Suspendered Sentence (An Amish Mystery) (20 page)

She returned to the photograph and studied it critically. “I’d tried to capture the way the sun glinted off the snow-encrusted streetlamps, but I didn’t quite get it. Not completely, anyway.”

“I think it’s perfect just the way it is.”

Something about his voice and his sudden nearness made her swallow nervously. “I . . . I’m just surprised you actually put it up.”

“For a long time, it was the only thing that made this place feel like home.” At her unrestrained surprise, he continued. “I’ll never forget the moment I first saw you in the lobby of the police department with that blue-and-green-striped gift bag in your hand. I was so blown away by your presence it took a few minutes to register that you were there to see
me
.”

“I wanted to welcome you to Heavenly.”

“Everyone else to that point had simply waved, or, in the case of my family, turned their backs. But you not only took the time to seek me out, you also put a little bit of yourself into a gift bag and gave it to me.” He reached out, traced the edges of the frame with his index finger, and then cleared his throat of the emotion that threatened to choke his words. “I still have the candles you made, too.”

She followed his index finger to the far side of the mantel and the royal blue and teal candles she’d made especially for him. “I . . . I know you thanked me numerous times that day, and even mentioned putting everything up inside your home, but . . .” She let the words disappear from her lips as she became all too aware of Jakob’s proximity and his hand, now gently caressing her cheek.

“I was—and am—hooked. On you.”

She tilted her chin upward with the pressure of his fingertips and gave in to the kiss that had been building for quite some time, the warmth and hope she found there sending an unexpected tingle down her spine.

When they finally stepped apart, he pulled the quilt off the sofa and wrapped it around her shoulders with such love and tenderness she had to blink back tears. “Sometimes, I have to wonder if all of this is some sort of dream.”

“It is.” He dropped into a squat and added two fresh logs to the fire, the accompanying crackles and pops merely intensifying the coziness of the room. “The dreams that happen when your eyes are open are always the best kind, in my opinion.”

“Agreed.” She pulled the quilt more tightly against her body and shifted her focus to the rest of the frames displayed atop the mantel. To the immediate left of hers, was a picture of the hidden swimming hole Jakob frequented as a young Amish boy. “I know how special your memories are of that pond. Makes me wish I could transport myself back just to see you and Martha laughing and having fun.”

He poked at the fire a few times and then returned the metal pole to its holder on the far side of the fireplace. “I couldn’t have asked for a better sister than Martha. She made growing up Amish the treasured memory it will always be for me. But that’s not all I think about when I look at that picture.”

“It’s not?”

Slowly he rose to face her once again. “I also remember putting my arms around you for the very first time so I could teach you how to skip rocks.”

She couldn’t help but smile at the memory as she, too, found herself recalling the jolt of awareness that had come from the feel of his arms—an awareness she’d pushed aside at that time purely out of fear and confusion. “Thanks to you, I’ve become quite the little rock skipper, if I must say so myself.”

His laugh warmed her as quickly and completely as the restoked fire, and she moved on to the picture of intertwined hands. “Is one of those yours?”

“That’s Esther’s and Eli’s hands on their wedding day. I know I probably shouldn’t have taken it, but I thought it would be a nice memory.”

“Did they know you took it?” She heard the surprise in her voice and rushed to explain it. “I just know the Amish don’t like to have their photos taken.”

“I know. It’s why I almost left the camera at home before I picked you up that day. But, in the end, I couldn’t help myself. Then, at some point when I was walking around, giving myself a tour of Martha’s home and grounds, I saw the two of them holding hands. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture. I’m pretty sure Eli saw me because he turned their hands just enough to give me a clear shot.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said in awe.

“I put that one in a frame to remind me there’s always a chance.”

She pulled the quilt from around her shoulders and tucked it under her arm instead. “A chance?”

“When I moved back here, I fully expected my sister and my brother would pretend as if I didn’t exist. I dared to hope I was wrong, of course, but I was Amish once, too. I knew the drill.” He took the quilt and her hand and led her to the couch. “Within days of being here, I met you. And before I could fully bask in that good fortune, you and your shop gave me a place where I could at least
see
my sister and my niece. Five months later, I’m at her wedding. Granted, I was only there as your guest, and not a single solitary Amish person gave me the time of day, including my own family, but, still . . . What matters is that I
did
get to watch Esther get married and I know my being there meant something to her and Martha even if they could never show that in front of Bishop Hershberger or any other member of the Amish community.”

“I’m glad you were there with me that day,” she said honestly. “In fact, I was proud to have you as my date.”

“The feeling was mutual.” He reached across the end table closest to him and retrieved a stack of DVDs she hadn’t noticed. Holding them out like playing cards, he smiled. “Okay, so what sounds good to you? I tried to make sure all genres were represented—documentary, mystery, a missing person drama, comedy, and even a so-called chick flick.”

She looked from title to title and then shrugged. “How about I narrow it down to the drama and the comedy, and you make the final decision?”

“Hmmm. Okay, let’s go with the comedy. The way I see it, Miriam Hochstetler’s vanishing act this week is enough of a missing person drama all on its own, don’t you agree?” He deposited the remaining movie cases back on the end table and opened the one he’d selected. “I’ll pop this in and then head into the kitchen to make some popcorn. What can I get you to drink?”

The last thing in the world she wanted to do at that moment was think about Sadie Lehman and her long-buried body. But ever since Mike O’Neil’s visit to Heavenly Treasures that afternoon, she’d been able to think of little else.

“Claire?”

Something about the tone in which Jakob said her name had her reaching for the quilt all over again. “I know this is probably the last thing you want to talk about right now but . . .” She stopped, swallowed, and then started again, all hesitancy falling by the wayside as she thought, again, about the town’s newest mayoral candidate and the disdain he seemed to have for himself. “I was wondering if you’ve been able to reach Miriam yet.”

If he was bothered by the unexpected detour her question brought to their evening, he didn’t let it show beyond a raised eyebrow and a momentary pause. “She’s Amish. She left to care for an Amish friend in upstate New York. I can’t call her because she doesn’t have a phone. And I can’t solicit the help of the appropriate law enforcement agency in the area where she’s gone because even Jeremiah seems at a loss for where, exactly, his wife went, and which friend she has gone off to care for.”

“So now you move on, right? To one of the other names mentioned in Elizabeth’s journal?”

“If all goes well, Bishop Hershberger will have some information for me on Miriam and her whereabouts very, very soon.”

“Bishop Hershberger?” she echoed, shocked. “I thought he refused to even acknowledge you as a human being.”

He held his hand up, quieting her words. “As a former member of the community, he will not speak to me. But, as the police detective assigned to finding out what happened to Sadie Lehman, he will. Zebediah and Waneta deserve answers about their daughter’s death. They deserve to know how she died and why someone would bury her on their former property and never tell them.”

“I know this, and you know this, but does
Bishop Hershberger
know this? Especially when tracking down this information invariably means having contact with you?”

“Yes.” Jakob’s hand came down on hers and held it, warmly. “I know it bothers you the way the Amish treat me, Claire, and your loyalty in that regard is one of many things I love about you. But you have to understand I made the choice to leave after baptism. I knew the repercussions of that decision. You can’t hold them accountable for my choice.”

She tried to accept his reality, but it was hard. “I guess I just really struggle with the hypocrisy of a group that will turn the other cheek for someone who commits a horrible crime against them, yet can’t do the same for someone who’s only so-called crime is becoming a police officer.”

“It’s not that I became a police officer, Claire. It’s that I did it after being baptized.”

She stared down at his hand atop hers and took a steadying breath. No amount of bemoaning the Amish rules of excommunication was going to change anything. All she could do was support the people she loved—regardless of where they fell on the Amish/English spectrum.

“So who’s next?”

“You mean in terms of the investigation?”

She nodded.

“Besides Miriam, I’ve got to interview Leroy Beiler and Mike O’Neil.”

“When will that be?” she prodded.

“By week’s end, I hope. Leroy’s wife, Eva, is due to deliver their sixth child anytime now and Ben asked me to wait. Since Leroy isn’t the type to cut and run, I agreed. But, as an added precaution, I’ve asked one officer from each shift to keep watch outside Beiler’s farm.”

“And Mike?”

“That’s one I have to take slowly. His father has a lot of pull in this town.”

“I know. I’ve heard.”

He spun the chosen DVD case around in his hands before bringing it to a stop on the edge of his knee. “Is there something you aren’t telling me, Claire?”

She felt the hitch to her breath as she looked from the fire he’d carefully set to the DVD he was eager for them to watch together. More than anything, she wanted a date with Jakob, wanted an opportunity to kick back and get to know him even better. But if she shrugged off his question and smiled herself back into date mode, it wouldn’t be with the same undivided attention he deserved.

“How much can a former mayor actually sweep under a carpet?”

He stopped, stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, and then finally spoke, his eyes fixed on hers. “What are you trying to get at, Claire?”

More than anything she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. If she had, they’d be cuddled up with one another on the couch by now, laughing at the antics on the screen. But she hadn’t. She couldn’t . . .

“He knows what happened to Sadie. I’m positive of it,” she finally said. “And I think it claws at his soul in much the same way it did Elizabeth’s.”

“You think
who
knows?” Jakob asked.

“Mike O’Neil.”

Jakob looked up at the ceiling and released a pent-up burst of air. “If you’re right, his candidacy for mayor is o-v-e-r.”

Chapter 20

C
laire didn’t need history with Annie to know the girl was upset. It was obvious in everything from the not-so-subtle twist of her lips to the heavy-handed way she arranged the latest influx of Amish dolls.

But in true teenager style, each inquiry Claire made was met with the same terse brush-off. After the tenth rote reply, she ushered Annie to a stool.

“Look, kiddo, you keep telling me, ‘it is nothing,’ but there are twenty brand-new dolls sitting on that shelf over there who would beg to differ.” She pointed toward the pyramid shelf Ben had designed especially for the doll display. “They’re
soft
dolls, Annie . . . yet, somehow, each and every one you added to the shelf made an actual
thump
sound.”

Annie’s brown eyes cast downward in shame.

“I’m not trying to guilt you, Annie. I’m not trying to reprimand you, either. I just want you to tell me what’s got you so worked up.” Claire reached for the second stool and pulled it close enough to perch against its cushioned edge. “Sometimes talking out a problem has a way of making a person feel a little better.”

Balling her hands together, Annie bounced them against her lap, the anger she’d displayed all morning clearly at odds with the tears she rushed to wipe away. “I would not know. He does not have time to listen.”

The split second of confusion stirred by the teen’s words was pushed right out of Claire’s thoughts by the memory of a two-day-old discussion. “You’re talking about your dat, aren’t you?”

For a moment, Annie said nothing, the only indication she’d even heard Claire coming via a watery eye roll. Then, after a second swipe at even more tears, she lowered her nodding head into her hands.

“Aw, sweetie, I’m sure your father isn’t trying to hurt you. It’s just that he—he has such an important role in your community.” She hurried to Annie’s side and wrapped her arms around the crying girl. “I’m sure if you just tell him how you’re feeling, he will make more of an effort to carve out time for you.”