Like access.
She pushed open the door of Gussman’s and took a moment to breathe in the feeling of yesteryear that called out from every shelf and every aisle that lined the old-fashioned store. Just as her favorite childhood storybook had depicted with its colorful illustrations, Al used large wooden barrels to display things like candy and sugar. Bolts of fabric in standard colors were stacked side by side with their patterned counterparts and shelved along the wall behind the cast-iron register.
“Good afternoon, Claire. What can I do for you?”
She peeked around a freestanding shelf in the center of the room to find Al sitting atop a ladder, removing cans of tomato paste from a cardboard carton. “How did you know it was me?” she asked.
“Easy.” He pointed beyond the shelf to a small mirror she’d failed to notice during previous visits. “Thanks to that, I can see everything I need to see from just about anywhere in the store.” When he placed the final can on the top of his makeshift pyramid, he tossed the empty carton to the ground and climbed down from the ladder. “If you’d like me to install one of those for you in your place, I can do that. Just let me know.”
“Thank you.” As far as landlords went, Al was top-notch. He provided a weeklong grace period for all rent payments, he tended to fix problems within hours rather than days of notification, and he was a master at drumming up publicity for all of the shopkeepers along Lighted Way.
“How are those back-door hinges doing since Eli worked on them?” He carried the empty carton behind the main counter and then met her in the center of the store.
“He did a great job. I haven’t had any more problems.”
“I’m sorry that call came in while I was on vacation.”
“It worked out fine. Eli was very helpful.” She reached across her chest and played with the straps of her purse. “I’d like to ask you something if I may.”
“Sure. Shoot.”
“Did you ever come across that spare key you wanted me to have for the shop?”
He swiped a hand down the front of his work apron and shook his head. “You know, it’s the darndest thing, but I can’t seem to find it. Are you needing one for another employee? Because I can always have one made.”
“No. I still just have Esther, and the first spare is fine for her.” She shifted from foot to foot before proceeding full speed ahead with the question that had been nagging at her ever since Esther had mentioned Nellie’s little visits. “Is … Is there any chance the previous tenant still has a key?”
Al made a face. “I don’t see how he could. He left his key ring on the counter when he skipped out on the rent. Both them keys you have were on there.”
“Is there any chance his wife had one?”
“Nellie? I don’t—hmmm. You know, that just might be what happened. I can ask her next time I see her. Seems she’s taken up jogging through here in the evenings, though she seems to run out of steam by the time she reaches your place.”
“Run out of steam?” she repeated.
“Yeah. As in come to a complete crawl. Though what she expects when she’s trying to jog while carrying a tote bag is beyond me.”
Glue and paint can fit in a tote bag. So can a gas can if it’s not terribly big …
A numbered list fashioned after the ones she’d seen on Jakob’s whiteboard filtered through her thoughts, begging to be filled in. Obliging wasn’t all that hard. Jealousy made a mighty strong motive for all sorts of murders, so why couldn’t it be a motive for destructive acts? And a halfhearted attempt at fitness with a tote bag that just so happened to slow Nellie down outside the scene of the crime after shop hours certainly opened up opportunity …
“So what kind of odds would you place on her having a key to my shop?” She wasn’t trying to sound like a broken record, but the answer was important.
“Now that you’ve mentioned it as a possibility, I’d say the odds are quite good. But, like I said, I can ask her.”
There was no need. The high probability was enough for her. “Actually, don’t say anything just yet. She’s dealing with enough right now. Besides, key or no key, it still doesn’t explain how she’d have gotten into …” The words trailed from her mouth as the notion of a tote bag faded to black behind yet another, different spare key.
By the time she returned to Heavenly Treasures, Esther was already gone, the carefully scrawled note taped to the locked door an unnecessary apology in light of the time. But that’s what she got for falling prey to Mr. Glick’s charm on the way back out of Gussman’s, too.
“So much for hurrying,” she mumbled as she bypassed the front door in favor of the one off the alley.
“Is something wrong?”
Her key clattered to the walkway as she spun around, Benjamin’s piercing blue eyes making her balance all the more precarious. “Oh, Ben … jamin. I … I didn’t see you there.” She took in the empty alley, then looked back at the man. “Where is your buggy?”
“Eli drove Ruth home. He will come back for me.”
“Why are you out here?”
Her hands grew moist as his gaze remained trained on her face. “I did not get the key from Ruth.”
She broke eye contact under the guise of retrieving her own key. “That’s okay. Ruth keeps it …” And then she stopped, Ruth’s words filling her head.
“I put it in the flower pot outside. But do not tell Benjamin. He would not approve.”
She cleared her throat, then inserted her key into the back door and turned the knob. “You can wait in here if you’d like. I can’t imagine Eli will take all that long.”
“Thank you.” Benjamin followed her into the stockroom and stopped. “I have wanted to thank you for giving the chest and chairs back to Ruth.”
“Of course I’d give them back. They didn’t belong to me. I’m just so sorry it took me longer than I’d hoped to sort through everything Walter left behind.” She tossed her key onto the small desk she used for all paperwork pertaining to Heavenly Treasures and headed toward the main room. Something about sitting under the stars with Benjamin the previous night had changed everything. Every breath he took, every sound he made … She heard it all. “Were you able to sell them somewhere else? Because if not, maybe we can find room for them here.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as raspy as it felt against a throat that was suddenly parched.
“Yes. The chairs will sell at Yoder’s. But not the chest. That is for Ruth. For her pots. And for her pans.”
She worked to steady her breath, to remain on task. Yet it was hard. Benjamin’s sheer presence made it hard. She wasn’t ready to be with anyone but herself. She needed time to heal, to learn to celebrate all of the things that made her special. Maybe that was why she felt these stirrings for Benjamin. Because, deep down inside, she knew they could never amount to anything.
Allowing herself to feel something for Benjamin was safe.
Allowing herself to feel something for Jakob was not.
“Ugh,” she whispered as she stepped behind the counter and over to the register. Now was not the time to get sidetracked psychoanalyzing herself. Now was the time to see whether the hunch that hit her in the middle of Gussman’s General Store was right …
Slipping her hand along the side of the register, she felt around until she found the magnetized key holder that had come with the register and the building. Then, with the holder between her fingers, she wiggled her arm back toward her body until she’d cleared the narrow opening.
She counted to ten in her mind and then flipped the case open, her eyes registering the absence of a key at about the same time her mouth and feet started moving. “Benjamin, I need to go. I have to find Jakob. Now.”
Chapter 29
She chased the last of the homemade mashed potatoes around her plate and then smiled up at her aunt.
“Mmmm. You have no idea just how badly I needed that exact dinner in this”—she gestured around the parlor with her fork—“exact room. So thank you for t
hat.”
Diane took the empty plate from Claire’s hands. “The second I heard your voice on the phone, I knew something was going on. So I made up a plate from tonight’s menu and set it aside in the refrigerator for your return.”
“And Mr. Streen didn’t try to eat it?” she asked, only half jokingly.
“Oh, he tried, alright. But I was able to distract him away with news of a documentary on the Amish that was getting ready to come on the television.”
“Impressive.”
“Yes, yes I am.” Diane spun on her sensible shoes and headed toward the open doorway that led back toward the kitchen. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back as soon as I put this dish in the sink and make sure all of the guests are set for the night.”
“Trust me—I’m not going anywhere.” She pulled her feet off the floor and nestled her way into the corner of her favorite couch, hugging the closest throw pillow to her chest as she did. All day long, she’d been running around, trying to see whether her suspicions were correct. And she still didn’t know.
Not for certain, anyway.
But she’d done everything she could with what she knew. The rest was up to Jakob.
It was hard not to remember the way his face lit when they walked up to the police station at the same time—him from a series of meetings in a neighboring town, and her fresh from what she believed was the moment of proof regarding the problems at Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe.
And it was equally hard to ignore the warmth that spread throughout her body when she saw the way he smiled at her.
Jakob Fisher and Benjamin Miller were two very different men. Yet, for some reason, both spoke to her in ways she never expected. One was possible; one was not. And smack-dab in the middle of both of them was her wounded heart.
But just because she wasn’t ready for a Jakob or a Benjamin of her own, it didn’t mean she couldn’t be friends with the real versions, right?
Her mind made up, she laid her head back against the couch and closed her eyes, the rhythmic tap tap of Arnie’s fingers on his keyboard in his room at the top of the staircase lulling her into the first sense of peace she’d had all day.
“Oh no. You can’t fall asleep until you tell me why you were at the police station.” Diane breezed into the room and plopped down on the couch beside her niece’s feet. “Did they solve the murder?”
“I don’t know. Maybe …”
“Maybe?” Diane deadpanned. “Do you realize, I was alone at the table with Mr. Streen this evening?”
She braced herself for the inevitable as Diane continued. “Do you know that I was subjected to a thirty-minute lecture on the ins and outs of oyster shucking all because I asked whether he liked seafood?”
Lifting her hands, Claire covered her eyes dramatically. “The guilt! The guilt! Oh, how can I ever make it up to you?”
Diane lifted Claire’s feet with one hand and then slid herself underneath them until they rested on her lap. “You can tell me why you were at the police station. Without leaving anything out.”
So much for peace …
“I think I figured out who’s been doing all of those awful things at Ruth’s store.”
“Please tell me you haven’t bought into Mr. Streen’s deflection theory.” Diane looked toward the staircase and then back at Claire. “I mean, it’s not that I think it’s totally impossible, but no matter what Eli could possibly be trying to cover up, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt Ruth.”
“I agree.”
Like a balloon with a slow leak, Diane released a long, steady sigh. “Good.”
“I think it was Nellie Snow.”
“Nellie Snow?” Diane echoed in disbelief.
“She found out that her husband had a thing for Ruth, and I think it sent her over the edge.”
Rubbing Claire’s feet with her slow, methodical hands, Diane considered Claire’s suspect. “I know he cast more than his share of lingering looks Ruth’s way, but that’s been going on since Walter opened his shop. Why would Nellie wait until Walter left town before she’d lash out? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Would it make sense if those lingering looks escalated into something more concrete?” she posed.
Diane’s fingers stopped massaging the bottom of Claire’s socked feet. “Are you implying that Ruth was somehow involved with that man? Because I’ve known that young woman virtually her whole life, and I don’t believe that for a second.”
“I don’t believe that, either,” she said, staring longingly at her aunt’s all-too-still magical hands. “But I do believe he was involved with her.”
In the blink of an eye, Diane lifted her hands up and away from Claire’s feet completely. “You’re actually making me long for further discussion on oyster shucking, dear.”
Claire struggled into a seated position and tucked her feet underneath her body as she tried to explain her statement. “Walter had apparently gotten in the habit of writing little love notes and letters for Ruth and leaving them in places she would find—the milk box, under the welcome mat, in the crack of the side door. She was apparently so worried Eli would go crazy that she solicited Esther’s help in hiding them—hence the crumpled note I found under the register that one day. But when he left town with everyone’s money, he mailed her a love letter from wherever it was he’d gone. Esther set it on the counter when a customer came in, and then it disappeared. She was afraid Eli had seen it. Afraid, at least a little, that maybe it was Eli who snapped and killed Walter … because of the note.”
“And now?”
“And now we realize it is much more likely that Nellie found the note.”
Diane tsked softly under her breath. “How awful for her.”
“Yes, it is. But that’s about the time everything started next door. The stolen pie boxes, the broken milk bottles, the spattered paint, the nasty note, and then the fire. And that’s where I started to realize it was far more probable than possible that Nellie was behind everything.
“I think she still has a spare key to my store. And by having that, she had access to Ruth’s spare key and the opportunity to start that fire.”
A hush fell over the room that Claire understood perfectly. It was how she’d felt when the pieces began to fall into place for her.
After several long minutes, Diane finally broke the silence. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I just hope I’m right. Because if I am, then everything can go back to normal. At least as far as Ruth and her shop are concerned.” She released her hold on the pillow as a flash of car lights shone through the partially drawn parlor curtains. “Looks like your guests are back from their dinner.”
Diane shook her head and rose to her feet, bridging the distance between the couch and the window with several easy strides. “They got back about fifteen minutes before you did.” Nudging the curtain open a bit more, her aunt cupped her hands around her eyes and peered out into the night. “I think we’re about to find out if your suspicions were right.”
“Huh?” She let her feet drop to the floor as she scooted forward toward the edge of the couch. “Who is it?”
“Detective Fisher.”
She lifted her hands to her hair and finger-combed it into place.
“You look lovely, dear.”
She opened her mouth to protest, to insist she wasn’t fixing herself for Jakob’s benefit, but in the end, she couldn’t. Diane would see through her words in a second. Instead, she squared her shoulders and met him at the screen door.
“Detective Fisher, what a surprise.” She flipped on the porch light, bathing him in brightness. “Is everything okay?”
“May I come in for a minute? I’d like to talk to you if I could.”
“Of course you can.” Pushing the screen door open, she stepped to the side to allow him entry. She looked up at him and felt the admiration in his eyes, an admiration she was at a loss on how to acknowledge. “I, um, why don’t we step into the parlor. Diane will be happy to see you …” Sh
e led the way into the very room she’d just left only to find it completely empty. She spun around to face Jakob, keenly aware of a dryness in her mouth and a dampness in her hands. “She was just here a minute ago.”
He gestured toward the couch and asked her to sit with him for a minute. When she obliged, he got to the reason for his visit. “You were right. Nellie Snow was behind everything that’s happened at Shoo Fly these past few weeks. She denied it at first, even tried to pin it on Ruth as some sort of bizarre need for attention, but when questioned about the missing letter, she caved.”
She sat perfectly still in an attempt to absorb everything he’d said. “So that part is over?”
He hesitated, then leaned back to afford a better angle with which to peer into her eyes. For several long moments he simply studied her, his gaze taking in her hair, her face, her royal blue sweater, her legs … When he returned his attention to her face, she shivered.
“I’m sort of hoping it means that all of it is over,” he said.
“What do you mean when you say all of it?”
“I mean the whole thing.” He rested one hand on his thigh and rubbed his freshly shaved face with the other. “The vandalism, the fear, the murder case. All of it.”
She felt her mouth drop open at the implication. “Wait. You mean you think Nellie is responsible for her husband’s murder, too?”
“We’re certainly looking into the possibility.”
“But how? He was strangled with bare hands, wasn’t he?”
“She had cause to be blinded by rage.”
“Wow.” It was all she could say given the circumstances.
“Wow is right. Now I’m just worried whether I have any business being a detective in this town when you’re out there doing your thing.”
She caught the teasing sparkle just before the dimples appeared yet felt the need to explain nonetheless. “I wasn’t trying to play amateur sleuth; I really wasn’t. It just sort of happened.”
“Claire, it’s okay. It’s awesome, actually.” He lifted his hand from his thigh and dropped it along the back of the couch, grazing her shoulder as he did. “Like … you.”
Hearse and Buggy Page 20
