Shamed (Kate Burkholder #11) - Linda Castillo Page 0,84

a shoulder, lets it drop. “Sounds like he flew the coop right about the time Noah Schwartz was killed.”

The waitress returns to our booth, sets two beers in front of us, and slaps down a couple of menus. “Turkey and gravy is the special,” she says as she pulls out her order pad. “Chicken fried steak is better.”

“I understand Elmer did some driving for the Amish,” I say.

She lowers the pad. “Yeah, they hired him sometimes. You know, for long trips. He wasn’t exactly raking in the cash, but they paid him well.”

“Did he work anywhere else?” Tomasetti asks.

“Worked over to the hardware store for a while. But he was on disability. Hurt his back when he was working construction. Couldn’t lift much over ten pounds.”

“Where did he live?”

“Little furnished apartment above the furniture store. Landlord has already rented the place.”

“Did he ever make a trip to Painters Mill?” I ask.

“Not that I know of.”

“Did he ever take a trip with Bishop Schwartz?”

Something flickers in her eyes. Some memory she hasn’t thought of in a long time. “I think he did. Like, a long time ago.”

“How long?”

“Years?” Curiosity glimmers in her eyes. “Why are you guys asking all these questions about Elmer?”

“Did anyone else go with them on that trip?” I ask.

“Look, I don’t know anything about it. I just remember him mentioning he was going to be driving the bishop somewhere. It was a long drive and the old man paid cash.”

“Did anything unusual happen during that trip?” I ask.

“He didn’t say.” She swipes at a tuft of hair that’s fallen onto her forehead. “Y’all have me pretty curious, though.”

“Can you sit a moment?” I slide over to give her room.

She throws a glance toward the door that leads to the kitchen. “Can’t. Owner usually pops in about this time of day.”

Tomasetti sets three twenty-dollar bills on the table.

“I reckon I can spare a five-minute break.” Reaching for the bills, she stuffs them into her jeans pocket and lowers herself into the booth. “What’s this all about? Is Elmer all right?”

I give her the basics of the case in Painters Mill, not relaying any information that isn’t already available to the public. “We think Elmer may have driven Bishop Schwartz and Sadie Stutzman to Painters Mill.”

Her mouth opens. I see something click into place in her eyes. For the first time since we arrived, she gives me her undivided attention. “Sadie Stutzman,” she whispers. “My God, that old lady who was murdered the other night?”

I nod. “Bishop Schwartz is dead, too,” I tell her. “Killed in a hit-and-run accident.”

She falls silent, sets her elbows on the table, looks down at her hands, then back at me. “What does that have to do with Elmer?”

“Do you remember what day Elmer left town?” I ask.

“The twentieth of October.”

The day after Noah Schwartz was killed.

“How was Elmer acting before he left?” I ask.

Her eyes sweep from me to Tomasetti and back to me. “He was fine. I mean, I was working double shifts. I was busy, stressed. But he seemed … the same as always.” Even as she makes the statement, I hear the hesitation in her voice.

Tomasetti steps in. “Patty Lou, did he seem upset or worried about anything in the days and weeks before he left?”

“Or scared?” I add.

Patty Lou doesn’t answer right away. I see the wheels of thought spinning. She’s thinking, remembering. Despite her tough-as-nails exterior, she’s not very good at keeping her thoughts and emotions hidden from view.

After a moment, she blinks and looks down at her hands. “I figured there was another woman. I mean, we were getting along great. I wasn’t expecting him to just pick up and freaking leave me.”

“Did he—” I start to speak, but she cuts me off.

“Look, he was … weird the last couple of days.” She heaves a defeated sigh. “Elmer was a talker. Man, he could carry on a conversation all by himself for days. Except for when he was worried and then he just kind of clammed up.”

“Any idea what he was worried about?” Tomasetti presses.

She looks away, checks her customers, the door leading to the kitchen. Shoring up, I think. Then turns her attention back to us. “I thought he was going to pop the question. I figured he was nervous. Big step and all. After he left, I thought…” She shrugs thin shoulders. “I figured he was preoccupied because he’d been planning his big disappearing act.”

She chokes out a laugh that holds not a smidgen of