Page 72 of An Evil Heart
“You were in Aden’s car that night,” Mona puts in. “You argued.”
She lets out a lengthy sigh, not taking any of this as seriously as she should. “That frickin’ Jimmie Baines is a cokehead. Believe me, I know. You can tell him I said that.”
“It would be tremendously helpful if you just told us what happened,” I say.
She rolls her eyes with drama. “That’s the thing. Nothing happened. There was no incident. No one was involved in anything. And Jimmie Baines is full of shit.” She enunciates the words as if she’s speaking to a two-year-old, then leans close to me, and whispers, “Would it help if I said it inDeitsch? I hear you couldn’t cut being Amish either.”
“Was there anyone else there that evening who might talk to us?” I ask.
Frowning, she studies us as if we’re a couple of skinny mongrels begging for food. Then she points at the door. “Out.”
“Mandi—” I begin.
She cuts me off. “Hit the road.”
I reach into my pocket, pull out my card, and take a moment to write my cell number on the back. “Call me if you change your mind about talking.”
“Whatever.” She takes the card, flips it like a playing card onto the floor. “I have to get to work. Now get out or I’m going to file a complaint.”
Back in the Explorer, Mona and I sit there a moment, not speaking.
“I don’t think it would be much of a stretch to say we hit a dead end with Yoder,” she says after a moment.
I start the engine. “Yeah, I don’t think she’s going to come around.”
She heaves a sigh. “What now, Chief?”
I glance over at her. “When’s the last time you slept?”
“Um…”
“Go home and grab a few hours and a shower. When you’re back, get with Pickles. I want you guys to expand our search for retailers who’ve sold crossbows. Include Wooster in the search. If you can find any outlying sporting goods locations, include them, too. It’ll take some doing, but it’s… something.”
CHAPTER 19
I used to subscribe to the belief that a person’s loved ones are the people who know them best. It wasn’t until I had some life experience under my belt that I learned the premise couldn’t be further from the truth. Sometimes a person’s loved ones are the last to know—or the last to acknowledge—a fault or weakness. That’s especially true when you’re Amish.
Aden Karn was laid to rest this morning. The funeral was held at the Byler farm, mainly because the barn is big enough to accommodate a large group. I didn’t attend; a funeral is a time that belongs to loved ones and family and I gave them that because they are due. I did, however, park on the shoulder at the end of the lane and watch the procession of buggies pull in. The Amish turned out by the hundreds.
While I eschewed the funeral, I did attend the burial service at thegraabhof,or cemetery. I stuck to the periphery of the gathering, doing my best not to intrude. I observed the mourners from afar, looking for any unusual behavior—excessive crying or someone making a scene—conspicuous absences, or the presence of a stranger. But there was nothing unusual. Angela and Lester Karn stood graveside, their expressions downcast and stoic. Emily Byler, clad in black and fighting tears, stood with her parents. Wayne Graber was one of the pallbearers. Even the young men from the gas station showed, dressed in their best Amish attire. I’m loath to approach the Karns on the day they laid their son to rest, but the questions burning inside me will not wait.
It’s afternoon when I pull into the parking slot outside The Gentle Cobbler. I’m not surprised to find them working. Some seek the sense of normalcy that comes with the mundane. The comfort of ritual. The foundation of work that is such a big part of Amish life.
ACLOSEDsign hangs on the window, but the lights are on. As I cross the sidewalk to the door, I see someone moving around inside. I knock on the glass and wait. Sure enough, Lester Karn comes to the door. His face is grim, his eyes hard when he opens it. He seems to have aged ten years in the last few days. His shoulders are hunched. His chest sunken. His cheeks hollowed beneath his beard. He is the picture of grief.
“I know this has been a tough day.” I look past him and see Angela behind the counter, looking at me over the top of the cash register. “I’ll keep it short.”
Bowing his head in acquiescence, Lester ushers me into the store.
The smells of leather, coffee, and shoe polish hang comfortably in the air as I follow him to the counter. Angela’s fingers ting against the keys of the cash register as she prepares it for the day’s sales. “God gives us the strength for any hill we have to climb,” she says to no one in particular.
“I was at thegraabhofearlier,” I say quietly inDeitsch.“It was a good service.”
“Er hot en iwwerflissich leve gfaahre,” Angela says. He lived an abundant life.
“The deacon said there were about three hundred Amish there,” Lester says flatly.
“The Amish turn out,” I say. “Always.”
