Page 79 of An Evil Heart
Clara steps into the kitchen, her eyes widening at the sight of her daughter. “Goodness gracious!” Her gaze sweeps from Emily to me and the dark stain of tea on my shirt, to the glass on the floor.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “She’s upset and I was just leaving.”
The Amish woman jabs a finger at her daughter. “Hoch dich anne,” she says firmly. Sit down.
“She’sfagunna!” Emily uses theDeitschterm for “desiring another’s ill fortune.” “She’s saying awful things about Aden!”
“You just settle yourself down.” The Amish woman turns to me, her expression angry but controlled. “We buried her beau yesterday, Chief Burkholder. I think she’s had enough questions for one day.”
I hold her gaze for an instant, then turn my attention back to Emily. “If you want to talk, call me anytime. Day or night. I’ll listen.”
Without waiting for a reply, I go through the door.
Wayne Graber gets off work at five, so I wait until early evening to talk to him. I find his car parked beneath the carport. As I crunch across the gravel, a flock of crows caw from the cornfield beyond.
“Chief Burkholder?”
I look toward the door beneath the garage portico to see Graber coming through, a beer in hand, his hair damp from a shower. “Is everything all right?” he asks.
“Everything’s fine.” I reach him and we shake hands.
“You’re working late again,” he says.
“I didn’t want to bother you at work.” An awkward silence and then I add, “I have a couple of follow-up questions if you have a moment.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
I pull out the photo of the vehicle. “I’m wondering if you’ve ever seen this vehicle.”
He leans closer to the photo, seems to examine it carefully. “Looks like a 2012 or thereabouts.”
“Twenty thirteen,” I tell him.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.”
“What about here at the house?” I ask.
“Jeez, I don’t think so.” He gives me a quizzical look. “Whose is it?”
Instead of answering, I pull out the photos of Paige Rossberger. “What about this woman? Have you ever seen her? Spoken to her?”
He stiffens at the sight of the photo. “That’s the girl who was killed.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you keep asking me about her? What does she have to do with Aden?”
“We believe there may be a link.”
“What kind of link?”
I say nothing.
He tightens his mouth. “You’re not going to try and pin what happened to her on Aden, are you?”
“We’re not trying to pin anything on anyone. I just want to know if she was ever here. If her car was ever here.” I shove the picture closer to him, urging him to take a more careful look. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” This time, he doesn’t look at the photo. “Trying to lay some random girl’s murder on Aden is a shitty thing to do. Just because you can’t figure out—”
