The Pact (Kate Burkholder #11.5) - Linda Castillo Page 0,7
“Lives over in Killbuck now with a bunch of boys.”
I write down the name. “Are Noah and Ben close?”
“They were up until a few months ago.”
“What happened?”
The man sighs. “They had some kind of falling out. Don’t see each other much anymore.”
“What was the falling out about?”
“You’ll have to ask them.” He makes a sound of disapproval. “You know how young men are during rumspringa. Drinking beer and staying out all hours. Dumb as a herd of cows.”
“Do you know how Ashley got to homecoming?”
He shrugs. “I wouldn’t know.”
I think about that a moment. “Mr. Kline, has your son had any arguments or disagreements with anyone recently?”
His hands go still on the harness. He looks at me over the top of the horse’s back, his eyes narrowing on mine. “What are you asking me, Chief Burkholder? Did someone do something to my son? Hurt him? On purpose?”
“I’m just asking questions that need to be asked so I can get this figured out.”
“Noah is Amisch. He has no enemies.” He resumes harnessing, yanks a strap tight. “No telling about that girl, though.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You figure it out, Kate Burkholder. You should know, with your being English and all.”
I wince inwardly, curb a pang of an emotion I don’t want to identify. “Is there anything else you can tell me that might help me figure out what happened?” I ask.
Kline finishes with the harness and glances back toward the house. “We have to leave for the hospital now. Our business is done.”
* * *
The Hodges family lives in the Maple Crest Subdivision, an upscale housing development that’s Painters Mill’s rendering of location, location, location. Set on lushly landscaped lots, the homes are spacious, tasteful, and expensive.
Two turns and I pull into the driveway of a spectacular Tudor-style mansion and park behind a white Escalade. A flagstone path takes me past a sculpted boxwood hedge to massive double wood doors more befitting a Scottish castle. I ring the bell and wait.
A pretty blond woman of about forty answers. She’s wearing yoga pants and a snug T-shirt, distracted, her cell phone tucked into the crook of her neck. She does a double take upon noticing my uniform. “Oh.” Ending her call, she motions me into the foyer. “I thought you were the pool guy,” she says a little breathlessly. “Is everything all right?”
I give her a quick summary of what happened to Noah Kline.
“Noah? Oh my God.” She presses a hand to her throat. “Is he all right?”
“I’m not sure what his condition is at the moment. I’m trying to find out what happened.” I pause, giving her a chance to respond. When she says nothing, I add, “Ashely Hodges is your daughter?”
“Yes, of course.” She sticks out her hand and we shake. “I’m Belinda Hodges.”
“I understand Ashley was with Noah last night.”
“They went to homecoming together.”
I give her a thoughtful smile. “Must have made quite a stir.”
She smiles back. “I’ll say.”
“Did either of them have any problems with anyone?”
“I talked to Ashley briefly when she got home and she had a wonderful time.”
“Your daughter is fifteen?”
“Fifteen going on twenty.” She blows a breath through her bangs. “A sophomore this year. She’s an honor student. Captain of the volleyball team. She volunteers at the retirement home one night a week.”
“How well do you know Noah?”
“I’ve only met him a couple of times, but he seems quite nice.” Her eyes meet mine as the meaning of my questions sinks in. “You think what happened to him wasn’t an accident?”
“At this juncture, I’m just trying to figure out what happened,” I say, keeping the point of my visit as innocuous as possible. “Does Ashley drive?”
“She just got her temporary permit. So far, so good. Knock on wood.” She taps her knuckles against the door. “Jason, my son, got his last year, and boy do I worry. They’re responsible, but you know how kids are.”
I let the silence ride. She fiddles with the Fitbit on her wrist, glances toward the kitchen. Ready to be rid of me so she can get on with her day. More concerned about her schedule than Noah.
“Would it be all right if I talked to Ashley, Mrs. Hodges? I’d like to ask her a few questions.”
She blinks, hesitates. “She’s still sleeping.”
It’s after 8:00 A.M., early for a teenager who was up late the night before, but not an unreasonable time, especially in light of the circumstances. “I’m sorry to wake her, but I’d really like to speak to her