Hearse and Buggy (21 page)

Worried lines deepened around the corners of Esther’s eyes. “Eli said it could hurt the horse.”

“Maybe someone dropped it.”

“Eli said it was fixed in place. He said it could not have fallen in such a way.”

Giving up on the pyramid, Claire moved on to the next shelf, her mind at a loss for what to do with the two trinket boxes that would justify taking them down in the first place. “And when did he say this happened?”

“Last week. After”—Esther looked down at her hands—“after Mr. Snow was found.”

“When did he tell you this?”

A rosy glow fanned its way across Esther’s cheeks. “This morning. I … I heard his buggy in the alley. I went out to see if he was okay.”

It was hard to see Esther’s face when she spoke of Eli. To see the hope in her eyes. It was even harder knowing that both Arnie and Mr. Glick believed he was capable of murder. “Why did he tell you about this nail now if he found it last week? Surely you’ve talked since then, right?”

“Eli is strong. He likes to fix things by himself.”

Fix … or create?

She shook the accusation from her mind and forced herself to focus on the pair of trinket boxes and the lack of
display options available to her. “Then why tell you now? And why you and not Ruth?”

“He worries for Ruth. He does not want her to worry more.” Esther bent her arms up and tied the strings of her head cap, the move surprising Claire as much as anything else so far that day. Granted, Esther was Amish. But Amish or not, Jakob’s niece had a bit of a rebellious streak where her clothes were concerned. “He needed to tell someone. He told me.”

The pride in Esther’s eyes at the notion Eli had shared a secret with her was impossible to ignore. Claire swallowed once, twice. “I’m … glad.”

Esther’s eyebrows rose toward her head cap. “Is it something I said?”

“What?”

“You look sad.”

Because I am, she wanted to say. But she couldn’t. Not without subjecting herself to questions she didn’t want to answer. Instead, she merely shrugged, hoping the gesture and the noncommittal nod would throw Esther off the scent.

She held up both boxes. “Any creative ideas for how to display these?”

“You do not like Eli, do you?”

She turned to face Esther, the trinket boxes clutched tightly in her hands. “I never said that.”

“You do not want to speak of him today.”

Slowly, she lifted one box and then the other before setting them both back on the shelf. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I know of how people speak. I know some think Eli harmed Mr. Snow. But I know he did not.”

She wanted to move but couldn’t. She was in a bad place, and she knew it. The key was to remain calm. To keep her
thoughts and her fears to herself until she had something more concrete. Then again, if Esther could vouch for Eli, her fears would be moot, wouldn’t they?

“Do you know where he was when Mr. Snow was murdered?”

Esther shook her head. “I can not say for sure. But I know Eli. I know he could not do such a thing.”

As fast as the glimmer of hope had waltzed in, it waltzed back out again, leaving her with nothing good to say. “Esther?”

“Yes.”

She took in a breath of air and released it slowly. “I need you to hear me out. As your friend, okay? Someone who cares about you dearly.”

Esther smiled so big that it nearly broke Claire’s heart. She wanted to protect Esther, to keep her from getting hurt, yet, at that moment, the only one capable of hurting her was Claire. It was a task she didn’t relish.

“Why are you so sure Eli didn’t murder Mr. Snow? That man stole a lot of money from Eli’s family.”

“Eli would not do that. He would not hurt Ruth that way.”

The reason gave her pause. Eli was devoted to his twin sister. Everyone knew that. Even Mr. Glick had referenced the brother’s care for his sister during their talk. Then again, it was that same reason Esther gave for Eli’s inability to commit murder that could be the reason why he would.

She took in a second, deeper breath as her mind seized on a suspicion that started long before Arnie ever opened his mouth about trumped-up pranks in the name of deflection.

“You said you hid that love letter under the register because you didn’t want Eli to be angry, right?”

All remaining hint of a smile disappeared from Esther’s face in the blink of an eye.

Claire continued, her gaze never leaving Esther’s troubled one. “Was that the only letter, Esther?”

“I can not speak of that,” Esther whispered.

She took hold of Esther’s shoulders and gave them a little shake. “Did Walter write more love letters, Esther?”

“Yes.”

“Did Eli know of them?”

Esther squeezed her eyes shut but not before a tear escaped down her cheek. “I do not know. It is possible.”

“I wonder if that’s why he hasn’t told you he likes you.”

Esther stumbled backward and bumped into the counter. “Eli likes me?”

“Mr. Glick says he does.” She closed the fresh gap between them and ran her hand along Esther’s forearm.

“And he does not tell because of notes?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.

“But they were not for me,” Esther whispered.

She caught her friend’s troubled eyes and held them. “What wasn’t for you?”

“The notes.”

“Esther, I saw the one I showed you. I found it under the register where you put it.”

“I had to hide it.”

She ran her hand down her face in an attempt to make sense of what she was hearing. But it was no use. “But you just said they weren’t yours, right?”

Esther’s nod was so slight she wasn’t sure she’d truly seen it.

“Then I don’t understand any of this, Esther. I saw that note with my own two eyes. It was a love letter signed with
a
W
. I asked you if it was from Walter, and you didn’t deny it. Yet now you are?” She heard the shrillness in her voice and knew it was only serving to unnerve Esther even further, but she couldn’t help it. She was growing more and more frustrated with each passing minute.

Bending at the waist, Esther dropped her head into her hands and let out a quiet moan.

Claire reached out and guided the young woman’s face upward. “Esther. Please. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m afraid.”

The simple statement stirred something inside her, and she pulled a trembling Esther into her arms. “I know you’re afraid to talk to Jakob. That you’re afraid you’ll get in trouble if you say anything to him at all. But if you do, it won’t be as your mother’s brother or as your uncle. It will be as a police officer … an
English
police officer.”

“I am not afraid of that.”

She took hold of Esther’s arms and stepped back until they could see each other. “Then what are you afraid of, Esther? What aren’t you telling me?”

Without waiting for an answer, Claire grabbed hold of the simple bow beneath her friend’s chin and pulled, leaving the ties to dangle in true Esther fashion. “You are strong, Esther. You know this. So please, tell me. We’ll figure it out together.”

The trembling stopped as Esther looked down at the ties of her head cap and back up at Claire, a mixture of resignation and determination lighting her tired eyes. “The letter was from Mr. Snow. He left many. They were all the same. Love letters. Only they were not for me.”

She stared at Esther, trying desperately to understand but falling short. Way short. “But you crumpled it up. You shoved it under the register so I wouldn’t find it.”

Esther shook her head.

“You didn’t crumple it?”

“I did.”

She groaned. “Ugh! Esther, please. You’re making my head hurt.”

“I crumpled the note. I put it under the register. But it was not so you would not see it.”

“Then why else would you shove it under there?”

“So Eli would not see it.”

She covered her eyes with her hands in an effort to block out the image of a ping-pong match with her brain as the ball. “But you just said the note was not for you. If that’s true, why on earth would you have to hide it from Eli?”

“Because it was for Ruth.”

She heard the gasp as it escaped her mouth. “Ruth?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She cast about for something to say. “Did Ruth know about them?”

“Yes. She was afraid of what Eli would do.”

“Did she like Walter, too?”

Esther made a face, further loosening whatever grip Claire had on reality. “What? What’s with that face?’

“Ruth sees only Samuel Yoder.”

“Did Walter know that?”

“I tell him. Again and again. But he did not listen. He said they were meaned to be.”

“Meant to be,” she corrected gently. “But if she’d told Eli or Benjamin about the notes, they could have made him understand.”

“Ruth does not like to worry Benjamin. She says he has too much to worry about already.”

“So why not tell Eli?” But even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. Eli despised Walter for cheating his family of money that was rightfully theirs. He’d been so angry by the man’s actions that he’d threatened to kill him in front of countless witnesses. Yet Esther didn’t believe he would have followed through on his threats. And maybe she was right. But this latest wrinkle had the potential to change everything.

“Eli will allow no harm to Ruth.”

“How would a love letter harm Ruth?”

“Mr. Snow is an English man. A married English man. If Samuel found out, if the district found out, Ruth could be shunned.”

“But Ruth didn’t do anything wrong,” Claire protested.

“Mr. Snow was to say she did.”

And then she got it. Walter had threatened to tell a lie—one that could sever Ruth’s ties with her family, her community, her everything.

“And you’re not positive Eli didn’t know about the letters?”

Esther fiddled with her hands. “One is missing.”

“Missing?”

“It came in the mail. To Ruth’s shop.”

She took it all in, questions firing from her mouth in rapid succession. “When did it come? What did it say? Where was it when it disappeared?”

“It was the week before Mr. Snow came back. It talked of love for Ruth. He wanted to marry and have babies. I brought it here, where Eli could not find it. But when customers came in, I lost track of it. I could not find it the next day.”

“That doesn’t mean Eli has it …”

“That is the day he fixed the back door for you.” New tears formed in Esther’s eyes, making their way down her cheeks. “If he read the letter, he would be angry. Very, very angry.”

S
he’d seen the worry in her aunt’s eyes when she’d asked to borrow the car after dinner. And she could understand why.

Claire wasn’t one to disappear in the evenings unless it was her night off. Instead, she tended to spend the post-dinner hours doing traditional homebody things like reading and crafting. But, lately, she’d been staying away from the inn more than ever. One night she’d gone walking and met Ben, one night she’d gone walking with Jakob …

Tonight, though, she truly wanted to be alone. Maybe then she could begin to sort through all of the information she’d assembled about Eli and Walter. It wasn’t that she had any burning desire to play amateur sleuth, but when stuff started falling in her lap, it removed any real choice in the matter.

Sure, she could take everything she had to Jakob and dump it all off on him. But what happened if something she
said set him off on a path that could hurt an innocent person? That, she couldn’t handle.

After dinner, when all the dishes had been washed and put away, she’d considered sharing her thoughts with Diane. After all, if she’d learned anything over the past few months at Sleep Heavenly, it was that Diane Weatherly was one smart, level-headed woman.

Who also just happened to be an innkeeper at a bed-and-breakfast with guests who roamed freely around the house …

She pulled out of the parking lot and headed east on Lighted Way, the cool evening breeze lifting her hair from her face and scattering it every which way. The English side of Heavenly was attractive enough, with carefully kept homes and yards. One and two automobiles per household were parked in each driveway she passed. The glow from an occasional bug zapper or porch light whizzed past her window along the quarter-mile stretch between Sleep Heavenly and the shopping district.

She slowed as the tires left the pavement in favor of the cobblestone section of Lighted Way. Here, light streamed into her car from the parade of gas-powered lamps that lined the street, their only competition coming from the lighted display windows of her fellow shopkeepers. She glanced left toward the toy shop, with its rocking ponies and plethora of brightly colored balls, and then right toward Glick’s and all its man-friendly tools. She slowed still further as she approached Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe, straining to make out any sign of someone lurking. The reassuring shadow of a police car at the mouth of the alley let her know she wasn’t alone in her vigilance.

A smile crept across her face as she caught a fleeting glimpse of her own front window, the placement of Amish-made items having its desired effect—at least on her.

“I’d shop there,” she whispered before laughing at herself for sounding like a nut.

She continued on, passing Yoder’s Fine Furniture and the general store before heading out into Amish country. Here, there were no street lamps or televisions flickering behind open curtains, no blue-green glows flickering from trees as curious bugs met with their demise. She slowed to accommodate the occasional rut in the sparsely graveled road. The hum of the engine disappeared against the symphonic backdrop of crickets and bullfrogs, and she felt her shoulders relax for the first time all day.

When she’d wrapped her hand around her aunt’s key ring back at the inn, she’d been unsure of where she was going. All she’d known for sure was that she needed a little time to herself. Yet the second she’d pulled out of the parking lot and headed east, her destination was decided.

She passed one farm and then another before turning left, the midsize sedan making the climb with ease. The covered bridge vibrated beneath her wheels as she entered and then exited out the other side. When she reached the point where the road narrowed and wound off into the woods, she put the car in park and cut the engine.