A Churn for the Worse (14 page)

That was a good question, and one Claire had never pondered until that moment. “Annie? Do you know?” she asked.

“Ruth will still bake, I'm sure. But perhaps her younger sister will run the shop.” Annie bent over, repositioned one of the hand-carved footstools, and then straightened. “It will not be long before we know for sure.”

The guests were all there when Claire finally finished with the week's books and wandered into the parlor, their lighthearted voices and occasional bursts of laughter proving to be just the tonic she needed.

“If I'd known you were all having so much fun in here, I would have abandoned my calculator and pencil an hour ago.” Claire instinctively lifted the half-empty tray of cookies from the table just inside the doorway and made the rounds of the guests. Jeremy, of course, took another, as did Hank and Bill.

“Then you'd be up until the wee hours of the night trying to finish what is now done.” Diane leaned around her laptop computer and patted the bottom section of her lounge chair. “Put the tray down, dear, and come sit. You really need to see the photographs Hayley has been taking this past week. They're simply breathtaking.”

“Let's not inflate her ego any more than necessary,” Jeremy joked. “Hayley got lucky is all.”

Diane peered at Jeremy across the top of her reading glasses, tsking playfully beneath her breath. “Now, Jeremy, is that any way to talk to your partner? Especially since it's
you
who handed the flash drive to me when I inquired about Hayley's work?” Then, without waiting for his answering banter, the woman hit play on the slideshow and handed the laptop to Claire. “Look at these. The one of the black horse through the branches of the tree is my favorite.”

“You should see your face right now, Diane, it's glowing.” Bill smiled at Claire's aunt from his seat beside the hearth. “Horses really do make you happy, don't they?”

“They're beautiful creatures.” Diane looked from the pictures fading in and out on the screen in front of Claire to the photographer who'd captured the images. “Hayley, I have to imagine you feel the same way based on these photographs. I mean, there's almost a tangible reverence here.”

Clearly uncomfortable being the center of attention, Hayley cleared her throat and volleyed the subject back to Diane. “Have you ever thought about purchasing a horse of your own? Your grounds are certainly large enough to accommodate one.”

“I did. For a while. But if I purchased a horse, I would want to give it more time and attention than running this inn would allow me to do. So, instead, I enjoy seeing them pull buggies past my driveway, I enjoy seeing them in the fields of my Amish friends, and I enjoy visiting with each and every new horse that comes in for sale at the Weaver farm when my schedule allows.”

Claire looked up from a photograph of a chocolate
brown–colored horse beside a pile of colored leaves and studied her aunt. “You go to the Weaver farm? I didn't know that.”

“I don't do it all the time, dear. But I do it as often as I can. I love looking at them between worlds.”

Hank lowered his pen to his notebook long enough to address Diane. “Between worlds?”

“Most of the horses that Mervin Weaver buys at auction are retired racehorses. The majority of their lives has been about racing. Once they're purchased by Amish farmers, their lives are very different. They're slower, for one thing. And their primary responsibility shifts from entertainment to transportation. It's just . . . different.”

“Retired racehorses, eh? I wouldn't have guessed that.”

“It actually makes perfect sense. Trotters are skilled at pulling a sulky. They're a natural fit for an Amish buggy.”

Hank closed his notebook on his day's business notations and then stretched his arms above his head. “I'm telling you, the Amish are resourceful and incredibly smart.”

“Yes, they are,” Diane agreed.

Claire rewound the dialogue in her ear back to the part that had taken her by surprise. “But when do you go out to the farm and how did I not know this?”

“What am I going to say, dear? ‘I spent a half hour introducing myself to a dozen or so horses I may never see again'? You'd think I'd gone mad.” Diane wiggled her way past Claire on the chair and stood, her self-allotted time for rest clearly in her rearview mirror. “Which is what everyone must be thinking right about now, anyway.”

“No. I . . . I'd think it was neat. And I'd want to hear more. Maybe even go with you to see them sometime.”

Bill's nod was nothing short of emphatic. “I'd enjoy that as well.”

“I could take pictures,” Hayley chimed in. Then, poking an elbow into Jeremy's side, she added, “And maybe
you
could turn it into a blog when I got back.”

Jeremy lifted his head off the back of the couch and forced his eyelids open. “Huh? What? What'd I miss?”

“Go upstairs and go to sleep,” Hayley said, rolling her eyes as she did. “You're just taking up space on the couch that Claire could have right now.”

Claire waved her hands back and forth above her computer-topped lap. “Hayley, I'm fine. There's plenty of room for Diane and me on this chair. Assuming, of course, my aunt would actually sit back down.”

Diane readjusted her apron across her hips and then slowly looked from Claire, to Hayley, to Bill, and back again. “Would you really like to accompany me out to the Weavers' place?”

All three heads nodded in unison, followed by a raised index finger from Hank. “Don't forget me. I haven't visited a horse business yet.”

“I've never done a—a . . .
field trip
before,” Diane replied. “Are you sure?”

Claire took in the expressions on the faces around them and then looked up at her aunt. “Annie's on the schedule alone tomorrow morning . . .”

“I could do tomorrow morning.” Hayley eyed her sleeping coworker and rolled her eyes again. “And he could just stay behind and sleep.”

“Do you think they'll have a fresh shipment of horses ready to be sold off?” Hank asked.

“There's no guarantee what Mervin has on any given day, but it's more likely he'll have some horses than no horses.” A slow smile erupted across Diane's face and traveled to her eyes. “I'm so pleased about this!”

Bill took a sip of coffee from the cup beside his chair and then rose to his feet to face Diane. “What time do you anticipate we'll head out?”

“How about nine o'clock? That will give me time to get the breakfast dishes cleaned up.” At everyone's ready agreement, Diane took Bill's empty cup, added it to Hayley's and Hank's, and then ventured toward the parlor doorway. “You are all in for quite a treat. Mervin has a knack for finding the sweetest horses.”

*   *   *

Claire had just settled her head against the pillow when her cell phone rang—the sound, coupled with her certainty as to the identity of the caller, propelling her up onto her elbow with a smile. Reaching over to the nightstand, she plucked the device from its resting spot, confirmed her suspicion, and then held it to her ear.

“Hi, Jakob.”

“I didn't wake you, did I?”

“No, no. I hadn't even turned off the light yet. How are you? Busy day?”

“Busy enough that I didn't get to come and see you like I'd hoped.” Jakob's voice faded off momentarily, only to return with a slight huskiness. “That's always my favorite part of any day, you know. Seeing you.”

She felt her face warm in response to his words. “I feel the same.” And she did.

“I'm glad.”

Twisting her body to the side, she hiked her pillow upward against the headboard and then leaned back. “Annie told me that Henry spent some time with you this afternoon. Did anything come of that?”

“Nope. I keep hoping that Henry is suddenly going to remember some previously unshared detail that'll blow this whole case wide open, but so far it's a no-go.”

“You'll find it, Jakob. With or without Henry.”

His answering laugh was void of any humor. “I wish I could say your confidence is on target, Claire, but it's not. I mean, I know everything that's happened around here with the missing money and Wayne's death is all related somehow, but beyond that I've got nothing, and it's incredibly frustrating.”

“So you really think someone was out at Annie's father's farm on Sunday?”

“I do. I think someone took advantage of the fact they were at church and used that as an opportunity to snoop around their farm.”

“But nothing was missing or disturbed inside the house, right?”

“That's right. But that could be a result of an inability to figure out the door, or because this guy got spooked away before he could get inside.”

She shivered in spite of the warm July evening. “Do you think Annie coming home could be what spooked him?”

“It's hard to say, Claire. Maybe. But that's just me trying to figure out why he found his way into all the other homes except the bishop's.”

For a moment, she merely stared up at the ceiling, her
thoughts picking their way through everything Jakob had said and everything they knew at that point. “Jakob? Is there any way to know whether Henry's dat was killed before or after the man came to the house?”

“We're likely looking at a difference of ten minutes, so no. Not really. But I have to believe that someone isn't going to kill a person and then go up to that same person's home—where his family is playing games—and calmly ask for directions.”

“Do we know it was calmly?” she asked.

“I actually asked Henry if the man seemed upset or winded, if he was sweating from exertion. Henry was insistent he was not. So my gut says he killed Wayne after having been in the house.”

She considered Jakob's words and tacked on another layer. “So
after
he'd stolen the money, too . . .”

“Exactly.”

“Okay. But then why go into the barn at all? It doesn't seem to me to be a place people would keep their money, you know?”

The momentary silence in her ear gave way to a grunt. “True.”

“So maybe, in addition to money, he's looking for something else.”

“Most of the truly big equipment is kept outside the barn. But even if it's not, it's not like anyone is going to be able to go unnoticed stealing something like that.”

“Maybe it's not the tractors . . .”

“The only other thing of value would be the horses. But they're all still there.”

“Some of them weren't there when our suspect was
rooting through the barns,” she reminded. “Katie was with Annie, the bishop's horse was with the bishop, and I would imagine Ben's horse was with him.”

“The buggy horses, anyway.” Jakob grew silent save for the occasional noise that Claire tied to movement—pacing, perhaps?

“Then again,” she mused, “the horses were in the stable at the Stutzmans', yes? And they're all still there . . .”

“That could be because our suspect was spooked off by killing Wayne . . .”

“What about the Gingerichs'?” she posed, following her thread outward. “Where were their horses?”

“Working in the fields.”

“So maybe this person is interested in stealing horses, too.”

Again, Jakob remained quiet for a while, his detective brain surely chewing on their conversation.

As she waited, she posed another question. “I imagine horses could go for a lot of money, yes?”

“Depends. Then again, a person hell-bent on stealing horses would have to have a way to get them off the property. Quickly. And neither Henry, nor Rebecca, mentioned anything about a horse trailer.”

“Maybe they didn't make the connection.”

“It's worth asking them, that's for sure. But something feels off about this.”

“Well, is there anything else in a barn of value? A certain tool? An item used on the horses?”

“In some barns, sure.” Jakob took a breath and then exhaled it slowly. “Saddles, mounts, anything made of copper that could be melted down . . . that sort of thing. But you'd be hard pressed to find that kind of stuff—or
that kind of stuff with any worth—in an Amish barn. The simplicity of the Amish reaches into their barns, too.”

“Maybe this person doesn't know this. Maybe he's just preying on the Amish because of the whole easy target thing.” Now that she was going it was hard to stop. “They're not going to have security systems in their homes or barns, the men are in the fields during the day and the women, like their male counterparts, are passive people. In fact, I don't think you'd even have to be all that savvy about the Amish to know that.”

“Hey, would you mind if we talked about something else for a little while? I think my brain needs a break.”

Scooting her upper body off the headboard-propped pillow, Claire rolled onto her side and gazed at the scrap of moonlight poking its way around her window shade. “Of course. What do you want to talk about?”

“Tell me about your evening. What did Diane make for dinner?”

“A turkey roast.”

“I love that.”

“I know. That's why there's a small glass container with your name on it sitting on the top shelf of the refrigerator right now.”