Page 62 of A Gathering of Secrets

“Don’t play dumb. You fucking lied to me, you phony little shit.”

His puppy-dog eyes widen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I stalk over to him, stop a foot away. My temper is pumping, so I yank it back. He’s still got the cigarette in his mouth, so I slap it away. “Do you realize I’ve got cause to arrest you? Right here. Right now. In front of all your friends?”

He backs up, raises his hands. “Hey, wait a minute. I didn’t do anything.”

“No, you didn’t, did you?”

Another blink. Mr. Innocent.

Easy, a little voice warns.

“Lying to the police is against the law,” I tell him. “I could arrest you right now for the obstruction of official business and failure to report a crime.”

“But … wait—”

“It may not stick once you get to court, but I would be within my rights to arrest you as an accomplice to sexual assault.”

All that rejected-Amish-boy charm falls away. Something dark flashes in his eyes. Anger, I realize. Careful, that little voice warns. Even a friendly dog will become cross when cornered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“I know about Ruth Petersheim. All of it.”

His face pales. He stares at me, blinking, mouth open. Despite the alcohol, he’s struggling to maintain his composure. I see the wheels spinning in his mind. Trying to come up with a lie, something that will excuse his behavior, exonerate him, but there’s nothing there. Nothing he knows I will believe.

“You were there,” I say, surprised because my teeth are clenched.

He starts to turn away, but I grasp his arm and stop him. He yanks it away. “Get your hands off me.”

I let my hand slide off him, take a moment to pull myself back from a place I know better than to venture into. Once again, I remind myself this isn’t about me. It’s not about my feelings or my temper. It isn’t even about Ruth Petersheim or Milo Hershberger. It’s about establishing a motive that led to the death of Daniel Gingerich and finding the son of a bitch who murdered him.

He walks to the sliding door, but doesn’t open it. Instead, he faces the wood, shoves his hands into his pockets, and then turns to face me.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” he says.

“For God’s sake, Milo. You witnessed a sexual assault. You didn’t help her. Didn’t stop it. Didn’t report it.”

“I didn’t know!”

“You’re a liar.” Calmer now, I cross to him and stop a few feet away. “I’m in the midst of a murder investigation and you withheld information.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Danny.”

“You expect me to believe anything that comes out of your mouth now?”

He shakes his head angrily, looks away.

“Milo, I’m an inch away from arresting you for the sole reason that you are a lying, smug little son of a bitch. You had better start talking.”

Without looking at me he walks over to where his still-lit cigarette is lying on the floor and snatches it up. He thinks about tossing it, but then seems to reconsider and puts it in his mouth.

“That fuckin’ Danny,” he says after a moment. “What a piece of work.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know.”

He glares at me and then sucks hard on the cigarette. “Yeah, I was there.”