right now.”
Again, Claire looked at Benjamin, the quiet concern she saw in his eyes giving her the courage she needed to share the part of the story Diane needed to know, especially when it was obvious even to Claire that the two events were most certainly related.
“Diane.” Leaving her left arm still draped around Diane’s back, Claire sought the woman’s now clasped hands with her right, covering them gently and offering a little squeeze. “Rob Karble won’t be coming back to the inn.”
Her aunt’s face crumbled. “But he has to know that something like this has never happened in my inn before!”
She took a deep breath and tried again, this time cutting straight to the chase. “Diane. Rob Karble won’t be coming back because he’s dead.”
Diane’s gasp was echoed by Virginia and her husband, with Virginia recovering fast enough to ask the litany of expected questions. “Dead? But…how? When?”
Claire opened her mouth to speak, but it was Benjamin who ultimately answered, his words blanketing the room in a stunned silence. “His body was found near the end of the festival. He was murdered.”
Chapter 7
C laire emptied the last of the quarters into their spot in the register and glanced up at the clock.
9:40.
Twenty more minutes and she could officially throw herself into a day that would have her greeting customers, fielding questions about the Amish, helping match people to a particular gift item, and carefully wrapping purchases for their journey home. They were tasks she always welcomed as a small-business owner who relied on tourists for survival. But at that moment, her eagerness for the day had very little to do with sales and the bottom line, and everything to do with needing a distraction.
Sure, she’d tried to find and maintain a sense of calm for Diane and the rest of her guests the night before, but, in all fairness, there was only so much a person could do when faced with a murdered guest, the ransacked room of thatparticular murdered guest, and the late-night arrival of that same murdered guest’s wife.
A snorted exhale through the open side window startled her from her thoughts and she shut the drawer, the answering rattle of the coins inside failing to trigger the smile it normally did. “You can do this, Claire,” she mumbled. “You can pretend like everything is normal.”
A soft tap at the shop’s back door saved her from engaging in an unending litany of self-debate, and she headed in that direction. Fortunately for her, the sight of the Amish man standing on the other side of the storm door was able to accomplish what the sound of the coins hadn’t, adding a side order of flutter to boot.
“Benjamin, hi! I figured that was your horse I heard in the alley just now.” Leaning forward, Claire pushed the door open with one hand and waved Eli’s brother in with the other.
His normally stoic cheekbones lifted upward in a smile reminiscent of Ruth, his sister and Eli’s twin. Ruth Miller ran Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe, the wildly popular Amish bakery next to Heavenly Treasures. The two stores were separated at their sides by a narrow alleyway just large enough to accommodate a buggy visit from whichever Miller brother stopped by the bake shop to look after Ruth at any given point in the day.
“You are well this morning?” Benjamin stepped into Heavenly Treasures’ stockroom and turned to face Claire, his dark blue eyes searching her face with an intensity that only served to increase the flutter factor. “You were able to get rest?”
Rest.
That was such a subjective term, wasn’t it?
Had she been able to shut her door and retire to her bed at some point during the night? Yes. But only after AnnKarble had stopped screaming and been settled into a spare room on the first floor, the police had gotten everything they needed from the ransacked room, and Diane had finally wept herself into something resembling sleep. Had she actually been able to close her eyes and
Again, Claire looked at Benjamin, the quiet concern she saw in his eyes giving her the courage she needed to share the part of the story Diane needed to know, especially when it was obvious even to Claire that the two events were most certainly related.
“Diane.” Leaving her left arm still draped around Diane’s back, Claire sought the woman’s now clasped hands with her right, covering them gently and offering a little squeeze. “Rob Karble won’t be coming back to the inn.”
Her aunt’s face crumbled. “But he has to know that something like this has never happened in my inn before!”
She took a deep breath and tried again, this time cutting straight to the chase. “Diane. Rob Karble won’t be coming back because he’s dead.”
Diane’s gasp was echoed by Virginia and her husband, with Virginia recovering fast enough to ask the litany of expected questions. “Dead? But…how? When?”
Claire opened her mouth to speak, but it was Benjamin who ultimately answered, his words blanketing the room in a stunned silence. “His body was found near the end of the festival. He was murdered.”
Chapter 7
C laire emptied the last of the quarters into their spot in the register and glanced up at the clock.
9:40.
Twenty more minutes and she could officially throw herself into a day that would have her greeting customers, fielding questions about the Amish, helping match people to a particular gift item, and carefully wrapping purchases for their journey home. They were tasks she always welcomed as a small-business owner who relied on tourists for survival. But at that moment, her eagerness for the day had very little to do with sales and the bottom line, and everything to do with needing a distraction.
Sure, she’d tried to find and maintain a sense of calm for Diane and the rest of her guests the night before, but, in all fairness, there was only so much a person could do when faced with a murdered guest, the ransacked room of thatparticular murdered guest, and the late-night arrival of that same murdered guest’s wife.
A snorted exhale through the open side window startled her from her thoughts and she shut the drawer, the answering rattle of the coins inside failing to trigger the smile it normally did. “You can do this, Claire,” she mumbled. “You can pretend like everything is normal.”
A soft tap at the shop’s back door saved her from engaging in an unending litany of self-debate, and she headed in that direction. Fortunately for her, the sight of the Amish man standing on the other side of the storm door was able to accomplish what the sound of the coins hadn’t, adding a side order of flutter to boot.
“Benjamin, hi! I figured that was your horse I heard in the alley just now.” Leaning forward, Claire pushed the door open with one hand and waved Eli’s brother in with the other.
His normally stoic cheekbones lifted upward in a smile reminiscent of Ruth, his sister and Eli’s twin. Ruth Miller ran Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe, the wildly popular Amish bakery next to Heavenly Treasures. The two stores were separated at their sides by a narrow alleyway just large enough to accommodate a buggy visit from whichever Miller brother stopped by the bake shop to look after Ruth at any given point in the day.
“You are well this morning?” Benjamin stepped into Heavenly Treasures’ stockroom and turned to face Claire, his dark blue eyes searching her face with an intensity that only served to increase the flutter factor. “You were able to get rest?”
Rest.
That was such a subjective term, wasn’t it?
Had she been able to shut her door and retire to her bed at some point during the night? Yes. But only after AnnKarble had stopped screaming and been settled into a spare room on the first floor, the police had gotten everything they needed from the ransacked room, and Diane had finally wept herself into something resembling sleep. Had she actually been able to close her eyes and
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