Hearse and Buggy (24 page)

Eli shoved his hands in his pockets and toed at the cobblestone beneath his feet. “I was afraid that Mr. Snow’s wife would tell Esther what I said. So I stayed in the back room and fixed the door. I left when I was done.”

She wrapped her hands around the edge of the step and stared up at Eli. “Wait. Are you saying that Nellie Snow was in my store that day?”

Eli gave a single nod. “You did not know?”

Pushing off the step, she paced the same path Eli had covered not more than ten minutes earlier, her thoughts shifting from apprehension to pity as an entirely different scenario emerged where Ruth’s missing love letter was concerned.

S
he found Esther right where she’d left her before heading into the alley to talk with Eli. Only instead of shifting from foot to foot, finger drumming had become the young Amish woman’s nerve manifestation of choice.

“Esther, we need to talk.”

The drumming paused. “Did the talk with Eli go poorly?”

“It went fine.” She stepped behind the counter and thumbed through the stack of mail the carrier must have delivered while she was in the alley. “In fact, the more I talk to him, the more I believe in his innocence.”

Esther’s hands flew to her mouth but not before the shriek of joy she tried to stifle echoed its way around the shop. “I do not know what to say. I am so happy. But”—her hands fell to her sides as she took in the various mail piles Claire was working to assemble—“you do not think he saw the letter?”

“If you truly had it on this counter as you say you did, then I’m not sure how he could have, considering he never came into this room that day.”

Relief tugged Esther’s shoulders downward. “I am glad.”

She continued to separate the day’s mail into three separate piles—bills, junk mail, personal letters—while mentally replaying her conversation with Eli. When she got to the part about Nellie Snow, she looked up at Esther. “Esther, why didn’t you tell me Nellie Snow was here that day?”

Esther’s brows angled down toward her nose momentarily. “Ms. Snow?”

“Yes. Walter’s wife. Eli said she was here that day. You know, the day he was fixing my back door.”

“I do not know.” Esther grabbed a cloth from a drawer to Claire’s left and headed across the shop toward the shelf of candle holders and picture frames that tended to collect dust faster than either woman could fathom. “It is hard to remember each visit.”

Claire tossed the last two invoices onto their dedicated pile and turned her full attention on Esther. “Each visit? You mean she’s been in here more than just that one time?”

“She comes many times.” Rising up on tiptoes, Esther lifted a simple wooden picture frame from its base and wiped along its top and sides. “But she does not ever buy.”

“Then why does she come?”

Esther replaced the frame on its stand and reached for another. “I do not know. To think of her husband?”

She tried to absorb what she was hearing, to put it in its proper context. “So if she doesn’t buy anything, what does she do? Does she just stop by to talk?”

Frames done, Esther moved on to the candle holders. “She does not come now. Not since Mr. Snow was found. But when she did, she talked a little. Before you cleaned his mess, I would hear noises in stockroom. That is how I would know she was here.”

Claire braced her hands on the counter as the reality of what she was hearing truly sank in. “Wait. Are you saying she would go through the things her husband left behind when he took off?”

“Yes.”

“So she’d waltz in the door, walk past you, and simply disappear into the stockroom? And you
let
her?”

Esther peered at Claire across the top of the candle holder. “I would hear noises. That is how I would know.”

“Noises? In the stockroom? But you keep the back door locked when I’m not here, right?”

“I do.”

“Then how could she get into the stockroom without you seeing …” The remainder of her question was pushed to the side as a theory began to form in her head. “Do you know if she had a spare key to the store from when Walter was a tenant?”

“Perhaps.”

“Did you ever question her reasons for being in there? Did you ever tell her to get out?” But even as she asked, she knew Esther could never do that. It was not the young woman’s place to correct an elder—Amish or otherwise. “You know what? Don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter now.”

When the last of the candleholders were dusted, Esther made her way back to the counter. “Sometimes she would
walk in here. Look under the shelves and the rug. And one time, she used the stool to check”—Esther pointed toward the drop ceiling above them—“there.”

“Did she ever say what she was looking for?” Claire asked.

“She did not.”

“And she hasn’t been here since Walter was found, is that right?”

“That is right.”

Claire sank onto the stool and rubbed at the ache she felt building behind her eyes. There was too much information coming way too fast. And trying to make sense of it all? Forget it.

“She would be glad to see the stockroom now. No more mess.”

Esther’s words trickled their way around the roar in her ears and brought her up short. “What did you just say?”

“She would be glad to see the stockroom. No more mess.”

“But Walter was murdered after I cleaned the stockroom,” she insisted.

“Ms. Snow has not seen it clean.”

Claire shot her hands into the air in an attempt to slow things down. “Are you saying she hasn’t been in since before I finished the stockroom?”

Esther nodded.

“So when was she last here?”

“It was the loud day.”

She waited for more but nothing came. “You mean busy? With customers?”

“No. Loud.
Tap tap
. Again and again.”

“Tap tap?” Claire pushed off the stool and cupped her hands around Esther’s upper arms. “Are you talking about the sounds of Eli’s hammer as he fixed the back door?”

She watched as Esther closed her eyes and then smiled shyly. “Yes. That is right.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s it!” She took in a slow and steady breath and then released it through pursed lips. “The last time Nellie Snow was in my store was the same day Ruth’s letter disappeared from this counter. Maybe
she
took it!”

Esther’s lashes parted to reveal eyes that held no hint of the smile she’d worn seconds earlier. “If she saw the letter, she must be so hurt.”

Claire pulled her purse from the bottom shelf and flung it over her arm, her thoughts leading her down a path she couldn’t ignore. “Esther, if Nellie saw that letter, I’m betting she felt a lot more than hurt.”

N
o matter how many different ways she tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together, the same picture kept emerging.

Time and time again.

But if she’d learned nothing else over the past few years, she knew that things were not always as they appeared. Success and money had nothing to do with happiness. Hustle and bustle didn’t mean better. And
simple
wasn’t synonymous with
boring
.

So it was possible that a blinding hurt didn’t necessarily lead to anything beyond a basic retreat for the sake of licking one’s wounds. Any thought to the contrary was just that—a thought.

She had absolutely no proof that Nellie was behind the vandalism at Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe. To go to Jakob with her harebrained suspicion prematurely would make her look like a total and complete nut. Besides, he had more urgent
matters on his plate than trying to follow a trail of what-ifs and just-supposes.

That was something she could do.

“Why, don’t you look pretty as a picture this afternoon, Claire.”

Tilting her chin toward her chest, she took in the fitted white trousers and royal-blue short-sleeved sweater she’d paired with her favorite wedge heels. She’d been so busy trying to play detective that she’d forgotten all about her appearance. “Thanks, Mr. Glick.”

He lifted his chin toward the steps she’d just descended. “Been a quiet day for you, too?”

“In the store, yes. In my head, not so much.” She waved at the words as soon as she said them and hoped it would be enough. The last thing she needed was to get caught in a discussion that would keep her off task. “And you?”

“Same for me. But Al said there’s a tour bus comin’ in tomorrow with forty-five single seniors.”

It was hard not to smile at that report. After all, the seniors who were inclined to take a bus tour tended to spend money. Toss in the fact that they were single and thus not rushed by a potentially impatient spouse, and, well, the hope for finishing out the week strong began to look a little bit more likely. “We could certainly all use that.”

“Don’t I know it.” Howard rocked back on his heels and slid his thumbs down the inner side of his rather dapper-looking suspenders. “So where are you off to?”

“I thought I’d drop by Gussman’s General Store and pick up a few items before Esther and I close up shop for the evening.” It was true enough, even if the reason she gave was secondary to the real reason she wanted to pay a visit to her landlord. “Are you heading that way, too?”

“I’m headin’ over to see Samuel Yoder at the furniture
shop. Been so busy the past few weeks that it’s been a while since I’ve looked in on him. But now, my part-timer is finally up to speed enough that I can steal away for a few moments to rectify that. Perhaps we can walk together?”

She forced a smile to her lips and nodded politely. If she’d waited just five minutes longer or gotten to the bottom of Esther’s words five minutes sooner, she’d have been able to craft a mental list of questions that needed to be answered. Instead, she found herself making small talk with a man notorious for elongating conversations whenever possible.

“Did you hear ’bout the glue on Ruth’s front stoop this morning?”

“Glue?” Claire stopped midstep and froze. “What glue?”

Gleefully aware of the fact that he held information Claire was not privy to, Howard merely nodded and waited.

“I talked to Eli this afternoon. He didn’t say anything about glue.”

“That’s because he didn’t know.”

She turned to the west and shielded the sun’s afternoon rays with her hand. “I would have thought, after the fire, Ruth would be more forthcoming.”

Howard cleared his throat and then leaned forward, his breath warm on her cheek. “Seems Detective Fisher was out at Ruth and Eli’s home last night asking some mighty pointed questions. Ruth is no dummy. She knows her brother is a suspect in Walter Snow’s murder. She don’t want to add to his stress any more than necessary.”

It made sense. But still …

“Did you at least tell Detective Fisher? Because he should know.”

“I called and left a message. Seems he’s out at some meeting for most of the day. Nate, the dispatcher, said he’d have the detective call me when he returns.”

So the vandalism continued …

“Is Ruth okay?” she asked.

“You know how she is. So quiet and sweet. She just keeps saying she must have done something wrong. Can’t seem to wrap her mind around the notion that some people are just mean for the sake of being mean sometimes.”

“Or for the sake of a vendetta …”

Howard snorted. “A vendetta? Against Ruth? For what? Making the best apple pie from here to the western seaboard?”

She had to know if she was right. And the question she had for Al Gussman wasn’t the only one she had. “Mr. Glick, what do you know about Nellie Snow?”

“Walter’s wife?” Howard stepped back until he made contact with the lamp pole. “I don’t think she’s the innocent little wife who got the wool pulled over her eyes like everyone else ‘round here seems to think. In fact, if I was a bettin’ man, I’d bet she was in on the whole money-stealin’ scheme from the get-go.”

“Then why didn’t she disappear with him when he took off?”

Lifting his hand to his chin, Howard rubbed at his day-old stubble. “I think it was part of the act. I think that louse was actually protecting her—if you can believe that.”

No, she couldn’t. Not when she knew what she knew about the vow-challenged Walter Snow. To Howard, though, she offered only a noncommittal shrug and a verbal need to get to Gussman’s General Store and back before closing time.

But even as she left him at the steps of Yoder’s Fine Furniture and made her way across Lighted Way, she knew she was far from being able to say what Nellie Snow did and didn’t know about the plan to extort money from the Amish.
That kind of investigative work was beyond her limited capabilities. But short of hooking the jilted woman up to a series of wires designed to smoke out truthfulness, there were a few things she could find out on her own.

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.