that murder at the hand of the Amish is not completely out of the question,” Arnie mumbled around his finger.
“I will go wherever the facts of this case lead, Mr. Streen.”
A muffled ring permeated the confines of Arnie’s back pocket. He reached back, extracted his phone, and glanced down at the display. “Awww darn. I gotta take this call. It’s my professor.” He took three steps toward the door, then flipped the phone open and covered it with his hand. “Hey, Claire? If you talk to Esther before tomorrow, tell her I’ll be by sometime after eleven. And that I like her lavender dress best.”
The jingle of the door, signaling Arnie’s long-overdue departure, was met by utter silence broken only by a low whistle.
“Wow.”
She shook her head, then retrieved the wrappers from her pocket and tossed them into the wastebasket behind the counter. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
“How long has he been at the inn?” Jakob inquired, wide-eyed.
“Coming up on three weeks, I think.”
A second, longer whistle followed. “Your aunt deserves a medal.”
Crossing back to the front window, she looked out on Lighted Way and inhaled deeply, the gentle cadence of the horse-drawn buggies alongside the relaxed pace of vacationing tourists slowly ebbing the knot of tension ushered in by Arnie Streen. “I don’t understand why so many people feel the need to tarnish what is good. It’s like it makes them feel better about themselves somehow if they do.”
Jakob moved in behind her, his proximity and his quiet calm making her feel inexplicably better. “You know what? I’d rather have an open and honest discussion with someone like that guy who’s taken the time to uncover facts. It’s the other ones—the kind who make assumptions—who are most damaging to the Amish and their reputation.”
Slowly, she turned, his words and his experience educating her to things she wished the whole world could hear.
“So many people think that because the Amish keep to themselves that they don’t pay taxes. And that’s not true. They do … just like everyone else. The only difference is they don’t utilize the services that come from paying them. And for as odd as our life is to outsiders, the vast majority of Amish return home after Rumspringa. Says something, don’t you think?”
When he was done, she met his gaze and held it. “You miss it, don’t you?” she finally asked.
“Every single day.”
Chapter 12
W hen Claire first tiptoed her way down the stairs and into the parlor, she’d hoped reading a few chapters of the paperback mystery novel her aunt had recommended would finally entice sleep to her doorstep. Yet, six chapters later, she was as awake as ever, her attention now fixated on the flickering glow of candlelight as it wiggled and danced along the ceiling.
She’d made a valiant effort at sleep when she retired to her room shortly after ten o’clock, the evening’s dinner dishes and dessert plates freshly washed, dried, and set aside for the next day. But as tired as she’d thought she was, her mind proved otherwise, driving her from bed as midnight loomed.
Insomnia was something she knew well from her time in New York. In the beginning, it had been out of hurt as she listened for Peter’s key in the doorway after yet another late-night business dinner or cocktail party to which shehadn’t been invited. Then, as time passed, it had been a result of the mental chastising and second-guessing she subjected herself to as the sham that was her marriage became too hard to ignore.
Moving to Heavenly had changed that, though, until now.
And, once again, it came down to mental chastising and second-guessing. Only this time it had nothing whatsoever to do with her ex-husband and everything to do with the people and the town she’d grown to love over the past six months.
“I thought I noticed a light coming from down here, and I figured it was probably you.” Diane padded across the
“I will go wherever the facts of this case lead, Mr. Streen.”
A muffled ring permeated the confines of Arnie’s back pocket. He reached back, extracted his phone, and glanced down at the display. “Awww darn. I gotta take this call. It’s my professor.” He took three steps toward the door, then flipped the phone open and covered it with his hand. “Hey, Claire? If you talk to Esther before tomorrow, tell her I’ll be by sometime after eleven. And that I like her lavender dress best.”
The jingle of the door, signaling Arnie’s long-overdue departure, was met by utter silence broken only by a low whistle.
“Wow.”
She shook her head, then retrieved the wrappers from her pocket and tossed them into the wastebasket behind the counter. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
“How long has he been at the inn?” Jakob inquired, wide-eyed.
“Coming up on three weeks, I think.”
A second, longer whistle followed. “Your aunt deserves a medal.”
Crossing back to the front window, she looked out on Lighted Way and inhaled deeply, the gentle cadence of the horse-drawn buggies alongside the relaxed pace of vacationing tourists slowly ebbing the knot of tension ushered in by Arnie Streen. “I don’t understand why so many people feel the need to tarnish what is good. It’s like it makes them feel better about themselves somehow if they do.”
Jakob moved in behind her, his proximity and his quiet calm making her feel inexplicably better. “You know what? I’d rather have an open and honest discussion with someone like that guy who’s taken the time to uncover facts. It’s the other ones—the kind who make assumptions—who are most damaging to the Amish and their reputation.”
Slowly, she turned, his words and his experience educating her to things she wished the whole world could hear.
“So many people think that because the Amish keep to themselves that they don’t pay taxes. And that’s not true. They do … just like everyone else. The only difference is they don’t utilize the services that come from paying them. And for as odd as our life is to outsiders, the vast majority of Amish return home after Rumspringa. Says something, don’t you think?”
When he was done, she met his gaze and held it. “You miss it, don’t you?” she finally asked.
“Every single day.”
Chapter 12
W hen Claire first tiptoed her way down the stairs and into the parlor, she’d hoped reading a few chapters of the paperback mystery novel her aunt had recommended would finally entice sleep to her doorstep. Yet, six chapters later, she was as awake as ever, her attention now fixated on the flickering glow of candlelight as it wiggled and danced along the ceiling.
She’d made a valiant effort at sleep when she retired to her room shortly after ten o’clock, the evening’s dinner dishes and dessert plates freshly washed, dried, and set aside for the next day. But as tired as she’d thought she was, her mind proved otherwise, driving her from bed as midnight loomed.
Insomnia was something she knew well from her time in New York. In the beginning, it had been out of hurt as she listened for Peter’s key in the doorway after yet another late-night business dinner or cocktail party to which shehadn’t been invited. Then, as time passed, it had been a result of the mental chastising and second-guessing she subjected herself to as the sham that was her marriage became too hard to ignore.
Moving to Heavenly had changed that, though, until now.
And, once again, it came down to mental chastising and second-guessing. Only this time it had nothing whatsoever to do with her ex-husband and everything to do with the people and the town she’d grown to love over the past six months.
“I thought I noticed a light coming from down here, and I figured it was probably you.” Diane padded across the
Similar Books
