“Ah.” He cocks his head, looks at me from beneath the brim of his hat. “I reckon that’s the reason you’re here.”
I nod. “I’m questioning everyone who knew or had contact with Karn.”
He looks out over the field, then jerks his head. “I courted her for a bit.”
“I heard it was more serious than that.”
“I thought it was serious. I mean, I’m the age when a man starts thinking about a wife. A family.”
“You asked her to marry you?”
“I reckon I did.” He sighs, looks over at the horses, and then back at me. “Em had other plans, I guess.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He frowns, letting me know the question is too personal. He’s astute enough to know he has to answer. “Aden had his own ideas about courting her. Came on strong. They carried on behind my back. Kept me in the dark.”
“Were you sleeping with her?”
“I ain’t going to say.”
“Were Aden and Emily sleeping together?”
“I reckon you’ll have to ask her.”
“How did you feel about that?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Chief Burkholder. I didn’t like it. The guy stole my girl right out from under me. They carried on behind my back. Made a fool of me.”
“Did you confront Aden?”
He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes sweat from the back of his neck. “What do you think?”
“I think you need to answer the question.”
“Yeah, I confronted him. We argued. I could have punched him or done worse, but I didn’t. I’m Amish and that’s not our way. You should know that, but I’m not sure you do.”
“Did you threaten him?” I ask.
“I told him to stay away from my girl.”
“Have you ever been to Karn’s house?”
“Just that one time,” he says.
“When’s the last time you saw him?”
“I told you I saw him at worship three weeks ago.”
“Where were you the morning of October second?” I ask.
“I was here.” He motions to the corn picker. “Fixed a wheel on that thing. Took me a couple days.”
“Can anyone substantiate that?”
“I reckon not. These geldings ain’t much for conversation.”
I nod. “Do you own a crossbow?”
He laughs. “Oh boy. I guess you do think I did it.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d just answer the question.”
“I got a compound bow. A nice one. Killed me a dozen bucks with it over the years.”
“Have you used it recently?”
“Last time I shot it was about a year ago. During the season. Got me a ten-pointer.” He looks at me and sighs. “The one thing I didn’t do was shoot Aden Karn with it.” He looks over his shoulder at the team of horses and the corn picker. “I gotta get back to work.”
I have my card at the ready. “If you think of anything else that might be important, will you get in touch with me?”
Shaking his head, he drops the card into his pocket without looking at it and walks away.
* * *
Jealousy is a powerful emotion, especially when it bears down on an immature, insecure, or violent mind. Infidelity is betrayal in its most insidious form and has been the basis for countless murders. Gideon Troyer had every reason to be angry with Karn; he had every right to be jealous. That he admitted it when asked doesn’t exclude him from suspicion. Some people believe lies are somehow more convincing when they skate that razor’s edge of truth. Usually, those are the individuals who excel at hiding the evil that lurks in the darkest corners of their heart.
The stink of hog manure hangs heavy in the air when I park in front of the Byler farm and shut down the engine. I’m midway to the door when someone calls my name. I turn to see Clara Byler striding toward me, a wire basket filled with brown chicken eggs at her side.
“Looks like your hens are good producers,” I say as I cross to her.
“They sure eat enough.” The Amish woman says the words with a smile, but I can tell by her expression she’s not pleased to see me. “Thought I’d make noodles for supper.”
“How is Emily doing?” I ask.
“Having a hard go of it.” She glances toward the house. “Funeral’s in two days. She’s just beside herself. Cries all day.” She sighs. “Bloosich.” Depressed.
“I know this is a bad time, but I need to ask her some questions.”
She tightens her mouth, doesn’t respond.
“About Gideon Troyer.”
Her gaze snaps to mine. “Oh.”
If I hadn’t been looking for a reaction, I would have missed the quicksilver wince at the mention of Troyer’s name. “You should have told me about him,” I say quietly.
She looks down at the basket of eggs.
The Amish code of silence, I think.
“You talked to Gideon?” she asks after a moment.
“About an hour ago.”
She puts her hand over her mouth. “Did he…”
“All I can tell you is that it’s an open investigation. We’ve not made an arrest. The most important thing I need right now in order to do my job is information.”
Grimacing, she nods.
I send a pointed look toward the house. “I wouldn’t ask to speak with Emily if it wasn’t important.”
“Sitz dich anne.” Sit yourself there. She motions toward a picnic table beneath a big elm tree in the side yard. “Might do her some good to be outside, I guess. Get some fresh air and sun. I’ll go fetch her.”
Nearly ten minutes pass before I hear the slam of the screen door. I glance over to see Emily shuffle down the steps and start toward me. There’s a gauntness about her that hadn’t been there before. Angry-looking patches of acne glow red on her forehead and chin. A greasy-looking strand of hair hangs from a kapp that isn’t quite clean. She moves as if in slow motion, her eyes as dull as tarnished brass.
“Hi.” I rise when she reaches me. “How are you holding up?”
“Okay.” She slides onto the bench seat across from me, her shoulders sagging.
“I know this is a tough time, so I won’t keep you.” I reclaim my seat. “I understand you were involved with Gideon Troyer before you started seeing Aden.”
Her eyes widen and she looks around as if looking for a place to run. “Oh … well.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “You can talk to me.”
“W-we went out a few times. You know, to a frolic or singing. That sort of thing.”
Singings are social gatherings for Amish teenagers, usually held after morning worship. Unmarried young people gather, sing songs, and socialize. During summer months, they might set up volleyball nets and both girls and boys play.
“How serious was your relationship?” I ask.
“It was … I mean … I don’t think it was that serious.”
It’s an indeterminate answer. Is she uneasy discussing Troyer because he’s the bishop’s grandson? Or because she two-timed him? “I know who he is,” I tell her. “Anything you and I talk about today, I’ll keep confidential if I can, okay?”