Pray for Silence

appear as if you do have something to hide.”

“I didn’t kill my family. It’s absurd of you to think so.”

“Lying to the police doesn’t exactly bolster our confidence in your ability to tell the truth,” Tomasetti says.

Aaron glares at him, swigs more wine. “I’m not capable of that kind of violence.”

“You stuck your old man with a pitchfork,” Tomasetti mutters. “That’s pretty violent.”

“I had no reason to kill them.”

“They condemned you for being different. They thought you were perverted. Maybe you wanted to pay them back for the hell they put you through when you were seventeen.”

“All I wanted was to live my own life.”

“They wouldn’t let you do that, though, would they?” Tomasetti is goading him now.

“I forgave them a long time ago.” Aaron’s voice turns defensive.

“Did they forgive you?”

“I had no control over what they thought of me or my lifestyle,” he says.

“This is a nice house, Aaron,” I break in. “Are you going to keep it?”

“I haven’t decided.”

Tomasetti picks up an empty bottle of wine, makes a show of looking at the label, then sets it down. “Nice little love nest. Private. Roomy. Kind of ironic that the two of you are holed up in here now, drinking wine, hanging out, while the rest of your family is buried just down the road.”

Rob steps forward. “You’re out of line.”

Tomasetti shows his teeth, but his eyes are focused on Aaron. “They put you through hell, Aaron. Especially your old man. He thought you were sick. Maybe this is your way of paying him back.” He makes a sweeping motion with his hand. “Maybe you and lover boy are celebrating. Rubbing all that intolerance in their self-righteous faces.”

“That’s not how it is,” Aaron retorts, his voice rising.

“Then tell us how it is.”

Aaron divides his attention between Tomasetti and me. “I told you. I forgave them. I moved on.”

“Is that why you’re so upset?” Tomasetti asks.

“I was alone here! I needed . . . a friend. I called Rob.”

“You haven’t even cleaned up their blood yet, and here you are dancing and drinking wine and having veal parmesan for lunch. That’s cold.”

“W-we were going to hire a professional c-cleaner.” Aaron stutters the words. “They can’t come out until tomorrow.”

“How much did you hate your father?” Tomasetti asks.

“I didn’t hate him. He hated me. His son. He couldn’t stand what I was.” He turns his gaze to mine. Through the anger, his eyes plead for understanding, and for the first time I see the shimmer of tears. “I loved him. I loved all of them.”

“Is that why you stabbed him with a pitchfork?” Tomasetti asks.

“I was a teenager. He was . . . ignorant. He didn’t . . . wouldn’t understand. I lost my temper!”

“I think you still have a temper,” Tomasetti says. “I’ll bet you’d like to stick a pitchfork in me right now, wouldn’t you?”

Aaron hurls the wineglass to the floor, inches from Tomasetti’s foot. Glass shatters, shards flying against the wood cabinets. Tomasetti doesn’t even flinch.

“Hey.” Rob steps between Tomasetti and Aaron, like a referee stopping a fight after a particularly devastating blow. “Come on, you guys. This has gone far enough.”

“Going to go a lot farther if we get lied to again.” Tomasetti jabs a finger at Aaron. “You listening?”

Aaron lunges at Tomasetti. I step forward, ready to intervene. But Rob catches Aaron by the arms, hauls him back. “This conversation is over,” he snaps.

Tomasetti has the gall to look amused. “You might want to watch that temper of yours, Aaron. You don’t want the cops thinking you’re capable of violence.”

“Fuck you!” Aaron screams the words.

“Enough.” Before even realizing I’m going to move, I step closer, turn to face Aaron. “You need to calm down.” Then to Tomasetti. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

Scowling, Tomasetti walks away. Bad cop. Time for me to move in. I turn back to Aaron. Something I see in this troubled young man’s eyes touches me in a place I don’t want to acknowledge. Maybe because Aaron Plank and I have more in common than he could ever know. Those parallels have been floating around in my subconscious since I learned of his excommunication.

“Come here.” I motion toward the kitchen.

Feeling Tomasetti’s and Rob Lane’s eyes on me, I walk into the kitchen, aware that Aaron follows a few feet behind me. Once in the kitchen, I turn to face him. “You’re not helping your cause.”

He sneers. “You must be the good cop.”

“You’re not a suspect.”

“Then why are you hassling me?” Crossing to the counter, he snags another wineglass and pours more merlot into it.

“Because you withheld information that might have been helpful.” I return evenly. “What else aren’t you telling us?”

He looks away, raises the glass to his lips, takes a too-big gulp of wine. “I heard you used to be Amish,” he says. “Is that true?”

“I was. A long time ago.”

“Then you know gossip is one of their favorite pastimes,” he says. “You know they can be a bunch of judgmental pricks.”

“Who are you protecting?” I ask point-blank.

“No one.”

“Is it Mary? Was she into something she shouldn’t have been? Are you trying to protect her reputation? Her memory? What?”

He looks down at the wineglass in his hand.

“Aaron, you need to talk to me. We’re trying to find out who killed your family. If you know something, now is the time to open up.”

After a moment, he raises his eyes to mine. “I know in the scope of things it doesn’t seem important, Chief Burkholder, but I don’t want anyone to know what I’m about to tell you, especially the Amish community. Mary cared about her reputation. It mattered to her. She wouldn’t want them gossiping about her. About Mamm and Datt.”

I give him the most honest answer I can. “I’ll do my best to keep whatever you tell me out of the public eye.”

His hand trembles when he sets down the glass. “I received a letter from Mary. About a month ago.”

The revelation sends a jolt through me. “What did it say?”

“She wanted to leave the Amish lifestyle. She asked for my help.”

“Why did she want to leave?”

“She said she didn’t fit in, couldn’t conform.”

I know there’s more. “Did she mention a boyfriend?”

He eyes me warily. “You know about him?”

“She kept a journal. I found it in her room. I’ve read it.”

“A journal?” Emotion swells in his eyes. “Can I see it?”

“You can when I close this case. For now, it’s evidence.” I move closer to him. “What did she say about the boyfriend?”

“Just that he wasn’t Amish, but she was crazy about him. Really crazy. Made it sound all romantic. You know, teenaged girl stuff. She wanted to marry him. Have his kids. Shit like that. She was sneaking out at night to be with him.”