Suspendered Sentence (An Amish Mystery) (10 page)

“Has Jakob seen Elizabeth’s journal?” Diane leaned against the refrigerator for a well-earned, albeit quick break.

Claire grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and moved around the room, wiping and cleaning counters as she walked. “He has.”

“I can’t imagine Benjamin is too happy about that.”

“It was his idea.” She stopped beside the fryer, double-checked everything was turned off, and then continued on, stopping every few feet to spray and wipe. “Though, now that I say that, I realize I owe him an update.”

“What did Jakob say?”

She finished the final counter and moved on to the oven doors, her cloth sliding across the handle with a practiced hand. “He’s worried about the extent to which Elizabeth may have been involved in Sadie’s death. If she knew and didn’t say anything, it makes it look an awful lot like she had something to hide.”

“Oh dear. I can’t imagine that sweet young thing being involved in someone’s death. It just doesn’t fit.”

Claire finished with the handle and turned around, an unexpected anger rising up inside her chest. “That sweet young thing knew a woman’s child was dead and buried and said nothing.”

“Claire!”

“I’m sorry, Diane, I know you thought highly of Elizabeth, as did Ben and Jakob.” She crossed to the sink and set the cleaner and cloth beside the faucet. “That said, I can’t keep from thinking about Sadie’s mother, Waneta. Esther said the woman was certain she’d see her daughter again. Elizabeth
let
her believe that.”

“Didn’t you say that Elizabeth was likely on her way to tell the truth when she died?” Diane reminded.

“I did.”

“That should count for something.”

Did it?

“But what about Waneta? And all the false hope she had?”

“It’s a tragedy, dear. But she
will
see her daughter again one day.” Diane closed the gap between them and pressed a gentle hand to Claire’s back. “Jakob will find the truth. You know that.”

“But what happens if that truth hurts Benjamin? What then?” She hadn’t realized the question was on the tip of her tongue until it was too late to call it back. Instead, she rushed to explain it before there was even a chance for misinterpretation. “I mean, isn’t it bad enough he had to lose his wife in such a tragic accident? Does he really need to remember her as being dishonest at best? And a potential
murderer
at worst?”

Diane pulled her hand away and covered her gasp. “A
murderer
?”

“She knew, didn’t she?”

“Yes, I suppose, but . . .” Diane’s words trailed off only to reappear in starts and stops. “Didn’t you say others knew, too?”

She turned to face her aunt as the woman’s meaning took root. “Elizabeth mentioned Miriam Hochstetler, Leroy Beiler, and this Michael O’Neil and wondered if they thought about Sadie, too.”

“Then perhaps the guilt lies elsewhere.”

Claire reached behind her back, untied her apron strings, and then looped them around the hook beside the refrigerator. “You’re right, Aunt Diane. If nothing else, Elizabeth’s journal makes it very clear she wasn’t the only one in on the secret. And at least it
bothered
her.”

Diane peeked out the window at the Amish fields in the distance, the morning sun bathing the brown earth in golden rays. “The truth has a way of making itself known. Sometimes it takes longer than we’d hope, but eventually it comes out . . . as it did when the Stoltzfus barn burned to the ground. If it hadn’t burned, that body may have gone undetected for another eighteen or nineteen years.”

“Makes you almost wonder
why
now?
Doesn’t it? Why now—when Elizabeth has been dead for so many years? Why now—
after
the Lehmans no longer own the property where their daughter has been buried all this time? Why now—when Michael O’Neil has finally decided to run for mayor?”

“Because timing is ultimately up to God, not us.” Slowly, Diane returned her focus to the room and Claire, her finger shooting upward to the wall clock and the approaching ten o’clock hour. “Getting to your shop in time to open, though, is up to you. I’ve got the rest of this under control so, please, go. The last thing we need in Heavenly is a busload of disappointed tourists.”

Chapter 9

S
he didn’t need the rumble of her stomach to know she’d worked through lunch. The near-constant hum of the cash register and virtually empty pile of shopping bags beside it told the story of her day all on its own.

Something about the ten-degree bump in the forecast, and the promise of spring it ushered in, had done a better job of bringing foot traffic to Lighted Way than any newspaper advertisement ever could. All day long the string of bells over her front door jangled away as the curious arrived and the satisfied departed. And all day long she’d answered questions, restocked shelves that seemed to empty as quickly as she filled them, and added more and more money to her bottom line.

It was, in three words, a perfect day.

Save, of course, the simple fact that a busy day made her miss Esther in very different ways than a quiet day did. When customer traffic was light, she longed for the camaraderie she’d shared with her Amish friend. When it was high, as it was that day, she mourned the extra set of capable hands that allowed her to answer questions and replenish inventory all at the same time.

Still, missing lunch and running ragged were very good problems to have when the reason behind both meant customers. Without their buying the beautiful items her Amish friends made, she wouldn’t have her shop. And without her shop, she wouldn’t be able to live in Heavenly.

Taking advantage of her first lull in customers all day, Claire closed her eyes against the image of a reality that had almost come true. Yet, because of talented craftsmen like Eli and Ben and their belief in her and her shop, she’d been able to keep Heavenly Treasures open.

“Ruth thinks you have not eaten today and that I must bring you food.”

She peered at Ben through freshly parted lashes and laughed. “Well, aren’t you and that basket a sight for sore eyes.”

“So it is true? You have not eaten?”

Slumping onto the closest stool, she allowed herself the first big sigh of the day. “People were waiting outside the door when I opened this morning and they didn’t stop coming until about two minutes ago.”

“That is a good problem to have.” He set the basket on the counter and pointed at the red-and-white-checked covering. “Ruth said there is a sandwich inside. Cookies, too.”

Her stomach rumbled long and loud, eliciting a smile on Ben’s otherwise tired face in response. “Perhaps you should eat now before you cannot hear the next customer.”

“Very funny.” She pushed aside the covering, reached for the sandwich, and made short work of its matching red-and-white-checked parchment paper covering. “I imagine your sister’s place has been nonstop all day, too.”

Ben’s ocean blue eyes briefly disappeared beneath the rim of his straw hat as he nodded. “She is out of Shoo Fly Pie and apple pie, too. I believe she has her lemon meringue and a dozen or so more of those cookies”—he gestured again, toward the basket—“left. But that is it. It was a good day for her bakery, too.”

She looked from Ben to the remaining half of her sandwich and back again. “Would you like half?”

“It is not food that I need.”

Something about the way he spoke made her look up again and really focus on her friend. There, in his eyes, she saw more than just fatigue.

She set her half-eaten lunch back on the parchment paper and patted the vacant stool to her right. “Will you sit?”

“No.”

“I wish you would. Since Esther stopped working I never have anyone to talk to during lunch.”

“Claire.”

An unusual rasp to the man’s normally steady voice brought her up short. This time, when her stomach rumbled, it wasn’t from hunger. “Is Esther okay? Did something happen with the baby?”

“Esther is fine.”

Relieved, she reached for her sandwich and took another bite. “Then what’s wrong? Why do you look so—so—” She stopped, lowered her sandwich back to the paper, and silently chastised herself as she rose to her feet. “Ben, I’m sorry. I should have gotten back to you after I spoke to Jakob yesterday morning. But when I finally left the station, I came straight back here. Then, after I closed, I went to Eli and Esther’s for dinner. I had hoped you might stop by so we could have a private word, but you didn’t.”

“What did Jakob say? Does he think as we do? That Elizabeth knew of Sadie’s death before her accident?”

She considered how much to say, how much the widower really needed to know at that point. Did she tell him his childhood friend must now consider his late wife a suspect in Sadie’s death? Was that something he needed to know?

Unsure, she opted to confine her answer to the question at hand. “He does. But, like you, that is not a thought he enjoys.”

“I do not know how she could keep such a secret. Waneta and Zebediah are good people—God-fearing people. They would have been sad to learn of Sadie’s death but they would not have been angry at Elizabeth.”

She studied Ben closely for any indication his thoughts had traveled in the same direction as Jakob’s, but saw nothing. No, he hadn’t put two and two together. If he had, they certainly weren’t adding to four.

He continued, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides in a rare show of emotion. “I wish only that I could know why Elizabeth did not tell. But it is too late to know such things.”

“Maybe it’s not.”

Ben pinned her with a stare. “My wife died many years ago, Claire.”

“But the others she mentioned in that notebook are very much alive.” She hoisted herself back onto her stool and snuck a quick peek at the remaining sandwich half. “Maybe one of them can shed light on why Elizabeth didn’t speak up. Or, better yet, why
none
of them spoke up when it happened . . . or came forward with an explanation when the body was found three days ago.”

Confusion gave way to surprise as the meaning behind her words appeared to sink into his head. “I . . . I had not thought of that. But it is true. There are others who would know. Three others, if I remember correctly.”

“Miriam Stoltzfus—then, Hochstetler—Leroy Beiler, and Michael O’Neil.”

“I do not know a Michael O’Neil.”

She paused to take another bite of her sandwich. “He is English. He is running for mayor of Heavenly.”

“Perhaps they will talk to me. Tell me why Elizabeth kept such a secret.”

“No!”

He drew back at the fierceness of her response and she rushed to explain. “You have to let Jakob take care of this, Ben. It’s his job and he’s very good at what he does. He’ll find out all of those answers in due time. I promise you that.”

“I cannot ask Miriam? I cannot ask Leroy? I cannot ask this Englisher?”

“Not directly, no.”

“I do not understand.”

“There are subtle ways to find information, Ben. Like in casual conversation with Miriam. Esther said she is a wonderful seamstress. Perhaps she would have items to sell here in my store . . .”

A pop of understanding fired across Ben’s face just before he reached for the remaining piece of sandwich. “I am to go to Stoltzfus’s farm this afternoon to bring supplies to Jeremiah. If you are not busy, you could come. Speak with Miriam about the store.”

Her stomach rumbled as Ben nearly swallowed his half sandwich whole. Licking her lips, she reached into the basket and retrieved a still-warm chocolate chip cookie. “Now that sounds like a great idea.”

*   *   *

T
he buggy pitched to the right and then the left as Ben guided his horse around the corner and up the dirt driveway belonging to Jeremiah and Miriam Stoltzfus. To Claire’s naked eye, the land on either side of them appeared brown and somewhat barren, but she knew better. Because just below the surface, waiting for the first hint of spring, were rows and rows of what would soon be rye and barley.

Straightening on the narrow wooden slab, she shifted her gaze to the brand-new barn that had been nothing more than a goal three days earlier. “Wow. It still amazes me that something so large could be built so quickly,” she mumbled, as much to herself as the man seated beside her.

“When many hands work together, much can be accomplished.”

“I can see that,” she said. “Jakob brought me here Wednesday night to see the volume of people who had come to raise the new barn. He said they would raise it quickly, but I guess I didn’t get it until now.”

Ben’s hands tightened ever so slightly on the reins as they rounded a slight bend in the dirt lane, the buggy lurching to the left and the right as he navigated them through a series of ruts. “The barn was to be where the old one had been, but it was raised a bit to the right at Jakob’s request.”

“
Jakob’s
request?” she echoed, only to have her question answered by the path of Ben’s outstretched finger. There, not more than ten yards from the new Stoltzfus barn, was a ten-by-ten stretch of land cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape. “Ahhh. That makes sense. That way the family could still get their new barn without having to wait until the scene is released.”