Page 31 of A Gathering of Secrets

“Did Danny get along with his coworkers?”

“He got along with everyone, Kate, and that’s no exaggeration. All of us … we really liked him. Sweet kid.”

“What about customers? Any … arguments or disagreements?”

“Customers loved him, too. That kid could sell snow tires in July. I just can’t figure someone doing that to such a fine young man.”

I nod. “Anything odd or unusual happen in the days or weeks leading up to his death?”

“It was business as usual.”

Al is a terrific manager. But I’ve had enough jobs in my lifetime to know there are things that happen among employees that the manager isn’t always privy to. I also know that oftentimes an employee is more apt to talk if said manager isn’t around.

“Where did Daniel work exactly?” I ask.

“TBA.” He motions toward the rear of the store.

TBA is retailspeak for tire, battery, and auto. “Was he close to any of his coworkers?”

“He used to hang out with Ralph Baker. I’d say they were buddies.”

“Do you mind if I talk to Ralph?”

“Sure. He’s there now. Just go on back.” He motions toward the stairs. “You do whatever you have to do, Kate. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

I find Ralph Baker talking to a customer about a set of radials. I hang out in the oil filter aisle for a few minutes. When the customer walks away, I approach Ralph. “Mr. Baker?”

He’s a big guy. Six-three. Two hundred and fifty pounds. Mid-thirties with sandy blond hair, hazel eyes, and jaw in need of a shave. His eyes widen when he spots my uniform. “Ma’am?”

I show him my badge. “I’d like to talk to you about Daniel Gingerich if you have a minute.”

“Danny. Oh, man.” He blows out a whistle, looks down at the floor then back at me. “What a bad deal that was.”

“Did you know him well?”

“Sure did. We worked together here for almost two years. He was a heck of a guy. A good worker. Fun. Great with customers. Knows his tires, too.” He grins. “For an Amish kid.”

“Did Daniel have any arguments or disputes with anyone that you know of?”

“Aw, I can’t imagine Danny having a disagreement with anyone. He was real easygoing. Everyone liked him. He was the kind of guy didn’t take things too personal.”

I go through the usual litany of questions and I get the same answers. “Is there anything else you can tell me that might help with the investigation?”

His brows knit and he seems to consider it for a moment. “Not really. I mean, he worked until noon the day before it happened. I don’t even think I told him good-bye.” His eyes mist. “Jeez, I didn’t know that would be the last time I saw him.”

* * *

I’m in my office poring over the preliminary autopsy report Doc Coblentz emailed earlier, when movement at the door draws me from my dark reading. I glance up to see Mona cross the threshold. Usually, she’s a knocker, so she’s excited about something. Judging from the file in her hands it has to do with the Gingerich case.

“That didn’t take long,” I say.

She makes a beeline for the visitor chair opposite my desk and drops into it. She’s holding a purple folder in her left hand. A short stack of papers in her right. An expression that tells me her time and effort were fruitful.

“Did you know Emma Miller committed suicide?” she begins without preamble.

The news stops me cold. “No, but that’s certainly an interesting development.”

“She hanged herself in her parents’ barn six months ago. Mother found her body when the family came home from worship.”