An Evil Heart (Kate Burkholder, #15)(51)

I feel Glock’s eyes on me as we enter. The house is uncomfortably warm and smells of burnt toast and cigarette smoke. Rossberger moves like a woman who spends too much time on her feet and leads us to a living room furnished with secondhand furniture and wall-to-wall carpet from the 1990s. She motions me to a ragtag sofa and offers a chair to Glock, but he declines and takes up his position in the doorway.

“Suit yourself.” She falls into an overstuffed chair across from me and props her feet on the matching ottoman. “Detective said she was murdered. That true?”

“The coroner hasn’t made the official ruling just yet,” I tell her. “But, yes, we believe it was a homicide.”

“You the cop going to be investigating?” Her eyes flick over my uniform and she laughs. “A woman?”

“Her body was found in Painters Mill, where I’m chief. The Ohio Bureau of Criminal Investigation and the Holmes County Sheriff’s Department are involved, too. I want you to know we’re going to do everything we can to find the person responsible.”

“I hope you get him. Paige wasn’t exactly a good girl, but she sure didn’t deserve to get killed.”

I pull out my notepad. “When’s the last time you saw her?”

“Four days ago. She comes and goes. More going than coming, I guess.”

“Did she have any ties to Painters Mill?” I ask. “Did she ever travel there or mention Holmes County?”

“Not that I recall. She wasn’t exactly the Amish-country type, if you know what I mean.”

I recall the probation officer telling me Paige had landed a job. “I understand she worked part-time.”

The woman frowns at me. “You know she did.”

It takes me a second to understand the meaning of her response. “I mean a regular job,” I clarify. “Her probation officer said she was working at a grocery store. Is that correct?”

“Got fired a couple weeks ago. That girl had more jobs than I have toes. She didn’t like being told what to do. Never could hold one down.”

I pause, take a moment to get my words in order, get them right. “She was arrested for prostitution a couple years ago?”

She gives me a sage look. “You’re wondering if she was still working the street?”

I nod. “Was she?”

“Lookit, we didn’t talk about it. She knew I didn’t approve. But, yeah, I think she was out there, doing what she could to make some money.”

“Is there anything in particular that makes you think that?”

“She kept crazy hours. Always had cash. Got a lot of calls.” Grimacing, she shakes her head, and her thoughts seem to turn inward. “I always knew something bad would come of it. I tried to tell her. She wouldn’t listen to anyone, least of all me.”

“Do you have a recent picture of her?”

“I think so.” She pulls out her phone, scrolls, then hands the device to me. “Took this a couple of weeks ago. Her birthday. God’s sake, I didn’t know it would be her last.”

I take the phone, look down at the photo. Paige Rossberger was blond and pretty with a toothy, born-to-laugh smile. She’s looking at the camera, sticking out her tongue at the photographer. “Did you take the photo?”

“Sure did. We had dinner together that night.”

I look back at the photo and realize it’s her eyes that grab hold of me. They’re big and green and reflect mischief and trouble. “She was pretty.”

The woman laughs. “A pretty lot of trouble is what she was.”

“May I send this photo to my email?” I ask.

“Sure.”

I poke around, find the Share button, and send it. I hand her the phone. “Do you know where Paige’s cell phone is?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve called her six or seven times in the last couple days. Goes right to voice mail. That’s why I got worried. Even if she doesn’t answer, she’ll always text back.”

I ask for the number and she gives it to me. I write all of it down.

“Did she have a boyfriend?” I ask. “Or was she seeing anyone regularly?”

“No one regular.” She huffs. “Ain’t a man alive put up with a woman screwing any loser off the street for fifty bucks. That just ain’t right.”

“What about enemies, Mrs. Rossberger? Did Paige have any ongoing disputes or arguments with anyone?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Did she have a best friend? Was she close to anyone in particular? Someone she might’ve confided in?”

“Paige was different that way. Never got too close to people. Didn’t do normal stuff, like go to movies or shop or go out to eat.” Her brows knit as if she’s thinking about it. “She was kind of a loner, I guess.”

The woman takes a deep breath and presses her lips together. “I probably argued with her more than anyone. I told her: No drugs in this house. No booze. And no men.” A phlegmy laugh rattles in her throat. “I guess that’s why she didn’t come around much. Last year or so, she’d become a stranger to me. Someone I didn’t know. Someone I didn’t want to know. I never could get through to her. It’s sad, really.”

“Mrs. Rossberger, do you have any idea who might’ve done this?” I ask.