Page 12 of An Evil Heart
The woman steps backward as if shoved by some invisible force. “Aden. Gone? Oh good Lord. He’s so young. How?”
I lay out the fundamentals without getting into too much detail.
“Was it an accident?” the woman asks.
“That’s yet to be determined. We’re looking into a few things.” Not wanting to get into the specifics when I have so little solid information confirmed, I press on. “I understand he was seeing your daughter, Emily.”
Shaking her head, she looks down at the ground. “My goodness, this is going to be a shock for her.”
“They were close?” I ask.
She nods. “She’s only seventeen, but we figured they’d get married. Next year, maybe.”
“Did they get along well?”
“Of course they get along,” she says a little irritably. “He’s the first boy that’s paid her any heed and she’s just bloomed. He brought her out of her shell, I reckon. She’s a shy thing. They’ve been seeing each other for six months now and it’s been a match made in heaven. He’s good to her. Kind and attentive and she’s been like a whole new girl.”
“How well did you know Aden?”
“I’ve known that boy since he was yea high.” She holds out a steadyhand to indicate a height of about three feet. “Always was a charmer, that one. Funny. He could make you laugh even if you were having a bad day. Had a smile for everyone. Didn’t need to ask him for help; the boy would just show up and take on the hardest job you’ve got. Liked to get his hands dirty, never complained, and he didn’t leave until the work was done.”
“He was your daughter’s first beau?” I ask, using the Amish term for “boyfriend.”
“She might’ve gone to a singing or two before. A frolic down to Coshocton.” Her eyes flick away from mine just long enough to give me pause.
“None of the other boys had their eye on her?” I ask.
“They might’ve looked, but she wouldn’t have it. That girl only had eyes for Aden.”
I make a mental note of all of it, tuck it away for later. “When’s the last time you saw him?”
“Three days ago. We’ve had him over for supper every weekend since he started seeing Emily. Ate like a horse. Liked my chicken and dumplings just fine.” Lowering her head, she presses her fingertips to her eyes as if to keep the tears from falling. “My goodness, I can’t believe he’s gone.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.”
“God musta wanted him for something important. Sometimes when He takes ’em young, that’s the way it is. The Lord got a good one this time, that’s for sure.”
“Mrs. Byler, I know this is a bad time, but it would be helpful if I could speak to Emily for a few minutes. Is she home?”
“Oh, Lord, this is going to be hard on her.” The tears she’s been holding back spring free. She wipes them away without acknowledging them. A mother who has no patience with her own grief because she knows shemust be strong for her daughter. “Em’s in the kitchen, peeling apples for pies.” She grimaces at me. “Come on in.”
I follow her into the house and through a small mudroom. The kitchen is uncomfortably warm and smells of cinnamon. The windows are open, the curtains billowing, but the breeze isn’t enough to dispel the heat. A young Amish woman stands at the counter next to the sink, rolling dough with a wooden pin, her hands covered with flour. She’s a scant five feet tall with a pretty face, a porcelain complexion, and full lips the color of a peach. She’s wearing a wine-colored dress with an apron. Intent on the dough in front of her. Perspiration beaded on her cheeks. I can tell by the amount of flour on the counter that she’s a messy baker.
“Something smells good,” I say by way of greeting.
Her smile reveals dimpled cheeks. “A little too good if you ask me.”
She glances at us over her shoulder. The smile falters as she takes in my uniform. Her eyes go to her mother, then back at me. “Mamm?”
Blond hair is tucked messily into a gauzykapp,a single strand sticking out the side. She’s got bright blue eyes. Freckles on her nose. Cheeks that still have the roundness of youth. The kind of mouth a model would pay thousands for.
“This is Kate Burkholder,” her mother says. “She’s the police up to Painters Mill.”
“Police?” Dough forgotten, the girl picks up a raggedy kitchen towel and wipes her hands. “What happened? Why are the police here?” She looks at hermamm.“Why is she looking at me that way?” she asks inDeitsch.
“She’s got some bad news, honey,” her mom tells her.
“Bad news?” The girl chokes out a laugh, but the sound is an uneasy mix of annoyance and fear. “What on earth do you mean?”
