Shunned and Dangerous (An Amish Mystery) (20 page)
Read Shunned and Dangerous (An Amish Mystery) Online
Authors: Laura Bradford
“It is as I said before. Esther will still be your friend even after she marries Eli. You do not need a shop to be friends.”
Her laugh caught in her throat and emerged as more of a half laugh, half sob. “That’s good, because I won’t have my shop for much longer.”
He dropped his hand to his lap but kept his focus trained on her face. “I do not understand. What is wrong with your store?”
Suddenly, she couldn’t hold it in anymore. In a rush of tears that wouldn’t stay hidden this time, she unburdened herself of the secret she’d been carrying around for far longer than she cared to admit. “I’m running out of money.”
“Running out of money?”
Pulling her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs and fixed her gaze on the faint outline of a windmill she could still make out on Benjamin’s property at the base of the hill. “When I moved here, I had a certain amount of money in my savings account. In hindsight, I realize it wasn’t enough. I should have saved more before I opened the shop. But I really thought what I had saved, plus the money I’d make on the inventory, would be enough to keep it going.”
“It was not enough?”
She shook her head, slowly, sadly. “That nest egg has dwindled to almost nothing.”
“But people bring bags out each day. I see them when I drive by or stop to check on Ruth . . .”
“They buy bibs and Amish dolls and even some of my candles, sure. But the money I make after I pay Martha or Esther isn’t enough to cover my expenses let alone make a profit.” She released her legs and reclined back until the only thing she saw was the night sky. “On the rare occasion I have something like a high chair to sell, I make a little more money. But I don’t have enough of those large handmade items at any given time to really make a difference to the bottom line.”
“How soon?”
She turned her head just enough to see his face. “How soon what?”
“Before you must close your shop?”
“I had thought I could make it to the end of January, but now, with Martha unable to paint any stools or milk cans for me until after Esther’s wedding, I’m not sure I can make it that long, anymore.” She willed the stars to hurry up and come out yet knew even they couldn’t make a difference. “So, I don’t know . . . maybe the second week of January if I’m lucky?”
“Will you stay in Heavenly?”
That was the million-dollar question. The one that kept her up late at night, pacing. “I won’t live off my aunt for the rest of my life, Benjamin. I can’t.”
“Does Esther know?”
She bolted upright. “No! And she can’t! Please! She has much too much to worry about right now without that being added to the list. Especially when there’s nothing she can do to change things where the store is concerned.” She swung her body around to face Benjamin. “Please. Promise me you won’t tell her.”
“If that is what you want, I will not tell Esther.”
Slumping forward, she grazed his shoulder with her head before she realized her mistake and pulled back. “I’m sorry, Benjamin. I didn’t come here wanting to dump all of my problems on you.” She stopped, considered her words, and decided to recant. “Actually, maybe, on some level, I did want to tell you all of this simply because I knew you’d listen and not race around trying to fix the unfixable the way Aunt Diane or Esther would try to do. But I also came because I want to see how you are. To apologize for not seeing how Harley’s murder and talk of Mose’s suspected involvement might affect you. I hope you can forgive me for that.”
It was his turn to shrug. “You are not the only one who thinks Mose is guilty. Everyone in the district thinks there is a good chance he murdered. Even his family—Martha and Abram, and even Isaac—seem to think there is a chance. But I do not. I do not believe Mose could take a man’s life. Life ends when it is
God’s
will, not man’s.”
“You’re close to Mose, aren’t you?”
“Yah.”
“Was that from when you and Jakob were friends as young boys?” She drew her knees to her chest a second time and rested her chin there as she watched Benjamin.
“Yah. Jakob’s dat helped us catch frogs. One day, I showed him a small bridge I had built over Miller’s Creek.” He pointed toward the other side of the hill. “He said I did good work. I showed him more things I had made and he said it was good work. He taught me things I did not know, and I showed him new ideas. Mose Fisher is a good man even if you do not hear such things from his son.”
She listened as he talked about his relationship with another boy’s father, the reason for the true son’s hurt and anguish over that relationship suddenly crystal clear and even a little heartbreaking.
There were so many things she wanted to say—explanations for Jakob, understandings to foster along, pleas for two old friends to find each other again—but when she finally spoke aloud, her heart settled on the only one that mattered at that moment. “I wish I could tell you that everything with Mose will work out okay, Benjamin. But I can’t. What I can tell you is that the last person on the face of this earth who wants to see Mose charged with murder is his son . . . Jakob.”
“I do not know if I can believe that.”
“Do you believe in me?” she whispered.
The brim of his hat tilted upward as he took a brief glimpse of the sky. “Yah.”
“Then believe me when I tell you Jakob is tortured over what’s going on.” She swung her legs over the edge of the rock and jumped to her feet. “I better head out now, Benjamin. It’s getting late. Diane gave me the night off, but she’ll still worry if I don’t check in with her soon.”
He lingered in his spot for a moment, his eyes never leaving her face. Then, just as she started to move toward her car, he, too, got to his feet, his voice thick with emotion. “You would make a good couple.”
“Excuse me?”
“You. And Jakob. I see the way you smile with him. I see the way he smiles back. He would give you a good home and look after you.”
She wanted to shake her head, to dispute the words she knew were responsible for the pain on his face at that very moment, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Because, deep down inside, she suspected Benjamin was right.
I
t was a beautiful night whether sitting on a rock high atop the Amish countryside or swaying back and forth in a swing the way she was at that very moment. There was so much about her day, her week, her future that would have been better dissected with pen and paper while sitting at the desk in her room, but something about the night air and the peace and quiet of her aunt’s porch had won out for Claire in the end.
So what if she couldn’t pore over a black-and-white version of yet another pro-and-con list comparing a future in Heavenly to a future somewhere else? So what if she couldn’t doodle Mose’s and Patrick’s names in another part of her notebook in the hopes she’d crack the murder case wide open? Sometimes it was okay to feel instead of think.
Diane had taught her that the past nine months.
And as she herself had learned over the span of her life thus far, Diane was most always right.
There was no getting around the fact that on paper and pen, her best course of action was to start looking for a job in a place where jobs were easier to come by than Heavenly, Pennsylvania. She was fairly good with a computer, she had a good work ethic, and she got along with just about everyone she met. What, exactly, that qualified her to do, though, was anyone’s guess.
Besides, she didn’t want to leave Heavenly. She didn’t want to leave Diane and the new friends who’d unknowingly helped to make her whole again. And whether she was ready to explore the reason or not, she didn’t want to leave Jakob, either.
Heavenly was her home . . .
She turned at the faint sound of a click and blinked against the sudden burst of light that seeped onto the porch. “Diane? Is that you?”
“No, it’s me. Megan.” The pretty blonde stepped onto the porch with a folder in her hands and closed the door behind her as she did. “I was hoping that maybe I could borrow you for a second?”
Claire straightened her foot against the slats of the porch floor and brought the swing to a stop long enough for Megan to sit down. “Of course. Is everything okay?”
“I think so. But as I’m fairly sure you know by now, I like to talk things to death. I’d like to think it’s just because I’m a mom who wants to make sure she does everything right where her kids are concerned, but that’s not all of it. The rest is that I’m just type A and it’s how I handle everything in life. I go-go-go and I obsess over each and every go along the way.” Megan set the folder on her lap and shrugged. “And before you ask . . . yes, I exhaust myself sometimes, too.”
It was hard not to laugh. Megan was definitely high-strung, but she was also endearingly honest when it came to admitting her faults.
“You’re still thinking about Serenity Falls, aren’t you?”
Claire didn’t need the sole porch light to see Megan’s cheeks redden. “No, not really.” Megan looked down at her lap and shifted the folder just enough to clue Claire in to the presence of a second, slightly different colored packet. “Okay . . . maybe a little.”
Reaching across Megan’s arm, Claire liberated the top folder from the pile and flipped it open. “Roaring Brook . . . That’s the one on this side of town, right?” She took in the colorful marketing brochure that featured a curbside shot of a quaint grouping of moderately sized homes.
“Keller and Sons has been building over here for years, from what our Realtor tells us. They’ve built a good, solid reputation for building good, solid homes.” Megan tapped at the floor plan on the right side of the folder Claire was viewing. “See that one right there? That’s the house we’ll build if we buy in Roaring Brook.”
Claire removed the floor plan from the folder and held it into the light. “Oh, Megan, this house is gorgeous. The kitchen is so spacious! And”—she squinted closely at the drawing—“that playroom on the second floor? It’s huge!”
“I know. The boys will love it.”
She eyed Megan across the paper. “So why are you hesitating?”
Bobbing her head to the left and then the right, Megan lifted a piece of hair from around Claire’s ear and made a face. “Hmmm . . . Is my husband coaching you on what to say through some sort of ear thingy or something?”
She laughed. “No. It’s just me.”
Megan sunk back against the swing and sighed. “I know this place is nice. I know this builder has been around for a lot of years and that much of his business is repeat buyers, which is good—great, even.” Her voice took on an almost monotonous tone as she recited reasons Claire suspected had been recited many times over the past few days, both in Megan’s head and to her husband. “I also know the boys would love the house and that we’d make a lot of wonderful memories there.”
“But . . .” Claire prompted.
“Wow. I’m here, what—just over a week—and you know there’s a
but
, already?” Megan flicked a hand through her hair then handed the second folder over to Claire. “Serenity Falls is just different—the walking trails, the fitness stations, the playground with the little wooden stage for the kids who’d rather be creative than physical . . . all of it. And it’s on the Amish side of town.”
“Why does that part appeal to you so much?”
Megan drew back. “You mean being on the Amish side? Have you seen how calm it is over there? How quiet? I
need
that. I
want
that.”
“I get that.” And Claire did. Feeling the doldrums lapping at the edges of her soul at the notion of having to leave Heavenly, Claire made herself take the second packet from Megan. Inside were the same pictures she’d seen just two days earlier. “Trey Sampson,” she read aloud. “Has he been building around here for a while, too?”
“He’s built condos closer to Breeze Point, but this would be his first real dip into single-family homes.”
“Sounds more like a full-fledged jump to me.” Claire pulled a magazine-quality pamphlet from the packet’s left-side pocket and stared down at the thirty-something man who smiled back at her from the full-color cover. “Nice looking guy.”
“He’s driven, too. He’s all about making Serenity Falls an almost-prototype for a new kind of neighborhood built around old-fashioned values.” Megan took the magazine, opened it to the third page, and then handed it back to Claire. “He even picked the brain of some fancy Italian architect when he was in the early planning stages of Serenity Falls. He wants to do this right. It’s how he wants to make his name in this business.”
Claire let her gaze play across the picture of children blowing bubbles on the steps of one beautiful home while a father and son shared a glass of iced tea on the front steps of another. “It certainly
looks
good.”
“Which is what Kyle keeps saying. It looks good, but he doesn’t want to view it all from inside a closed house.” Megan blew a frustrated breath of air through her otherwise closed lips. “Kyle is right. I’ve got to let this go.” Then, with the Keller and Sons folder firmly in her grasp, she stood and gestured toward the door. “I’ll leave you to the quiet daydreams you were enjoying before I crashed the party.”
“Trust me, you were a welcome distraction.” Then, realizing she was still holding the Serenity Falls packet in her hand, she held it up for Megan. “Don’t forget this one.”
The pull to take the information was powerful as it moved across Megan’s face. But, in the end, the young mother simply waved it off. “Why don’t you keep it? Maybe one day, if things change, you can build a house there and invite me over for a cup of coffee.”
“If I was able to do that, it would mean that . . .” Claire shook her head, determined to start living in reality instead of hanging on to the same wish-I-coulds and if-onlys that had her facing an uncertain future once again. “Let me know when you’ve signed the contract on the Roaring Brook house, okay? We can celebrate
that
over a cup of coffee before you have to head back to Chicago.”
“You’re on.” Megan took two steps inside the inn and then turned to wave good night. “Oh, and Claire? I know I’ve been rather preoccupied at dinner the past few nights, but I want you to know how much I love your shop. It’s so . . .
you
. So wonderfully, perfectly you.”
Claire was grateful when the door finally closed and she was alone with her thoughts and the tears that were less than a blink away. Megan was right. Heavenly Treasures was her. It was everything she’d ever wanted for herself in terms of a career.
And now, because she’d moved too quickly, she was about to lose her career and her home in one swoop . . .
“Claire?”
She did her best to hide her disappointment as she turned toward the familiar voice and scrambled to find the closest thing to a smile she could offer along with her greeting. “I’m sorry, Aunt Diane, I should have come in a long time ago to see if you needed anything.”
Diane stepped onto the porch. “You most certainly shouldn’t have come inside. I told you a week ago that tonight was your night off.”
Lifting her hand from the back of the swing, Claire pointed at the rectangular wooden box in her aunt’s left hand. “What do you have there?”
“It’s Harley’s.”
Claire stopped the swing and rose to her feet. “Harley’s?”
Diane started to nod but then stopped. “Technically, he made it for Patrick, but he hadn’t gotten around to giving it to him just yet. That’s what he planned to do that next day.”
A sweet smile crossed Diane’s face as Claire watched her aunt peer down at the box in her hand. “He was so excited for Patrick to have it. He even planned how he was going to give it to him.”
Claire waited for her aunt to continue then hung on each and every word that was said when she finally did. “That last day, he deliberately hung on to the hammer he’d given Patrick knowing full well he’d come back looking for it at some point over the weekend. He had me put it inside the toolbox and leave it, with a note, on the front porch for Patrick to find.” Diane lifted the box onto a small table to the left of the swing and shook her head, sadly. “When I heard about Harley’s death, I brought the box inside so nothing would happen to it. I remembered it again this evening, while I was making dinner.”
“So he really was looking for a hammer last night,” Claire whispered. “Jakob and I didn’t believe him.”
Diane released her hold on the toolbox and turned to study her niece. “Patrick was here? Last night? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Why indeed . . .
“Jakob and I—we didn’t want to worry you.”
“Why would Patrick being here worry me, dear?”
Claire did her best to explain her decision, reaching out for her aunt’s hand as she did. “Because Patrick carries a lot of anger. And when I saw him sneaking around outside the inn at midnight, I was worried. Especially when he could very well be a suspect in Harley’s murder.”
Diane’s eyes widened with shock. “Patrick Duggan could never have hurt Harley. He cared far too deeply for that man.”
“Cared for him?” she echoed. “But from what he said last night, it sounded like he only started working with Harley as a way to get out from under his mother’s watchful eye.”
“In the beginning that may have been true. But Harley won him over because he had no expectations for Patrick. He simply wanted to be that young man’s friend in a way no one else really had since Carl was carted off to jail.”
