Page 14 of The Burning

“There was nothing left to argue about. In the end he wanted to be gone, and I didn’t argue too hard about it.” Her mouth tightens. “To tell you the truth, Chief Burkholder, I just wasn’t too broken up about him leaving. I know that’s a sad thing, but he really was a no-gooder.”

“How so?”

“How was he a no-gooder?” She laughs ironically, her resentment obvious to me. “Well, he was a two-timer for one thing. He didn’t like to work too much. What little money came to him, he drank it away like a fool, spent it on things he didn’t need. Didn’t pay the kids any heed. I don’t know how it is that he was raised by good Amish parents because Milan barely had a decent bone in his body.”

I look down at my notes, keep going. “Did Milan have any enemies that you know of? Did he have any ongoing disagreements with anyone?”

She sips coffee, studying me over the rim. She’s got pale blue eyes that are red-rimmed. Not because she’s been crying, but as if she doesn’t get enough sleep.

“Milan was the kind of man to argue with a lot of people,” she tells me. “Held his opinion in high esteem. Had a high opinion of himself, too. Thought he was smarter than everyone else and a lot smarter than what he actually was.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“Last one I recall was with our neighbor there on the south side. Lester Yoder. Milan bought half a dozen cows out to the auction in Kidron a couple years back. Put up a wire fence. Yoder came over the next day and told him the fence was five feet over on his property. They went at it for a time. In the end, Milan had to move the fence and he didn’t like it one bit. A week later, Milan was out welding. It was windy as the dickens that day. Next thing you know Yoder’s cornfield caught fire. All twenty-two acres of it burned. It was an accident, of course. But Yoder blamed Milan. Accused him of doing it on purpose to get back at him for having to move the fence.”

I don’t recall hearing about the incident, but I ask the question anyway. “Did anyone call the police?”

She shakes her head. “Only English got called that day was the fire department.”

I make a mental note to talk to Yoder. “Where did your ex-husband work?”

“Last I heard he was working down to the cabinet shop on the highway there between Killbuck and Painters Mill. Stutzman’s, you know. I heard he got fired a while back.”

My cop’s antenna perks up. “Do you know why he was fired?”

“You’ll have to ask them, I reckon.”

“Did he get along with the people he worked with?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“What about his friends?” I ask. “Was he close to anyone in particular? Was there someone he might’ve confided in or talked to?”

She thinks about that a moment. “He used to run around with a guy from work. Another no-gooder, so they must’ve had a few things in common.”

“Name?”

“I don’t know.” For the first time, she looks ashamed. “I heard Milan slept with his wife. They weren’t friends anymore after that.”

I write it down. Slept with his friend’s wife. Underscore it. “Did he have a cell phone?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Did he leave any of his belongings here?” I ask.

“Didn’t have much, really,” she says. “Some clothes. A few tools. Took the last of it when he was here.”

“Do you know where he was living?” I ask.

“Last I heard he was renting that old double-wide out on Township Road 104. I got the address around here somewhere.” Rising, she goes to the counter and opens a drawer. “Never been there, but the kids visited him there a time or two. They said it’s a dumpy old place. Smells bad. A bunch of feral cats.”

The lonely wail of a train whistle sounds outside as she rummages in the drawer. “Here we go.” She recites an address.

I write it down.

“His parents lived there for a time,” she says. “I think they still own it. Milan didn’t have a place to go after he left here. I reckon he needed something to tide him over until he could get on his feet.”

“Did Milan get along with his parents?” I ask.