“Course Aden’s on rumspringa,” Lester puts in, referring to the “running around” time most Amish teens indulge in before their baptism. “Been running around, you know. Hard to keep up with the youngsters when they don’t live at home.”
“Poor Em’s going to be torn up over this.” The Amish woman’s face crumples again, and she swipes at the tears with her fingertips.
Steeling myself against the other woman’s agony, I tug my card from my pocket, jot my cell number on the back, and pass it to Lester. “If you remember something that might be important, call me,” I tell them.
Without answering, Lester looks down at the card, but it’s as if he doesn’t see it.
The grief filling the room is suffocating. Again, I feel that breathless sensation in my chest. I reach out and touch Angela’s hand, but she pulls it away, doesn’t look at me.
I leave them like that. Silent and staring. Their lives shattered. Their hearts broken.
* * *
I sit in the Explorer with my hands on the wheel for a full minute before starting the engine. That’s the thing about being a cop in a small town. Policing is a hell of a lot more personal. You know the people you’ve sworn to serve and protect. Whether it’s to write a speeding ticket, round up escaped livestock, pull someone’s dog from a frozen pond, or tell parents their teenage son has wrapped his Mustang around a tree and didn’t survive, you know them. You know the families. You know their strengths and weaknesses. You know their secrets. Sometimes that personal connection hurts because you have a job to do and there’s no one else.
Shaking off the remnants of their grief, I mentally shift gears and I think about where I am in terms of the investigation. This is the stage when a cop needs to be in a dozen places at once. Information is the name of the game and I need all of it yesterday. Homicides are rarely random; the victim usually knows his killer. I think about Aden Karn’s life and relationships. His family dynamics. The people he loved. Who did he spend time with? Who were his coworkers? His neighbors? Business associates?
Someone always knows something, a little voice whispers in my ear.
I pick up my cell as I back from the parking space and hail Dispatch. Lois picks up on the first ring. “Anything come back on Aden Karn?” I ask.
“Squeaky clean, Chief. Not even a speeding ticket.”
“Run Angela and Lester Karn, will you?” I’ve no doubt the couple have clean records. Even so, it’s always wise to check. “Run Wayne Graber, too. Emily Byler. And her parents.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I get all this.”
I thank her and drop the cell into the console as I pull away.
* * *
Andy and Clara Byler live nearly to the Coshocton County line just off of County Road 19. It’s a well-kept farm with a white farmhouse, a grain silo, and two low-slung hog barns in the back. I follow the driveway around to the rear of the house and park next to a wooden wagon piled high with cut hay. The stench of hog manure hits me like a brick when I get out.
Midway to the house, I notice the Amish woman on her knees, weeding a flower bed off the back porch. She’s wearing a mauve dress, a white kapp, and a pair of sneakers that have seen plenty of miles. There’s a pile of pulled weeds the size of a Thanksgiving turkey on the ground beside her.
“Mums are pretty,” I say to her as I approach.
She glances at me over her shoulder and frowns. “Chickens sure do like ’em. The stupid things. Rooster leads the hens over here every morning and they go to town, scratching up everything in sight. I might just fry him up one of these days.”
I smile. “Clara Byler?”
“That’s me.” Tossing a handful of weeds onto the pile, she heaves herself to her feet and brushes her hands against the skirt of her dress. I see her eyes taking in my uniform, and she cocks her head. “You’re a ways from Painters Mill.”
I have my shield at the ready. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”
She goes still and I see her mentally brace, telling me she’s no stranger to tragedy.
“Aden Karn was killed earlier this morning,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
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 steady hand 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 she must be strong for her daughter. “Em’s in the kitchen, peeling apples for pies.” She grimaces at me. “Come on in.”