Page 71 of An Evil Heart
Mandi Yoder lives in a four-unit apartment building in Painters Mill, two blocks from the slaughterhouse. It’s a two-story brick structure withpeeling white paint and an ornate door some creative soul has painted a pretty shade of turquoise. Mona and I take a cracked sidewalk to the main entrance door, which isn’t quite closed. I push it open enough for us to slide through and step into a small vestibule. There are two apartments downstairs, neither of which matches the number I have, so we take the curved staircase to the second level.
The landing is uncomfortably hot and smells of cigarette smoke, week-old meat loaf, and feces.
“Someone forgot to take out the trash,” Mona mutters.
“Or clean the litter box.”
I’ve just raised my hand to knock when the door swings open. Mandi Yoder startles at the sight of us, but falls quickly into a tough persona. She’s so tall I have to look up to meet her gaze. She’s rail thin with heavily tattooed forearms. A cigarette hanging out of her mouth. She eyes me with a combination of surprise and disdain.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
I have my badge at the ready. “Mandi Yoder?”
“Yep.”
“I need to ask you some questions about an investigation I’m working on,” I say.
“Actually, I’m on my way to work, so—”
“This will only take a few minutes.”
She looks down her nose at me and then Mona, as if trying to decide which of us to slug first. “Whatever.” She turns on her heel and walks back into her apartment. “You have two minutes, so make it quick.”
We follow her into a messy living room with tall ceilings and scuffed walls. Shabby furniture. A bong is tucked into the lower shelf of an end table. Down the hall, a radio blasts out an old Rush tune. The smell of a litter box that hasn’t been cleaned hangs in the air.
She doesn’t invite us to sit, so we stand next to a coffee table piled with unopened mail, most of which look like past-due bills.
“You’re onrumspringa?” I begin.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m no longer Amish.” She taps a brow piercing. “They don’t much care for gay people so here I am.”
I nod. “I’m investigating the murder of Aden Karn.”
“Heard about what happened.”
“I was told you knew him.”
“Someone told you wrong.”
“But you’d met him?” I ask. “Spent some time with him?”
“I met him once or twice. In passing. I wouldn’t call that spending time, would you?”
“I understand there was an incident at the Brass Rail between you and Karn.”
“I don’t recall anything like that.”
“It happened a couple of months ago,” I tell her. “In the rear parking lot.”
She laughs. “Please tell me you don’t think I killed him.”
“I heard he put his hands on you. Got rough.”
“You heard wrong. I barely knew the guy. End of story.”
“Mandi, we just want to know what happened,” I tell her. “You’re not in any trouble.”
“That’s good since I haven’t done anything wrong.”
