Only these eyes were a little different.
Sure, their shape, their size, their hue were the same. But
just as Martha’s and Esther’s exuded a sense of quiet peace, the pair in front of her held something else—something she hadn’t been able to identify until that very moment.
“Diane is right,” she whispered. “You’re going to need some friends.”
U
nlike many of its white cinder block counterparts in neighboring towns, the exterior of the Heavenly Police Department was more in keeping with the shops and restaurants along Lighted Way. It featured the same clapboard siding, the same wide front porch, and the same tastefully written sign above the front door.
Yet all of those similarities ended the moment Claire stepped inside the building and became aware of the one thing it
didn’t
have.
Everywhere she went along Lighted Way, the Amish were present. Their buggies traveled the street, their people worked in the shops, and their wares were displayed on shelves. Yet there, amid the quiet hustle and bustle of the police department, they were noticeably absent.
At least to the unknowing eye, anyway.
Lifting the blue-and-green-striped gift bag onto the counter, she smiled at the balding dispatcher. “I was wondering
if I might be able to have a moment of Detective Fisher’s time.”
“And you are?”
“Claire Weatherly. My aunt owns—”
“Sleep Heavenly.”
Startled, she glanced over her shoulder and into the same hazel eyes she’d seen in duplicate twenty-four hours earlier. Only this pair had a sprinkling of amber flecks that served as the perfect accompaniment to the dimples, which weakened her knees.
She reached out, her hand disappearing inside the nonuniformed man’s capable grasp. “Detective Fisher?”
“That’s me.” His hand lingered around hers a beat longer as he broke eye contact long enough to view her in her entirety. When his visual inspection ended, he continued. “Though any relative of Diane’s is welcome to call me Jakob.”
Her face warmed under the appreciative scrutiny, making her grab for the comfort of common and distracting ground. “Aunt Diane is a mighty special person, that’s for sure.”
Jakob nodded. “So what can I do for you”—his gaze dropped to her left hand—“Miss Weatherly?”
“I … I wanted to bring you this.” She handed him the gift bag, the gesture-induced shock in his face making her smile. “To welcome you …” Her words trailed off as she opted not to refer to his past. If and when he wanted to admit to his previous life in Heavenly, the timing would be up to him.
“Welcome me?” he echoed in a hushed voice.
“To Heavenly.”
The play of emotions across the detective’s face was unmistakable. So too was the presence of the dispatcher not more than five feet away.
She rushed to lighten the atmosphere. “It wasn’t all that long ago that I was the new one in town, myself. And after living in a place like New York City for the past seven years, Heavenly had the added nuance of feeling like another country.”
He lowered his bag-holding hand to his side. “You’re from New York, too?”
“My aunt talked me into coming about six months ago.” With a brush of her fingers, she pushed her hair over her shoulder. “Listening to her was the best thing I could have ever done.”
“Oh?”
“It changed my life.”
She felt his eyes studying her closely and was grateful she’d chosen her white trousers and blue-green blouse for work that day. The blouse’s color had a way of setting off her eyes.
“How so?”
“Well …” She searched her mind for just the right way to describe her life at that moment. “It’s made me realize that my passion for simplicity isn’t as bizarre as I’d been led to believe, I guess.”
“By whom?”
Feeling a familiar lump forming in her throat, she waved his question away. “Let’s save that for another day, shall we? Today is a new day.”
Hesitation was followed by an encore of dimples. “Which means
what
for Diane Weatherly’s niece?”
She met his heart-stopping grin with one of her own. “
Claire
is going to head off to work—a place she’s dreamed about for years but only recently found the courage to turn into a reality.”
He opened his mouth to speak but closed it as the dispatcher
peered over the counter. “Detective Fisher, you’ve got a call on line three. It’s Howard Glick.”
“Take his number. Tell him I’ll call back—”
“No, it’s okay. I really should be getting to work. Es …” She swallowed back the name of Jakob’s niece as she glanced down at her watch, the disappointment she felt at the interruption catching her by surprise. “I mean,
my assistant
is probably wondering what happened to me.”
Without waiting for a response, she stepped toward the door, the weight of the detective’s gaze bringing an odd flutter to her chest. “Please know I’m not terribly proficient at knowing what constitutes a good housewarming gift for a man. So if I’m way off, please accept my apology.”
S
he crossed the street and headed southeast into the late-morning sun, the chirping of the birds and the familiar
clip-clop
of the Amish horse-drawn buggies bringing a smile to her lips. From the moment she’d first laid eyes on Lighted Way, she’d been mesmerized, convinced she’d found her own little Utopia in the middle of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.
It was the kind of place where she fit. Where her tastes and interests didn’t stick out as being hokey or silly. Yet, talking to Jakob Fisher, she’d felt a taste of that old discomfort. Though, if she were honest with herself, it was night and day different from what she experienced with Peter.
Peter made her feel odd.
Jakob made her feel … alive.
Raking a hand through her hair, she forced herself to focus on the day ahead, on the candles she hoped to finish, the quilt racks she needed to fill, and the jars of preserves she planned to stack.
Shop by shop she made her way toward Heavenly Treasures—passing Heavenly Scented Brews, Tastes of Heaven(ly), The Toy Factory, and Glick’s Tools ‘n’ More. Each shop, each restaurant paid tribute to the very reason her aunt’s bed-and-breakfast was full virtually year-round.
People were fascinated by the Amish.
And they were willing to shell out a sizable amount of money each year to sample their food, their craftsmanship, their way of life.
She was just about in line with Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe when the front door opened and Ruth Miller stepped onto the porch, followed by her twin brother, Eli. Clothed in traditional Amish dress for a young, unmarried woman, Ruth was simply stunning. Her blonde hair, parted severely down the middle and covered with a head cap, set off her wide-set ocean-blue eyes perfectly. Her high cheekbones and perfectly arched brows completed a face more befitting a magazine spread than an Amish bakery.
Yet somehow, despite the beauty that was glaringly obvious to everyone around her, Ruth was oblivious. Maybe even a bit naive. Painfully shy, Ruth tended to prefer staying in the shadow of her headstrong twin.
Claire’s gaze shifted to Ruth’s left as the pair came to a stop at the edge of the bake shop’s front porch. With the exception of the mop of blond hair visible around the bottom of his brimmed black hat, Eli and Ruth couldn’t be more different. Where Ruth was quiet, Eli tended to be loud. Where Ruth tended to shrink from anything resembling confrontation, Eli boldly stepped forward, his penchant for angry outbursts landing him in hot water with the Amish more than a few times.
In fact, on any other Amish man, the sight of swollen and splinted fingers would startle, but on Eli it wasn’t all
that shocking. What wasn’t normal, though, was the worry on Ruth’s face.
“Ruth? What’s wrong?” Claire turned up the walkway to the bake shop and stopped at the base of the steps. “Has there been another incident?”
Ruth nodded yet said nothing.
She looked at Eli and felt the intensity of his anger. “Eli? What happened?”
A flash of red reignited on the young man’s face. “Someone is spouting hateful words about my sister. That is what.”
“What are you talking about?”
Eli started to speak only to have his words thwarted by Ruth’s calming hand on his shoulder. “It is nothing. Really,” Ruth whispered.
“It is not
nothing
,” Eli spat through clenched teeth. “It is wrong, and it must stop.”
She climbed the same three steps that fronted each shop on the street and reached for both Ruth’s and Eli’s hands. “Tell me. What happened?”
“There was a letter. On my door. It said my baked goods made people sick,” Ruth explained as Eli fumed beside them. “I am afraid I have hurt someone.”
“You have hurt no one. Someone is trying to hurt you.”
Claire’s shoulders sagged under the reality of Eli’s words. Had the smashed milk bottles or even the stolen pie boxes been the only thing that had happened that week, it was possible it could be chalked up to an accident or mishap of some sort. But to have both
and
a letter …
No. Eli was right.
Something was wrong.
She looked toward the door, noting the tape residue that remained. “May I see the note?”
Ruth put words to Eli’s head shake. “Benjamin gave it to Mr. Glick.”
Benjamin was Ruth and Eli’s older brother, a man Claire had yet to meet. His milk runs to the bake shop had him there before Claire arrived. Any deliveries during the day fell to Eli.
“How did Mr. Glick get involved?” she asked as she glanced to her right at the shop that served as a bookend to Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe along with Claire’s own Heavenly Treasures.
“He was sweeping the porch when Ruth arrived. He heard her cries.” Eli toed the porch floor as his anger intensified still further. “I … I was … in back when I heard Mr. Glick. I came quickly.”
She took in the information, realizing the note must have been behind the call that brought her meeting with Jakob to a close. Releasing Ruth’s hand, Claire reached up, tucked an errant strand of blonde hair beneath the young woman’s head cap. “It’ll be alright, Ruth. Just you wait and see. Detective Fisher seems like a capable man.”
Surprise replaced anger on Eli’s face momentarily. “You met Jakob?”
“I did.” Stepping back, she retraced her way down the stairs. “I better get next door. Give a shout if you need anything, okay?”
“Thank you, Claire.”
She looked over her shoulder one last time as she traded Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe’s walkway for Heavenly Treasure’s, Ruth’s sad eyes tugging at her heart.
Ruth Miller was the epitome of goodness. In fact, Eli’s twin sister exuded the kind of kindness and generosity that made the world a better place. How anyone could target her with such venom made no sense.
Pushing open the door of her dream come true, Claire willed herself to take comfort in the brightly colored candles that graced the front shelves, the meticulously crafted quilts that covered half of the handcrafted racks, and the sight of her always smiling assistant, Esther.
Only this time, Esther wasn’t smiling.
Not by a long shot.
She rushed to the counter. “Esther? What’s wrong?”
Bringing her hands to her face, the girl responded, her voice shaky. “Mr. Snow. He was here.”
Her mouth gaped. “Walter?”
“I came in from speaking with Eli out back, and he was here.” Esther pointed at the very spot where Claire stood. “He was angry.”
“Angry? At who? You?”
“And you.”
“M-me?” she stammered. “But why? I’ve never even met the man.”
“He spoke of things he left behind. In the stockroom. He grabbed my wrist and yelled for me to tell him the truth. But I could not. I did not know what he was saying.” Esther lifted her arm for Claire to see, but any temporary marks had since subsided.
She felt her stomach churn. “Did he hurt you in any other way?”
“He… he… No. He did not.”
“Did you call for help?”
Esther’s gaze followed hers to the telephone, the reality of the girl’s world answering Claire’s question better than words ever could.
Instead, she changed tactics. “What did you do?”
Defeated, Esther sunk onto the folding chair behind the counter. “I did nothing. When I could not help him, he ran
out the back way. I waited until ten o’clock to be sure he would not return.”
“And then?” she urged, taking in the grandfather clock on the east wall, noting it was nearly ready to chime eleven times.
“I went out the front door to find Eli. He was pacing the bake shop’s front porch with his brother, Benjamin. He was very angry. I did not interrupt.” The girl dropped her head into her trembling hands. “I came back inside and waited for you. But then—”
“You’ve been alone in here like this for over an hour?” Claire ran around the counter and grabbed the phone off its cradle. “I’ll call Detective Fisher. Have him come and speak to you—”
Esther’s gasp sent a chill down her spine.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“You can not call the detective. Mamm would be angry.”
She stared at her friend. “But Esther, we have to call him. We have to tell him Walter was here. That he scared you.”
“Will I need to speak?”
“Of course. He’ll want to ask you questions.”
“I can not speak to the detective.” Esther shook her head fiercely, her voice emerging in a raspy, broken sound. “Please. I must talk to Mamm first. I will do so tonight.”
S
he let herself in through the back door of the inn, her shoulders heavy with worry and regret. All afternoon she’d tried to get Esther to change her mind, to let Claire place the call to Detective Fisher, but to no avail.
The girl had been adamant she speak with her mother and, eventually, Claire resigned herself to the notion of waiting. It was the only way.
Hanging her keys next to the washer, she paused in the middle of the mudroom, grateful for the answering sound of silence. Dinner was still a good hour away, and most of the guests were probably still out and about, enjoying the Amish countryside.
If she moved fast enough, she could finish the candles she’d put into molds before heading out that morning. If all went as she hoped, the colors and scents would sell well in the shop. Particularly the ones that mimicked the aroma of baked goods.