Her Last Breath: A Kate Burkholder Novel

he’s working on. The smells of sawdust and kerosene greet me when I enter. The shop is organized and well lit. A lantern burns from atop the workbench behind him. A second lantern hangs from an exposed beam overhead. Kuhns glances up from his sawing, but takes the time to finish his cut. He’s wearing typical Amish garb: gray trousers with suspenders, a blue work shirt, and a straw hat. I guess him to be in his midthirties. Physically fit. Attractive.
    He doesn’t look surprised to see us as he straightens and sets the saw on the workbench. He’s building a doghouse, I realize. A nice one with stained trim, faux shutters, and a roof that opens for easy cleaning. Indoor/outdoor carpet lines the interior.
    “Looks like that’s going to be a nice doghouse,” I begin.
    He glances at his creation and I see a quick flash of pride in his eyes. “It’s a custom order for one of Mrs. Steinkruger’s customers.”
    “Are you Wayne Kuhns?” I ask.
    “Yes.” His eyes sweep to Glock and back to me. “What’s this about?”
    I show him my badge and identify myself, then we shake hands. Glock hangs back, unobtrusive, but I know he’s watching the other man closely.
    “I’m working on the Borntrager case,” I tell him. “If you have a few minutes, I’d like to ask you some questions.”
    He physically recoils when I mention the Borntragers, and I know instantly that while Wayne Kuhns is either a wannabe adulterer or a stalker, he’s not proud of it, and he’s not very good at hiding his emotions.
    “Did you know Paul?” I ask.
    He nods. “I met him several times. At worship. The horse auction. Helped him a few times at the farm.”
    “What about Mattie?”
    He looks down at the floor. I give him a moment, but he doesn’t answer. I’m aware of Glock moving around, looking at the workbench, peering into the trash container.
    “Mr. Kuhns?” I say.
    “I know Mattie.”
    “How do you know her?”
    No reply. I don’t know if he doesn’t want to answer or if he’s so upset he can’t.
    “How do you know Mattie, Mr. Kuhns?”
    “I haven’t seen her for a long time.”
    “How long?”
    “Six months or so.”
    “What was the nature of your relationship?”
    His gaze flicks toward the door and I wonder if his wife is inside. I wonder if she knows he’d recently had his sights set on another woman. His silence is telling.
    “I know you approached her about a relationship,” I tell him.
    He winces as if I slashed him with a blade. “I wasn’t … I mean I didn’t … we didn’t…” He lets the words trail as if he’s not sure how to finish the sentence. “I figured that’s why you’re here.” He doesn’t meet my gaze.
    “Were you stalking her?”
    “Is that what she told you?”
    “I’d appreciate it if you would just answer the question.”
    “No. I would never do such a thing.”
    I glance over at Glock to see him shake his head. “Do you own a vehicle, Mr. Kuhns?”
    “I don’t drive. I have no use for a vehicle. If I need to travel, I hire the Mennonite down the street.”
    “Where were you three nights ago?”
    His eyes widen as if he’s suddenly realized why we’re here. “I was here. Working.”
    “Can anyone substantiate that?”
    “My wife.”
    “Anyone else?”
    “No.”
    I stare hard at him. “Tell me about your relationship with Mattie.”
    “That is in the past, Chief Burkholder. I do not wish to speak of it.”
    “Mr. Kuhns, this is a police investigation. You don’t have a choice.”
    A flash of anger crosses his features. “Who are you to ask me such a thing?” he snaps. “Who are you to judge me?”
    He’s referring to my being ex-Amish, but I let the condemnation behind his words roll off me. “I’m the chief of police, and I’m conducting a murder investigation.” I step toward him, put my finger in his face. “If I were you, I’d answer the question. If you don’t, I’ll get a warrant and we’ll finish this at the police station. Do you understand?”
    His face goes crimson. Sweat beads on his forehead and upper lip. I can’t tell if it’s temper or humiliation, but if a man can look like a volcano about to blow, Wayne Kuhns is Mount Pinatubo. “She and I…” he stammers. “We were … friends.”
    “Did you have a sexual relationship with her?”
    A flush of embarrassment deepens his color. His eyes skate away from mine. “No.”
    “Did you want a sexual relationship with her?”
    He looks everywhere except at me.
    “Shall