Page 67 of An Evil Heart
“That’s what I’m hearing,” I say. “Did Aden see anyone else before Emily?”
“He talked to a few girls. Nothing serious.”
“What about while he was courting Emily?” I ask. “I mean, casually?”
“Aden was good-looking, of age, and unmarried.” He stops what he’s doing and looks at me as if he’s just figured out where I’m going with this line of questioning. “I don’t really know what you want me to say, Chief Burkholder. I mean, he was my best friend. It doesn’t seem right to speak badly of him when he’s not here to defend himself.”
“Wayne, this isn’t about Aden’s private life,” I say. “This is about finding the person responsible for his death.”
He picks up the roller and rolls it into the paint. As he works, I see his mind churning. Trying to figure out how to answer. The best angle to take. After a moment, he sighs. “You want me to tell you that my best friend was two-timing his fiancée. Is that what you want?”
“All I want is the truth.” I wait a beat. “Was he?”
He frowns at me. “Emily was young. She wouldn’t… you know.” He fumbles the word, breaks off the sentence. “They weren’t screwing around, okay? I mean, she’s Amish and they’re all about waiting until marriage.”
“Okay. Fair enough.”
“So Aden liked sex. He liked women. A lot. So he went out on occasion. That’s all I got to say about that because I don’t know what he did behind closed doors.”
“Do any of these women have names?”
“No idea. I mean, I didn’t know them. He usually met them at some bar. A place where the Amish wouldn’t see him. I mean, he didn’t want Emily to know, right?” He laughs. “And it wouldn’t exactly go over if the bishop found out he was two-timing his fiancée.”
“How many women?”
He emits a good-natured groan. “Aden’s dead and you’re going to make me stab the guy in the back?”
“I’m asking you a question that needs to be asked,” I say. “There’s no pleasure in it. I don’t have an agenda. All I want is the truth.”
He shakes his head. “Too many. Okay?”
“Where did he meet them?” I ask.
“The Brass Rail,” he snaps. “That’s all I know.”
I pull the photo of Paige Rossberger from my pocket, unfold it, and show it to him. “Was he ever with her?”
Curious about the photo, he cranes his neck, takes a long look. “I never saw her at the house. Never saw her at the Rail.” He raises his eyes to mine. “She’s the one that got killed, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
His gaze intensifies, as if realizing I mean business. “Why are you asking me about her? What does she have to do with Aden?”
Ignoring the question, I hand him my card, but he doesn’t take it. He looks away, concentrates on rolling the paint.
“If you knew something that might help me find the killer,” I say, “you’d tell me, right?”
“You know I would.”
Turning, I start across the courtyard. I’m midway to the workshop when he calls out my name.
I turn back, raise my brows, wait.
“Those loose girls didn’t mean anything to him,” he says. “It was all about the sex. He loved Em. It would break her heart if she found out he was fooling around on her. I don’t want people remembering him that way.”
“Thanks for your time,” I tell him.
And I walk away.
