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  Praise for the National Bestselling Amish Mysteries

  “The best cozy mystery debut I’ve read this year.”

  —Harlan Coben on Hearse and Buggy

  “The characters are interesting and delightful. The setting in the wonderful town of Heavenly, Pennsylvania, is just that, heavenly. Mixing Amish and ‘English’ town folk is intriguing . . . I recommend this book to any reader interested in Amish novels, cozy mysteries, or who just wants to read a fabulous book.”

  —Open Book Society

  “Delightful . . . Well-portrayed characters and authentic Amish lore make this a memorable read.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Bradford concocts a clever whodunit . . . Her characters possess depth.”

  —Richmond Times-Dispatch

  “An engaging amateur sleuth that interweaves Amish society with an enjoyable whodunit. Claire is a terrific protagonist whose wonderful investigation enables readers to obtain insight into the Amish culture.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  “The Amish customs and traditions are fascinating and blend nicely into the mystery, while the author’s ability to provide an authentic sense of community makes this story engaging.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Engaging characters fill this well-plotted mystery. The Amish community of Heavenly is realistically depicted and English (as the Amish call non-Amish) characters are woven into the community in believable ways.”

  —The Mystery Reader

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Laura Bradford

  Amish Mysteries

  HEARSE AND BUGGY

  ASSAULTED PRETZEL

  SHUNNED AND DANGEROUS

  SUSPENDERED SENTENCE

  A CHURN FOR THE WORSE

  JUST PLAIN MURDER

  Emergency Dessert Squad Mysteries

  ÉCLAIR AND PRESENT DANGER

  THE SILENCE OF THE FLANS

  DIAL M FOR MOUSSE

  Southern Sewing Circle Mysteries writing as Elizabeth Lynn Casey

  SEW DEADLY

  DEATH THREADS

  PINNED FOR MURDER

  DEADLY NOTIONS

  DANGEROUS ALTERATIONS

  REAP WHAT YOU SEW

  LET IT SEW

  REMNANTS OF MURDER

  TAKEN IN

  WEDDING DURESS

  NEEDLE AND DREAD

  PATTERNED AFTER DEATH

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2018 by Laura Bradford

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY is a registered trademark and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the B colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN: 9780440000419

  First Edition: December 2018

  Cover illustration by Mary Ann Lasher

  Cover design by Sarah Oberrender

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Contents

  Praise for the National Bestselling Amish Mysteries

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Laura Bradford

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  About the Author

  For Mom.

  I love you.

  Acknowledgments

  I can’t tell you what a thrill it was to write another installment in this series. Claire, Jakob, Esther, Eli, Aunt Diane, Annie, and Ben hold a special place in my heart. And based on the emails I get on my website on a near daily basis, they do for many of you, as well. Thank you for that.

  One of my favorite parts of being an author (aside from the writing part) is getting to meet my readers at book signings and reader events. One such reader event, Murder on the Menu in Wetumka, AL, had reader Lauri Biegler winning the opportunity to have her name used for a character of my choosing in my Amish Mysteries. Lauri, I hope you enjoy your turn in the literary spotlight!

  A big shout-out is in order for my editor, Michelle Vega, and my agent, Jessica Faust. Their unwavering belief in me and my ability is invaluable. Thanks you, ladies!

  And finally, if you have a moment, be sure to visit laurabradford.com to learn more about this series, as well as my new Amish-based women’s fiction novel, Portrait of a Sister.

  Chapter 1

  She was on the porch when he drove up, the sight of his car, followed by his full-face smile as he spotted her, eliciting a dreamy sigh she was pretty sure hadn’t come from her own mouth. A glance at the wicker chair to her right simply confirmed that observation.

  “I heard that, you know.” Claire Weatherly smoothed her hand over the simple late-summer dress she’d almost forgotten she owned and abandoned the porch swing. “And while I probably should say something about you being every bit as incorrigible as Grandma ever was, I’m just going to say I feel exactly the same way when I see him. Times a hundred.”

  Diane Weatherly stilled her knitting needles. “I wasn’t looking at Detective Fisher, dear.”

  Claire darted her own attention back to the parking lot just long enough to confirm Jakob had exited his car but was still just out of earshot. “You weren’t?”

  “No. I was looking at you, dear.” Tucking her needles into the multicolored ball of yarn wedged between her knees, the sixty-two-year-old woman tilted her head down just enough to afford an uninhibited view of Claire across the top of her reading glasses. “One day, when you have a child of your own, you’ll understand.”

  “That’s mighty cryptic, Aunt Diane.”

  “It’s just the best defense I can offer.” Diane’s thinning lips twitched with a grin just before her eyes led Claire’s back to the handsome man now no more than three strides away from the porch steps. “Now, go give him a proper greeting so I can sigh in peace.”

 
Claire tried to nibble back a laugh but it was no use. Instead, she closed the gap between them, kissed the top of her aunt’s head, and then turned back toward the steps as a still-smiling Jakob reached the top. “You look mighty happy this morning. Is it from seeing me or knowing that she”—Claire hooked her thumb at first Diane and then the waiting picnic basket on the floor beneath the swing—“can’t help but toss in a few extra goodies earmarked especially for you?”

  “That depends. What are these extra goodies of which you speak?” Then, pulling her toward him before her answering gasp could gain much momentum, he stemmed the rest with a sweet kiss. “Mmmm . . . You taste good.”

  Bracing her hand against his chest, she stepped back just enough to ensure a front-row view of the dimple sighting she knew was near. “That’s because those extra goodies that were supposed to be for you were really, really, really delicious . . .”

  “Claire!”

  “What?” She peeked back at her aunt. “Don’t tell me he didn’t have that coming.”

  “I did have that coming . . .” Jakob stepped around Claire, greeted Diane with a kiss on the cheek, and then claimed a spot on the porch swing. “That said, you were kidding, right?”

  She joined him on the floral cushion. “I was if you were.”

  “Phew . . .” He rested his right arm along the back of the swing and found the perfect amount of sway with a practiced foot. “So, Diane . . . Guess who called me last night to say he’s back in town for a few days?”

  “Who?”

  “Russ Granger.”

  A quick clap hijacked Claire’s attention back to the wicker chair and the woman whose smile rivaled the late-September sun. “Oh, Jakob, that’s wonderful! I bet Callie and the children are positively thrilled!”

  “Callie Davidson?” At her aunt’s nod, Claire moved on, tidbits of information she’d managed to glean during her past eighteen-plus months in Heavenly falling into place a piece at a time. “That’s the redhead that lives over by the playground, isn’t it? The one with the three little towheads that couldn’t be any cuter if they tried?”

  Diane nodded. “That’s right. And Russ is her father. He retired down to Florida close to ten years ago after—”

  “Serving as chief of the Heavenly Police Department,” Claire finished as she turned her focus back on her swing mate. “Oh, Jakob, no wonder you were smiling like that when you walked up! Your mentor is back in town!”

  He nuzzled his chin against the side of her head and then leaned back to look out over the same fields that had served as a backdrop for his Amish childhood. “Trust me, Claire, that smile was all about you. Still, I’m pretty excited to see Russ again, too. It’s been a long time. He wanted me to come out and meet him at Murphy’s on Route 65 when he called, but I was already in bed and I didn’t want to take a chance of missing my alarm when it went off this morning.”

  “We could have rescheduled our picnic!” Claire protested. “Especially for something like seeing an old friend.”

  “I know that. But I didn’t want to reschedule.”

  “Do you two keep in touch on the phone?” Diane asked as she transferred the yarn from her lap to the small table at her elbow.

  “We try. And sometimes we go through spurts where we do pretty well with that. But more often than not, I’m busy, he’s busy . . . You know how it is.”

  Hiking her calf onto the swing, Claire turned so her back was flush against the armrest and her view was of Jakob and her aunt. “Isn’t Russ retired?”

  “On paper, yes. But once a cop, always a cop.”

  “Meaning?” she prodded.

  “Russ has police work in his blood. Which means he got himself hired on at the station in his new town inside the first month of being down there.”

  “But not as a chief,” Diane interjected.

  Jakob nodded. “Right. Not as a chief. According to him, he fiddles around at the front desk. Said it kept his finger on the pulse and him out of Amelia’s hair.”

  “I take it Amelia is his wife?” At Diane’s slow nod and downtrodden expression, Claire sighed. “And I take it she’s since passed?”

  “She did. About five years ago, I believe.” At Diane’s nod, Jakob continued. “He retreated for a while after that. Didn’t return my calls, didn’t acknowledge the notes I sent, et cetera. But eventually he got his feet back under him and he’d send me an occasional text to see how I was doing. When I told him I was considering coming back here if I could get a job, he pulled some strings and, well, here I am.”

  “Remind me to thank him.” Claire rested her cheek against his hand, watching him as he appeared to drift away in thought. After a few moments of silence, though, he caught her looking at him and smiled. “So?” she asked. “When and where are you going to get to meet up with him again?”

  “Tonight. At Heavenly Brews. Eight o’clock. And I’m kind of hoping you’ll be with me when I do.”

  She drew back, surprised. “But you haven’t seen him in what? Two years, at least?”

  “Actually, it’s been almost eight.”

  “Then you don’t need me tagging along, Jakob,” she protested. “Go. Spend time with him. Talk cop stuff, tell him all the great things you’ve done since you’ve been here in Heavenly—the cases you’ve solved. You can introduce us a different day, before he heads back home.”

  “I want him to meet you now, Claire. Besides, there’s nothing Russ and I need to talk about that we can’t talk about with you sitting at the table, too.” Toeing the swing to a stop, he pushed his fingers through his sandy blond hair and laughed. “I’m telling you, Russ is quite a character. He sees everything and forgets nothing. It’s one of the reasons he made a heckuva cop and chief.”

  She waited for his hand to return to his lap and then captured it inside her own. “So what you’re telling me is he’ll probably have some cute stories to share about you from your Rumspringa days?”

  “Oh, no doubt. Stories I’ve long forgotten but he hasn’t, I’m quite sure. Some that go back even before my Rumspringa, too.”

  “Before? But how? You weren’t able to hang around the station until you were on Rumspringa, right?”

  “True. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t intrigued by men in uniform before that . . . And Russ being Russ noticed, of course. He made sure to wave whenever he caught me peeking out at him from the back of Dat’s buggy on the way through town.” Jakob turned his hand inside hers so they could intertwine their fingers and then nudged his chin toward the Amish countryside in the distance. “Some of my fascination was simply because they looked different. I saw English from the back of Dat’s buggy often, but police officers? Not so much. But it wasn’t just about the uniforms and the shiny things hanging off them. It was the way they held themselves, the way they’d get down to eye level with English children we’d pass in town, and the way the English children looked back at them—like they were something special, something to be respected.

  “I remember this time, when I was no more than six, maybe seven, and we were coming back from a horse auction or something. Dat was driving, of course, and I was sitting in the back of the buggy with Martha. We were heading down Lighted Way, which was nothing like it is today in terms of the number of stores. Anyway, this guy comes running out of a shop. And by running, I mean running. Anyway, a few seconds later, the shopkeeper comes out and starts yelling that this guy stole something from his store. Russ, who must have been sitting by an open window in the station house or something, comes running out, takes no more than a split second to get his bearings, and takes off after this guy. Before Dat’s horse had all four feet on the gravelly part of the road just past what is now Yoder’s Furniture, Russ had this guy on the ground with his hands behind his back.” Jakob slid his gaze back to Claire’s. “I . . . I don’t think I can ever explain just how taken I was with that—how in awe I was of Russ and the ent
ire police profession even though I wasn’t supposed to be in awe of anyone other than God.”

  Extricating her fingers from his, she scooted across the swing until they were practically nose to nose. “You actually don’t have to explain a thing, Jakob. It’s written all over your face.”

  He laughed and pulled her close. “I can’t wait for you to meet him,” he said against her temple. “You’re going to love him.”

  Chapter 2

  “I don’t think I could have imagined a better day than this, could you?” Claire leaned back against Jakob’s chest and watched as the rock he’d been saving for last skipped across Miller’s Pond four times before sinking below the surface. “Summer is still here, but fall is most definitely knocking at the door.”

  “Fall has always been one of my very favorite times of the year.” Jakob wrapped his rock-skipping arm around Claire and pressed his cheek against hers, his words serving as a tour of a life she could never seem to learn enough about. “Sure, I loved coming here in the summer with Martha. Splashing around, skipping rocks, trying to swim to the other side . . . It was all good stuff. So, too, was winter and waiting for that moment when the ice was strong enough that we could play hockey with whatever stick we could find.”

  “What did you use as a puck?” she asked as her mind’s eye tried to place the man she knew with the boy he was describing.

  “Most of the time we used a flat rock, like the kind I was just skipping. A few times, we used one of my shoes. And once, we used a baseball hat we found on the side of the road.”

  “Your mother didn’t mind you taking off out of the house with an extra shoe?”

  “When we used a shoe, it was always one of the ones I was wearing.”

  She cocked her head up so she could see his face. “But if the ice was hard enough to stand on, wasn’t it too cold to be taking your shoes off?”

  “Amish boys at that age aren’t much different than English boys. You see an opportunity to play, you play. No matter what.”