Page 63 of A Gathering of Secrets

“So start talking and don’t you dare leave out a single word.”

“Jesus.” Scrubbing his hand over his face, he crosses the aisle to the nearest horse stall. The Appaloosa he was riding the other night sticks its head over the gate and nudges him. Milo leans into the animal, rubs behind its ears.

“I always knew there was something wrong with him,” he says. “Didn’t figure out what it was until that night.”

I wait, saying nothing.

“Danny was a charmer and boy did he love his women. I mean, it was like an addiction for him. They were his heroin. If we went out, drinking or whatever, and he found a chick he wanted to be with, he could really turn it on. Like laser focus. We’re talking no holds barred. You know what’s funny about that? Most of the time it worked. I mean, the girls were crazy about him. How ironic is that?

“But there were a few times when he got turned down and let me tell you, it pissed him off. He took it real personal. He was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

“What happened with Ruth Petersheim?”

“Amish girls are a little different; they’re not as wild, but then that didn’t matter to Danny. He always said he liked a challenge. He said you’re more likely to hit a cherry if the girl’s Amish so they’re the ones he went after.”

I tamp down disgust; I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he has the ability to do that to me. Make my skin crawl. Put my blood pressure into the red zone. I stare at him, saying nothing, giving him nothing.

“Danny knew Ruth was seeing the guy she eventually married. I think his name’s Mark. Danny didn’t care. In fact, it was like some kind of contest with him. He went after her. Turned on the charm and she fell for it hook, line, and sinker.” He blows out a breath. “The night it happened … we went to a singing out to the Schwartz place. There were a bunch of us. A good group. Ruth was there with one of her friends. That Beachy chick that works over to The Mercantile.”

“Neva Lambright?” In the back of my mind I wonder why Neva didn’t mention it when I’d specifically asked about Daniel Gingerich.

“Yeah. Her. Anyway, Danny worked on Ruth all evening. And let me tell you, she was all smiles, like fucking putty in his hands. Around ten o’clock or so, Danny asked her if he could drive her home. She balked at first, you know like good girls do, but her friend told her to go ahead. ‘Hey, he’s fine—go for it!’ So Ruth agreed, kind of reluctant like.

“All I needed was a ride home. Danny said he’d take me, so I went with them. I figured he’d drop me off first.” Lowering his head, he rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “It was the three of us. I was sort of the third wheel, but Danny had the radio blasting. He broke out a bottle of tequila. We started passing it around, so we were all kind of fucked up. All the while I’m thinking three’s a crowd, but it didn’t stop Danny boy.”

“What did he do?”

“We were on some back road. Everyone’s shit-faced drunk. I got out to take a leak. When I get back in, Danny and Ruth are in the backseat, sort of … going at it. So I get out. I’m standing on the side of the road out in the middle of nowhere and I’m getting kind of pissed. Next thing I know the car door flies open and they just kind of spill out onto the asphalt. At first I think they’re just goofing off.” The muscles in his jaw flex. “They were … fighting. Danny was pissed. And Ruth was … crying. It was … ugly.”

He turns his gaze on me. This time, his gaze is level and unwavering. “Look, I tried to intervene, but … I’d had too much to drink. I wasn’t thinking straight. And Danny was…” He shrugs. “We came to blows right there in the middle of the road. He broke my fucking nose. It was pretty much the end of our friendship, and we’d been best friends since we were like six years old.”

“What did you do?”

“I got the hell out of there. Ended up walking home. That was the end of it.”

“So you just left her there with him?”

He looks away, but not before I see shame in his eyes, and I feel a small rise of satisfaction.

“I’m not proud of it,” he says.

“You must have been angry.”

“Yeah, I was pissed.”

“Pissed enough to lure Daniel into the barn, lock him in that tack room, and start the fire?”

His smile is wry, but it’s laced with bitterness. “Oh, I wanted to kill him plenty of times. Especially after I realized what he was. But I’m no killer. I didn’t do it.”

“So you say.”

“So I say.”

“Who else knows about what happened that night?”

“Far as I know, just me, Danny, and Ruth.”

“What about Mark Petersheim?”