Page 66 of An Evil Heart
“His fiancée. Best friend. Parents.” I think about that a second. “Rossberger’s mother, too.”
We’ve finished eating. Our wineglasses are empty. My head is pleasantly fuzzy. But I’m also exhausted.
I look at Tomasetti. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re good at this?”
“Making spaghetti?”
“That, too.” Rising, I go to him, bend, and brush my mouth against his cheek. “Thank you for being such a good sounding board.”
“There are those rare moments in which I earn my keep.”
“One of these days some lucky girl is going to snatch you up.” I reach for our plates.
He sets his hand over mine and stops me. “That’ll wait.”
Rising, he takes my hands in his and pulls me to him. “What do you say we put these two cases to rest for a few hours?”
“Tomasetti, that’s the best suggestion I’ve heard all day.”
CHAPTER 18
The things we learn in our formative years stay with us. Right or wrong, the lessons of our youth shape our adult view of the world. Having been raised Amish, I was taught to believe the best about people. Most of the time that philosophy serves me well. I still believe that the majority of people are fundamentally good. As a cop, though, I’m keenly aware that many are not.
It’s a little before eightA.M.and I’m sitting in the Explorer in the parking lot of Mast Tiny Homes, waiting for Wayne Graber to show up for work. Despite having spent some quality time with Tomasetti last night, I didn’t get much sleep. After a few hours of tossing and turning, I downed half a pot of coffee, showered, and headed to the station. By seven thirty, I was on the road to Millersburg.
Graber pulls in a few minutes before eight and heads into the main workshop. I give him ten minutes and I follow him inside. The workshop is large and noisy, with half a dozen men running saws and nail guns. Theair smells of fresh-cut wood and oil stain. I spot Graber standing outside a break room, drinking coffee out of a paper cup, talking to another man. I feel curious eyes on my back as I head that way.
“Wayne?”
He swings around, his expression surprised. “Chief Burkholder.”
The man he was speaking with gives me a quick nod and moves away.
“I know this isn’t a good time.” I extend my hand for a shake to let him know this is a friendly visit. “Just a few quick follow-up questions.”
“I can spare a few minutes.” He picks up a five-gallon can of paint and a bucket full of tools—a roller with a handle, brushes, plastic sheeting, a tray, and a bundle of stir paddles—and nods toward the rear door. “I’m already clocked in, so if you don’t mind, can we talk while I work?”
“Sure.” I motion toward the tools. “Looks like you’re staining again today.”
“These guys make the homes as fast as I can paint and stain them.”
We go through the door to the gravel courtyard behind the workshop. He walks between two cabins and stops in front of a third structure that’s bare wood.
I make a show of admiring it. “Now that’s nice looking.”
“It’s custom,” he tells me. “Sort of a play on the modern farmhouse style, only smaller scale.”
“Is there a second level?” I ask.
“Loft.”
“Paint or stain?”
“This one will be painted.” He pries off the lid of the can. “Any luck finding out who killed Aden?”
“Still working on it,” I say. “I wanted to get your impression of his relationship with Emily Byler. I know they were planning to be married. Did they get along?”
“Sure. They were tight.” He pours paint into the tray. “He was crazy about her and I’m pretty sure the feeling was mutual.”
