Hearse and Buggy (27 page)

Esther was no more going to walk away from the Amish for Arnie than Benjamin would walk away for Claire. It simply wasn’t going to happen for either one of them.

Fortunately for her, though, she wasn’t even sure whether she liked Benjamin as anything more than a friend who just so happened to make her feel like someone special. Arnie,
on the other hand, not only liked Esther but actually believed she liked him, too.

Claire, however, knew differently.

“Hey, you were wrong about your whole deflection theory with Eli and the problems at his sister’s shop.” She slid off her stool and carried her empty mug and plate to the sink, where she proceeded to put both in the industrial-sized dishwasher. “He had nothing to do with any of it.”

“And you know this because …” Arnie prompted as he crammed the first muffin into his mouth.

Returning to the breakfast bar, she ran a damp paper towel across the surface of the counter while he moved on to his second and third muffin. “I know this because the person behind everything confessed.”

“Humph. Well I’ll be darned. I guess the thought of covering his tracks never even occurred to that buffoon at all then, huh?”

“Eli Miller isn’t a buffoon. He’s actually a pretty nice guy.” And she meant it. Any misgivings she’d harbored about the young man’s temper in the beginning had faded in favor of his more enviable qualities. “I don’t believe he had anything whatsoever to do with Walter Snow’s murder. I really don’t.”

“Suit yourself.” Arnie wiped the sleeve of his shirt across his mouth and then reached into his pocket to pull out his vibrating phone. “Aw, darn. You go on ahead without me. I gotta take this. It’s that Amish midwife lady that Diane tried to hook me up with when I first got here.”

“But I thought the first draft was done.”

“That’s before I knew she was going to call. I’ve only been waiting for three-plus weeks.” He flipped open his phone and held it to his ear as he headed into the hallway and toward the stairs, his voice lingering long after his presence.
“Does it take you this long to respond when someone goes into labor? Because if it does, you might want to consider another career path …”

Grabbing her purse and Diane’s keys, Claire took off in the opposite direction, eternally grateful to Diane’s friend for freeing her from having to spend another moment with the insufferable Arnie Streen. After all, less than four hours of sleep was enough of a liability for the day all on its own.

She made quick work of the parking lot before turning east and heading toward town, her mind already thinking ahead to everything she wanted to accomplish. Martha had new items for the store, as did Esther, and all would need to be priced and displayed before closing. Beyond that, she needed to track down Jakob and apologize for her behavior. If he accepted it without issue, she’d invite him to the bonfire she suspected her aunt of finagling as a way to bring Jakob and Claire together.

And maybe it would be fun.

By the time she reached the shop, she found herself hoping he would accept both her apology and her invitation. The laid-back setting promised to provide the kind of low-pressure fun she needed. And if she could convince Esther and Eli to come, too, the whole thing would be even better.

“Claire! Claire!” Esther was across the room and blocking her path before she’d barely cleared the door. “Did you hear the news?”

“You mean about Nellie and the stuff at Ruth’s?”

Esther nodded emphatically.

“Yes, I heard.”

“Maybe this means she is one who—who murdered Mr. Snow.”

Recalling her aunt’s words from the night before, she
rested a friendly hand on Esther’s arm. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up about that just yet.”

Esther’s shoulders sagged. “But I want to hope.”

“I know.” She sidestepped her friend and headed toward the counter and the promise of new handcrafted items from Esther’s mother. “So? What did she make this week?”

“Mamm did not feel well today. She said she will come Monday.”

She tried not to show her disappointment, but it was hard. One of her favorite parts of the job was seeing all of the beautiful things the Amish made. “Then I’ll look forward to Monday.”

“I have things.” Esther escaped into the stockroom only to return moments later with a large brown paper sack. “I hope you like these.”

Claire took the sack from Esther’s hands and plopped it on the counter. She reached inside and pulled out four hunter-green and cranberry checkered cloth napkins with a matching table runner. “Oh, Esther, these are lovely.”

The young woman reddened at the praise, but Claire could tell she was pleased. A compliment was a compliment no matter who you were. “I am glad you are happy.”

Scooping up the newest additions to her ever-growing inventory, Claire wound her way around the various displays she’d set up around the shop. When she reached the section where she tended to keep things like tablecloths and other items for the kitchen and dining room, she glanced back at Esther. “I was thinking about what you said last night. About Nellie Snow searching both the stockroom and this room looking for something. I wonder if maybe she was looking for the money her husband stole.”

“But she could not find what he did not leave.”

She turned back to the napkins and table runner, arranging them in a way that best showcased the exquisite work that had gone into making them. Esther was, without a doubt, on par to be as crafty and creative as her mother.

“I wonder if he hurt her, too.”

“He did. Everything about those love letters to Ruth had to hurt Nellie terribly.”

“No,” Esther corrected gently. “I mean her wrist. Like mine.”

A vague memory poked its way into her conscious thought and made her forget about everything except Esther. “You mean when he was in here that last day?”

“Yes.”

“Why was he angry again?”

“I do not know. He spoke only of things I could not answer.”

“And you didn’t tell Eli, right?” The details of that day were starting to assemble themselves in her brain although the overall picture was still fuzzy.

“He was with Benjamin. On the bake-shop porch. That was the day Ruth got the hate note.”

Any cloudiness that remained as to the details of that day began to lift, enabling her to fill in a few gaps of her own. “So you just waited in here for me to come, right?”

“I … Yes.”

Something in the way Esther hesitated sent a chill down her spine. “Esther? What aren’t you telling me?”

All color drained from Esther’s face as Claire repeated her inquiry.

“He came back,” Esther whispered as tears began to stream down her cheeks.

She felt her stomach lift toward her throat and fought it back down. “Did he hurt you again?”

When Esther did not answer, Claire grabbed hold of the young woman’s shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Esther! You have to tell me.”

Slowly, and with great effort, Esther walked her through Walter’s return, his encore performance very similar to the first except for one point. “He grabbed me like this”—with a shaky hand, she reached around the back of her neck and lurched it forward, the memory as much as the motion intensifying the pace of her tears—“and pulled me close. He said he would hurt me more if I did not tell where the chest was.”

“Chest? What chest—”

“And that is when I heard the noise outside the window.” Esther pointed toward the shop’s westward-facing window and its view of the alley between Heavenly Treasures and Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe. “He heard, too. And that is when he ran. He did not come back.”

“Do you know who was out there?”

Esther began to shake uncontrollably as the tears turned into gut-wrenching sobs. Pulling the young woman close, Claire simply held her until the sobbing stopped and her breathing steadied. “You think it was Eli, don’t you?”

“I do not want to believe that.”

Neither did Claire. But more than any monetary injustice, Eli was a protector. He proved that on a daily basis with his sister. Knowing what she now knew about Eli’s feelings for Esther, coupled with the strong likelihood he’d witnessed the scene that had just been described, any and all doubts about Eli’s’ innocence came screaming to the forefront.

The motive may have changed from the one Jakob had written on the whiteboard, but the opportunity and the strength to carry out the crime were all there vying to be noticed.

“Will you tell Jakob?” Esther asked between hiccups.

She knew what Esther wanted to hear, knew what she wished she could say. But she couldn’t.

“I think I
have
to,” she whispered.

S
he could feel Jakob’s eyes watching her every move as she handed out graham crackers, marshmallows, and chocolate to Diane’s guests. And although there was a small part of her that wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening, a larger and more unexpected part found the attention to be oddly comforting.

She’d stopped by the station after talking with Esther and told him everything she knew and even more that she feared. He’d listened to every word she said and even took some notes, but in the end he’d managed to make her feel as if there was still a chance Eli wasn’t the one.

How much he truly believed that, she couldn’t say. But for that moment, it had been enough. Like seeing a life raft on a ship and taking comfort in the fact that it was there if needed.

Despite the heaviness she felt in her heart over Esther, Claire had still managed to find a moment to apologize for
downplaying their time together in front of Ben. She hadn’t offered a reason for what she said, and she hadn’t tried to explain it away. Instead she simply told him what she felt in her heart—that although she’d enjoyed their brief time together, she was still trying to discover who she was inside. Hearing that Jakob not only understood but could also relate erased any residual tension she felt between them. And when he accepted her invite for that night’s bonfire, she’d known their friendship was intact.

What, if anything, was ahead for them in the future would remain to be seen.

“How about you?” she asked, as she waved the plate of s’more fixings inches from his nose. “Care to make one, too?”

“Absolutely.” Jakob leaned forward, his hand finding its way around the plate like an old pro. “In fact, I’ll even make you one if you just want to sit back and take it easy.”

“That sounds wonderful.” She took the empty beach chair to Jakob’s right, balancing the plate on her legs as the guests swarmed their way toward the roaring fire.

He gestured toward the flames with his cooking fork. “If it’s okay, I’ll give the troops a little space before I start trying to push my way into position.”

“I understand.” She leaned her head against the chair and looked down at her hands. “I guess by now you know about Nellie’s arthritis, right?”

Jakob rolled his marshmallow between his fingers and gave a slight nod. “I do. It’s so severe, we didn’t even need the statement from her attorney putting her in his office at the approximate time of her husband’s demise.”

“Too bad Eli is too young for arthritis.”

“I know what you mean. Although, if you think about it,
there are lots of things that could impact the mobility of a person’s hand.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like a neurological disease of some sort or maybe a third-degree burn. You know, that sort of thing. Breaks, too.”

“Oh. So nothing about being Amish then, huh?”

“You mean other than the fact that violence of any kind is against everything the Amish stand for?”

“Touché.”

He poked the tongs of his cooking fork through each of their marshmallows and carried them to the fire, the rest of the guests seemingly oblivious to their conversation. “Hey, you’ve gotta know that I’m hoping just as hard as you are that Eli isn’t our man. I really am. But it’s not looking all that good for him right now.”

All she could do was nod and stare at the flames lapping around her marshmallow as something Jakob said teased at her subconscious.

“Heck, we can’t even place him anywhere
but
the bakery for the bulk of that day.”

“I know. I saw him there, too.”

“What do you remember about those times that you saw him?” Jakob asked from his spot in front of the fire.

She thought back over that day, remembering her surprise at the notion that someone would target Ruth with a nasty letter taped to the front door of the bakery, warning people to eat elsewhere. But as clearly as she remembered the things that were said, she couldn’t really picture Ruth. No, the people she most remembered that day were Benjamin and Eli …

Eli pacing across the porch with one hand in a fist and the other sporting splinted fingers.

And Benjamin dressing him down again and again for his outbursts.

“Wait a minute!” she hissed. “That’s it!”

He pulled their marshmallows from the fire and brought them back to their chairs. “What’s it?”

“His hand! Eli had hurt his hand not more than one or two days before the murder!”

With help from the chocolate and graham cracker, Jakob slid the marshmallow from the stick and handed the finished product to Claire, her words seeming to have little effect on the detective.

She tried again. “Don’t you hear me? Eli had broken his fingers when he punched the wall over the stolen pie boxes. I told you about this when we were out at the swimming hole, don’t you remember? He hurt his hand so badly, I had to help him pull a milk jug from the box outside the bake shop on the very day we’re talking about!”

Jakob stopping working on his own treat as he seemed to finally hear what Claire was saying. “How come I haven’t noticed any splints?”

“Because he’s taken to wearing gloves in what I suspect is an effort to downplay his temper around people like Esther’s father. You know, kind of an out of sight, out of mind thing, I guess.”

“And his hand was that bad?”

“Yes! In fact, that same day, after Benjamin went off to show the nasty note they’d found to Mr. Glick, Howard had to split a few pieces of wood for Ruth’s cooking stove because Eli couldn’t grasp the ax with his fingers all messed up like that!”