Her Last Breath: A Kate Burkholder Novel

know it’s bullshit. I can tell by her expression that she knows I’m not being straightforward. But she’s too well mannered to call me on the carpet. I wish I could tell her more, but experience has taught me to keep my cards close, sometimes even with those I trust. People talk, after all—even the good guys—and the last thing I need are more rumors of premeditated murder flying around.
    She finally answers with a shake of her head. “Everyone loved Paul. He was a good man. A friend to all.” Her face crumbles. “A good father and husband.”
    It hurts to see her in so much pain. I look away and give her a moment to compose herself before I continue. “What about in the past? Did Paul have any enemies?”
    “No. He was kind and generous. A good deacon. Always trying to help people.”
    Amish deacons are highly respected members of the church district, helping with worship services and baptisms. If an Amish family falls on hard times and needs financial assistance, the deacon oversees the collection of cash. He is Armen-Diener, which means “minister to the poor.” But not all of a deacon’s responsibilities are benign; they also convey messages of excommunication.
    “Have there been any recent excommunications?” I ask. “Anything like that?”
    “Katie…” She presses her hand to her breast as if she’s run out of breath. “Did someone do this thing on purpose? Because they were angry with Paul?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “I may be Amish,” she snaps. “But I’m not stupid. Please don’t patronize me.”
    “I’m sorry. I’m trying to spare you the—”
    “It would be much kinder for you to tell me the truth.”
    I nod. “It’s something we’re looking at.” I say the words quietly, but it’s not enough to temper the awful power behind them.
    “Mein Gott.” She puts her hand over her mouth as if to smother a cry. “Who would do such a thing? Who would want to hurt Paul or our children?”
    “I don’t know. But I’m going to do everything in my power to find out.” Reaching out, I take her hand and squeeze. “I promise.”
    Fresh tears glitter in her eyes. She stares at me as if she’s barely able to process the information I’ve thrown at her.
    “Mattie, have you talked to David about the accident?”
    “What do you mean?” Her gaze turns wary.
    “Have you asked him if he remembers anything that happened?”
    “Oh, Katie.” She raises her hands and backs away from me. “Please. He’s been through so much. I don’t want to upset him.”
    “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” I say gently. “But I need to know if he saw anything. Or anyone. I’ll do my best not to upset him.”
    She doesn’t respond for so long I think she’s going to refuse my request. Then, looking resigned, she sighs. “He’s so fragile. Be kind to him. Please.”
    “I’ll be gentle, Mattie. I promise.”
    She leads me back into the boy’s room. David is lying on his side, looking out the window, rubbing absently at the cast on his arm. He looks at me when I approach the bed and smiles.
    “Is that cast starting to get itchy already?” I ask.
    “ Mamm told me not to scratch, but I can’t stop. It feels like that time I got poison ivy.”
    I pull the chair closer to the bed and lower myself into it. “Do you feel up to answering a couple of questions?”
    He lifts his uninjured shoulder in a shrug, as if he doesn’t know what information he could possibly have that would be valuable to me. “Okay.”
    “I was wondering if you remember anything about the buggy accident.”
    His brows knit, his eyes skating away from mine, and he picks at the cast with a fingernail. “Alls I remember is eating an ice cream cone and botching with Norah.”
    “You know, I used to like to botch.”
    “It’s a girl game.”
    “I bet Norah was good at it.”
    “She was the best.”
    “Were you botching when the accident happened?”
    “We were singing the botching song. ‘All Around the Mulberry Bush.’”
    “I like that one.” I smile at him. “Do you remember seeing a car or truck?”
    “No.”
    “What about people? Did you see anyone before or after the accident?”
    Shaking his head, he sinks more deeply into the bed and pulls the covers up to his chin. “I dunno.”
    “Do you remember anything at all about the accident?”
    “I remember lights.”
    His voice is so soft, I have to lean forward to hear him. “What kind of lights?”
    “The kind on English