You don’t think I’m aware of that?” He stopped, pulled in a breath, and then slowly released it along with a growing anger he didn’t even try to hold back. “Two people are dead, Claire. Murdered. It is my job, as an officer of the law, to conduct this investigation the same way I would any other. That means the last known people to see the victims alive are top on my suspect list until I can replace them with someone else. And while they’re on that list, I have to explore all possible motives they may have had to commit that crime.”
“But—”
“Claire, please.” He turned his chair toward her so fast, his knees slammed into hers. “I need you to understand this. I can’t, in good conscience, turn a blind eye to the facts just because they happen to cast Samuel and Ruth Yoder in a bad light. I just can’t.”
Oh, how she would love to give him what he wanted, to tell him she understood. But every time she tried to speak, to offer him the assurance he clearly needed, she just couldn’t get the words out.
“Please, Claire, I need you to stand by me on this, to support me as I do my job,” he whispered. “Can you do that for me?”
She dropped her gaze to her cup as his question, his plea, looped its way through her thoughts.
Could she do that? Could she stand by him even knowing he was making a horrible mistake? Could—
“C’mon, let’s go.” With one quick swipe, he picked up both their cups and stood, his expression a mask of hurt and anger. “I’ll drop you off at the inn.”
Chapter 6
Tucking her chin inside the collar of her winter jacket, Claire waited until his taillights disappeared back onto Lighted Way before she finally let herself breathe and process. Jakob was angry. At her.
She knew this. She even understood it. But even so, she’d hoped the time in the car from Heavenly Brews to the inn would be the calming force they needed. Instead, neither had spoken. And now, with her silent count to ten rounding the corner to twenty-five, any lingering hope she had for a sudden U-turn on Jakob’s part was over.
“Nice going, Claire,” she whispered as she took one last glance toward the now darkened road and then stepped inside Sleep Heavenly’s front hallway.
“Claire, dear? Is that you?”
Squaring her shoulders with a fortifying
breath, Claire closed and locked the door. “Yup, it’s me.”
“Splendid! We’re here, in the parlor.”
She recognized the explanation as the invitation that it was, but really, the last thing she wanted to do was put herself in a position of having to make small talk with the inn’s latest round of guests. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy meeting new people; she just didn’t have the heart to partake in the necessary back and forth at that moment. No, what she really wanted was to go up to her room and be alone. Maybe if she did, she could come up with a way to fix this thing with Jakob before it did irreparable harm to their relationship.
“Claire?”
Forcing her thoughts away from the daunting stalemate that had stymied their evening together, she wriggled out of her coat, hung it inside the hall closet, and headed for the steps. “I’m a little tired tonight, Aunt Diane. If it’s okay, I thought I’d just head upstairs and be back down here in time to help with breakfast in—”
“You’re not really going to make me wait until morning to say hello, are you?”
Freezing mid-step, Claire turned toward the parlor entrance and the distinguished yet quietly playful face beaming back at her. “Bill?”
“In the flesh.” Saying nothing else, the sixty-something met her in the middle of the hallway with exactly the hug Claire needed at that moment.
She buried her head in his warm, sturdy shoulder and breathed in the faintest hint of cologne that clung to his cable-knit sweater and salt-and-pepper hair. “I didn’t know you were coming today! I thought it was Saturday.”
“It was. But the second I finished wrapping your aunt’s presents, I knew I couldn’t wait five more days. So I hopped in the car and crossed my fingers all the way here that there’d be a room for me when I arrived.”
“I’m so glad you did!” Stepping back, she peeked around the travel agent’s broad shoulder to her aunt’s room-lighting smile. “You didn’t know, either, Aunt Diane?”
“I was just getting ready to sit down with a bowl of stew and the latest copy of A Stable Life when I heard a knock at the back door.” Diane motioned them both into the parlor. “There were no guests on the schedule for the night, so I figured it was some sort of late delivery.”
A Killer Carol Page 5
