Chapter 11
She knew the second she bypassed her bed in favor of the window seat that Aunt Diane’s knock would come. It was as much a given as the answering gladness she felt clear down to her toes.
Pulling her forehead from its resting place against the cold glass, Claire turned toward the slowly opening door and the face that had a way of inducing hope even when all else seemed bleak. “I’m sorry if I woke you when I came in; I tried to be quiet.”
“You didn’t wake me, dear. I was on the last chapter of a really good book when I heard you coming up the stairs.” Diane closed the door with a quiet touch and crossed the room to Claire. “We really need to get a new bed frame in here. One that’s less squeaky.”
“I haven’t even gotten in bed yet.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
It was a dance they danced often, the two of them, and it was one Claire treasured for the deep bond it represented. “I know,” she whispered, swinging her gaze back to the night sky. “Do you remember how Grandma always used to say that thing about when it rains, it pours? It’s really true, isn’t it?”
“It can be. But it just makes the sun all the more beautiful when it comes back out.”
“Well, it needs to hurry up before the rain makes a complete mess of things.”
Diane crossed to Claire’s dresser, retrieved her brush from the top drawer, and carried it back to the window seat for the ritual Claire had loved since she was a little girl. Sure enough, as she traded her view of the stars for her aunt’s reflection against the glass, she saw the brush moving toward her head mere seconds before she felt its soothing touch. “I’m listening, dear.”
“It’s just that it’s almost Christmas and things are supposed to be calm and peaceful and good. But it’s not any of that right now—not even close.”
With careful, loving strokes, Diane started at the top of Claire’s head, her warm brown eyes seeking and holding Claire’s reflected gaze with each pass of the brush. “Is this about what you shared with Bill and me last night? About Jakob looking at Ruth as a suspect in Mary’s and Daniel’s murders? I thought, based on your lightness at breakfast this morning, you two must have worked through it on the phone.”
“We did. Sort of. I told him I understood he was just doing his job and that seemed to help clear the air a little. But there’s something else going on, something I don’t think has anything to do with Ruth or this case.”
“Maybe it’s the time of year? It can be hard for some people, especially if they’ve lost loved ones. Remember, it was only a few months ago that Jakob lost Russ. That man became like a father to him when his childhood family shunned him.”
Was that it? Was that the reason for Jakob’s odd behavior? It made sense right up until . . .
She shook her head. “He’s been getting phone calls. Three in the past twenty-four hours that he doesn’t want me to see, doesn’t want me to hear him taking. And when I ask about them, he changes the subject.”
“If they’ve all come in the past twenty-four hours, maybe they’re just about the case.”
“He’s gotten all sorts of calls from the station in my presence since we’ve been dating—calls about robberies, and calls from the chief about this, that, or the other. I was even with him when he got the call about Russ. He’s never been one to worry about me overhearing work calls.” She looked past her aunt to a blinking orange light in the distance—the nighttime light a mandated safety addition for all buggies in the state of Pennsylvania. “That’s why I don’t think they were calls from the station.”
Diane finished brushing the final section of Claire’s hair and then lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. “You’re not worried they’re from another woman, are you?”
Oh, how she wanted to say no. To be able to laugh off the question as the preposterous notion she wanted it to be. But something inside her kept her from doing either.
“Claire?”
“I don’t want to be,” she whispered past the rising lump inside her throat. “But I don’t know what else to think. He’s being so . . . strange.”
At Diane’s answering silence, she squeezed her eyes closed and did her best to breathe through the tears she didn’t want to feel, let alone shed. Seconds turned to minutes before, at the feel of Diane’s hand on her cheek, she looked up and into the face she cherished for the grounding force it had been all her life.
“Claire, I’ve seen the way Jakob looks at you. I’ve heard the way he speaks about you. I can’t believe he’d risk that. He, of all people, knows how rare you are and how foolish it would be to lose that.”
“I want to believe that, Aunt Diane. I really do. And there’s times, like in the car on the way home from Mary and Daniel’s wake, when things feel normal. But then his phone rings, he turns it so I can’t see the screen, and then he gets cagey.”
Reaching forward, Diane gathered Claire’s hair in her hands in a pseudo-ponytail and then let it fall back down into place. “I’d be happy to talk to him if you’d like? See if he’ll open up to me?”
She was shaking her head before her aunt had even stopped speaking. “I don’t think he’s going to feel real comfortable telling you he’s found someone else . . .”
“He couldn’t have. There is no one else for that young man.” Diane squared her shoulders, scooped the brush off the bed, and carried it back to the dresser, her steps one of purpose and determination. “That said, perhaps he needs a man to talk to. What with Russ gone, he really doesn’t have another father figure to confide in. Maybe Bill would be the better choice. Those two are quite comfortable with one another, don’t you think?”
“They are, but I don’t think it’s fair to put that on Bill. He’s dating you, Aunt Diane, not you and me.”
“If he’s dating me, he gets you, too,” Diane said. “And he adores you, dear. Says, routinely, that you feel like the daughter he never had.”
The lump was back. “That’s sweet.”
“He means it. And he thinks very highly of Jakob, as well. I don’t see any harm that can come from them talking.”
“I suppose. But only if Bill sees Jakob, and only if he can do it in a roundabout way. I don’t want Jakob to feel as if he’s being put on the spot.” Claire followed the blinking orange light for another minute or two and then turned so her back was flush to the window. “Then, on top of all that, there’s this stuff with Ruth. I saw her tonight, and she’s just so distraught at the notion anyone could think she’d do something so heinous.”
“No one does.”
“In Ruth’s eyes, Jakob does,” she said, grabbing the window seat’s lone throw pillow and holding it to her chest. “And that’s one person too many for Ruth.”
“Just keep reassuring her until she’s gotten the all-clear.”
Claire rested her chin on the top edge of the pillow and gave in to a yawn. “I want to do more than just reassure her. I want to get the all-clear for her.”
Diane made her way back to the bed and the corner closest to Claire’s spot on the window seat. “Meaning?”
“I want to pick her brain about what happened on Sunday. You know, while she and Samuel were visiting Mary and Daniel.”
“Isn’t that what Jakob is doing? As the detective on the case?”
She felt her aunt’s probing eyes but kept her own gaze fixed just above the woman’s head. “He is. I just thought maybe I could help move things along a little faster seeing as how Ruth and I are friends.”
“Or make Jakob doubt your faith in him,” Diane mused.
Pushing the pillow off her lap and onto the seat beside her, Claire rose to her feet. “I have faith in Jakob,” she protested. “I just know he’s busy and—”
“Your festival is next week, isn’t it, dear?”
She dropped her gaze to her aunt’s. “It is . . .”
“Then y
ou’re no less busy.”
It was the same argument she’d had with herself the previous night as she’d waited for sleep to descend. She was busy. Very much so. But—
“The longer Ruth and Samuel remain on his list, the more damage is going to be done to his relationship with Eli and Esther.” Claire splayed her hands. “I mean, I know it will never be normal the way it should be with family, but at least he had something with them and they regarded him with genuine, albeit restrained, affection. And his relationship with Ben? That’s come such a long way since what it was when Jakob first moved back here. You know that.
“I don’t want those things to go backward. And maybe, if I can move this whole Ruth and Samuel issue along faster, any damage will still be recoverable.”
Diane gathered Claire’s hands in her own and squeezed. “You take too much on your shoulders, dear. Far too much.”
“Said the pot to the kettle,” she joked. “Seriously, if I tend to get wrapped up in a lot of things at one time, it’s only because I’ve watched you do it for years.”
“You’ve seen less of that from me these past few months.” Diane released her hold on Claire and reclaimed her seat on the edge of the bed. “I’ve turned down several committees at church and with our business owners’ group. And I’ve extended my annual no-reservations policy for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to include the day/night on either side this year, as well.”
Claire, too, sat again, her back to the darkness outside. “I thought you turned down the January-Thaw Committee because you didn’t want Harold and Al chairing the Sweet-Valentine Committee in February. Is that not the case?”
“Not really, no. In the past, I’d have taken January and then helped Harold and Al with February, too. But all that’s done is turn everything into a blur. I want to slow that down, slow me down.”
She stared at her aunt as something that felt a lot like fear niggled in the pit of her stomach. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Aunt Diane? Are you sick or something?”
“I’m fine, dear. Actually”—the woman scooted back on the bed until her slipper-clad feet dangled above the floor—“I’m better than fine. I’m great.”
Leaning against the window, Claire allowed herself a moment to take in her aunt’s larger-than-normal smile, the way the sparkle in the woman’s eyes seemed to flash and pop, and the almost childlike giddiness that bubbled just below the surface. “You’re positively glowing.”
“I love this time of year,” Diane said, patting at the sudden redness in her cheeks. “You know that.”
“I do, but this is different, Aunt Diane. It’s . . . deeper.” Then, before there was any chance her words could be swatted away, she grinned. “You’ve really taken to him, haven’t you?”
Diane started to speak, stopped, and then flopped back onto Claire’s pillow with a hushed yet no less real laugh. “I have. Bill Brockman is everything I never expected to find in life. He’s thoughtful, he’s funny, he’s fun, he’s interesting, he’s creative, he gets why I love Heavenly so much, and he fits so perfectly with me. With you. With us. It’s like he’s this missing piece I never knew was missing until it was. And now that it’s here—that he’s here—I want to hold on tight so it doesn’t slip away.”
Swapping her spot on the window seat for one on the bed, Claire smiled down at her aunt. “Have you seen the way that man looks at you? He’s not going anywhere. Ever.”
“Neither is Jakob. For all the same reasons and then some.”
She felt her smile falter but did her best to recover it. “I hope you’re right.”
“I know I am, dear. Just have faith.”
“I’ll try,” Claire whispered.
“Good.” Diane sat up, swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and stood. “Well, I should probably let you get some sleep. Tomorrow morning will be here before we know it, and I have two rooms to turn over before check-in at three.”
“Who’s leaving?”
“The Dickinsons in room three, and the Loombas in the downstairs suite.”
“Where are the new folks coming in from?”
Diane tapped her chin, her gaze traveling to the ceiling in thought. “The Steeles are from Tennessee, and . . . the Kelleys are from Delaware.”
“Very nice,” Claire said, stretching her arms above her head and yawning. “Oh. Wow. I guess I am getting a little tired.”
“Good. You need your sleep.” Diane crossed to the door. “You’re at the shop all day tomorrow, right, dear?”
“I am.”
“Then the eggs, bacon, and cinnamon rolls I have planned for breakfast should send you off with some good sustenance.”
“Actually, Aunt Diane, would you mind terribly if I skip out on breakfast altogether tomorrow? I wanted to stop out at Ruth and Samuel’s place before work. I know she could use a friend right now, and maybe something she tells me will help Jakob.”
Stilling her hand atop the doorknob, Diane glanced back at Claire, her expression void of its earlier lightness. “Of course, dear. But be careful. There’s a fine line between helping Ruth and second-guessing Jakob. I’d hate to see you cross it even if you did so with the best of intentions.”
Chapter 12
It was half past seven when she pulled into the dirt driveway, the plume of smoke billowing up from the home’s chimney easy to pick out against the morning’s charcoal-colored sky. Decreasing her speed to little more than a crawl, Claire steered her aunt’s car past the old German-style bank barn that housed Samuel’s workshop, some chickens, two cows, and Gussy the goat, and parked in front of the house Samuel had purchased in preparation for his marriage to Ruth. The home, itself, wasn’t particularly large—maybe three bedrooms. It didn’t sit on acres upon acres of lush farmland the way their neighbors’ homes to the left and right did. But for a man who made his living making and selling furniture rather than farming, it was perfect.
The front porch, which ran the full width of the house, featured two rockers. Turned so as to face west, they were the perfect place for Ruth and Samuel to sit at the end of a busy day. On the door, suspended from what was likely a single nail hammered into place by Samuel, was the heart shaped WELCOME, FRIENDS sign Claire had given the couple as a wedding gift. Beneath the front-facing windows on the first floor were freshly painted and newly hung window boxes. Empty now, Claire knew that come spring, they’d be bursting with pink and purple flowers—Ruth’s favorite colors.
She slid her gaze to the left and to the young woman she could just barely make out through the window. Even sitting there, some distance away, she could tell Ruth was flitting around, going about her morning chores with the same efficiency she’d shown at Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe. Only now, instead of starting her day sweeping the shop’s front or side stoop and popping croissants and muffins and other breakfast treats in and out of the oven, Ruth was cooking for just two—herself and her husband.
Glancing down at the dashboard clock, Claire muttered to herself about wasted time and then pushed open her car door to the distant whir of whatever machinery Samuel was using in his workshop. For a moment, she considered stepping inside the barn to say hello to her fellow Lighted Way shopkeeper but, in the interest of time, headed toward the house instead.
She was barely up the porch steps when the front door swung open and Ruth peeked out. “Good morning, Claire,” Ruth said. “Come, come. It is quite cold this morning, yah?”
“That it is . . . And if the weatherman on the local news station was correct last night, we’ll be seeing snow soon, too!” She heeded her friend’s invitation to come inside and then, when the door was closed, gave her a quick hug. “Ohhhh, you’re so warm.”
“That is because of the fire Samuel had going in the wood stove before I even came downstairs. It makes the whole house seem as if it is summer.”
Lifting her nose into the air, she closed her eyes and inh
aled. “Mmmmm . . . And that smell? That makes me feel as if I’m standing in the alley outside the shop, smelling all those amazing smells that were always floating on the air around Shoo Fly.” She took a second sniff and opened her eyes. “You’re making banana bread, aren’t you?”
“It is already made and waiting for you to have a piece,” Ruth said, pointing the way down the hallway and into the neat-as-a-pin kitchen. “I know it was your favorite of my breakfast breads.”
“It still is.”
“Then come, sit at the table.” Ruth led the way over to the table and its two waiting place settings. “Would you like something to drink? I have fresh milk from Nettie.”
“That sounds wonderful, but I don’t want to take Samuel’s spot.”
“Samuel has already eaten. He is in his workshop now, finishing a rocking chair for the store. It is a beautiful chair and I think it will sell quickly.”
Taking the seat closest to the window, Claire waited as Ruth crossed to the counter and the cloth-draped mound that was the young woman’s famous banana bread. “Do you know how much I’ve missed that bread this past month? The smell, the sight, the taste?”
“Perhaps Annie will bring you some one morning.”
“I didn’t know Annie makes banana bread.”
Ruth opened a cabinet to the left of the stove, extracted two plain white plates from inside, and set them on the counter beside the bread. “It is Annie’s recipe that I use.”
Claire looked from Ruth, to the bread her friend was actively cutting, and back again. “My Annie?”
“Yah. She made it for me a few years ago when I was not feeling well. The second I took my first bite, I knew it was something my customers at Shoo Fly would like, too.”
“A few years ago?” Claire echoed.
“Yah. Four, maybe five.”
“But that would have had Annie being what? Twelve? Thirteen?”
A Killer Carol Page 11
