Page 17 of The Burning

“Mein Gott.” My God. The Amish man blinks rapidly, then goes to the counter and leans as if he’s suddenly not certain of his balance. “Murdered? That’s crazy. I can’t believe it. Are you sure?”

I nod. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, dear Lord,” he mutters.

“Mr. Swanz, I know this is a shock, but I’m trying to figure out what happened to your son and I need to ask you some questions.”

Orla Swanz removes his barn coat, then crosses to the table, drapes it over the back of a chair, and sinks into it. For a moment, he looks as if he’s going to throw up.

I divide my attention between the two of them. “Do either of you know of anyone who might’ve wanted to harm your son?”

Orla shakes his head. “I can’t think of a soul who’d want to do something bad to him,” he says.

Ella Mae sets her hand over her husband’s, gives it a pat. “What about those people over to the cabinet shop?” she asks.

I recall Bertha Swanz mentioning Milan’s former workplace and my interest stirs. “Are you talking about Milan’s former employer?”

“They treated him poorly,” Orla says.

“Milan liked to work with his hands,” Ella Mae says proudly. “Made us some nice furniture back in the day.” She gestures to the cabinets. “Made these for us, too. Installed them. He was good at it.”

“What kind of problem did he have at the cabinet shop?” I ask.

“They were always accusing him of things he didn’t do,” the Amish woman snaps.

Orla raises his eyes to mine and nods. “They had a fire out there a few months back. Accused Milan of setting it. He didn’t, of course.”

“It was an electrical fire is what it was.” Ella Mae huffs. “They got caught using electricity. Didn’t want to fess up, and they sure didn’t want the bishop finding out, so they said it was a kerosene heater and blamed Milan for it.”

I jot the central points, make a note to visit the cabinet shop and fire marshal. “Who exactly blamed Milan?” I ask.

“Old man Stutzman, I reckon. That brute son of his. Hochmut.” She spits out the word. High-minded person.

“Do you have their names?” I ask.

“Gideon owns the place,” Orla tells me. “He’s decent from what I can tell. Noah Stutzman is his son.”

“Noah’s a mean one,” Ella Mae adds. “Fancies himself the boss. Made life hard for Milan.”

“Milan was one of their best cabinetmakers,” Orla says. “Heard they lost some business after they let him go.”

“Did Milan have a cell phone?”

Orla nods. “Called him once or twice down to the shanty.” He recites the number from memory. I write it down.

“Did Milan have a best friend?” I ask. “A coworker maybe? Or childhood friend? Someone he might’ve confided in if he was having any problems?”

The couple stare at me as if they’re at a loss—and all too aware it is a question they should have been able to answer readily. After a moment, Ella Mae jerks her head. “He was tight with Clarence Raber, I think. They grew up together. Played together as boys. Worked together for a time.”

I write down the name. “Were they close?”

Orla begins to answer, but Ella Mae interrupts him. “They were like brothers when they were youngsters,” she says. “Clarence thought highly of Milan. Far as I know they were still friends.”

“Does Clarence still live in the area?” I ask.

Orla takes it from there. “Last I heard Clarence was working down to the grain elevator in Coshocton.”

Ella Mae pulls a tissue from her pocket and blots her eyes. “Going to be heartbroken when he finds out about Milan. They was close as boys can be. Loved each other like brothers, I tell you. Brothers.”