Aaron’s mouth tightens into a thin, hard line. The door swings open as if by its own accord. Stepping back, he tugs at the belt of his robe. “I would have come down to the station.”
“I’m afraid this won’t wait.” I step into the kitchen. The aromas of candle wax and coffee mingles with the fresh air gusting through the window. I see a high-tech coffeemaker on the counter. Dishes draining in the sink. A bottle of wine and two stemmed glasses sit on the counter. That’s when I realize Aaron isn’t alone, and I get a prickly sensation at the back of my neck. The kind you get when you know someone is watching and you don’t know who or why. There were no other cars in the driveway, but I know he’s got company.
“Who’s here with you?”
Leave it to Tomasetti to cut to the chase. Listening, I cross to the living room. A dozen candles sit on the table, their tiny flames flickering in the breeze. Classical guitar streams from a cool little sound system on the floor.
“I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Both Tomasetti and I look up to see a dark-haired young man trotting down the stairs. He’s got eyes the color of whiskey and just enough scruff of a beard to look en vogue. I know even before he introduces himself that the man is Aaron Plank’s lover.
“I’m Rob Lane.” Crossing to us, he extends his hand. “Nice to meet you. I just wish it were under different circumstances.”
Tomasetti shakes the man’s hand and introduces himself.
I step forward and do the same. “We spoke on the phone,” I say.
“Of course.” Rob’s expression turns appropriately sober. “I couldn’t believe it when Aaron told me what happened to his family, especially with their being Amish and in a town this size.”
“You didn’t mention you would be traveling to Painters Mill,” I say.
“I hadn’t planned to at the time.” He grimaces. “But Aaron’s been understandably upset. He asked me to fly out for the weekend.”
I spot Aaron in the kitchen, pouring red wine into two glasses and start toward him. “Is there some place we can talk?” I ask him. “Alone?”
Frowning at me, he brushes past and hands Rob one of the glasses. “Anything you have to say, you can say in front of Rob.”
I nod, wondering about the attitude change. Last time I talked to him, he was cooperative and forthright. Now, he’s petulant. Why the turnaround? Is the grief over losing his family settling in? Did I come down on him too hard the last time we spoke? Or is there another reason for his abrupt turnaround?
“Why didn’t you tell us you attacked your father with a pitchfork when you were seventeen?” I ask.
Aaron takes a swig of wine. “It’s not the kind of thing you want to reveal to the cops when they’re investigating the murders of your estranged family.”
“Surely you knew we’d find out sooner or later.”
He shrugs.
Tomasetti steps closer, crowding Aaron. “It’s called lying by omission. In case you missed that episode of Law and Order, Einstein, that’s the kind of thing that usually makes the cops suspicious.”
“I don’t have anything to hide,” Aaron says.
“You attacked your father and put him in the hospital,” I say. “You didn’t tell us. Now he’s dead. It could appear as if you do have something to hide.”
“I didn’t kill my family. It’s absurd of you to think so.”
“Lying to the police doesn’t exactly bolster our confidence in your ability to tell the truth,” Tomasetti says.
Aaron glares at him, swigs more wine. “I’m not capable of that kind of violence.”
“You stuck your old man with a pitchfork,” Tomasetti mutters. “That’s pretty violent.”
“I had no reason to kill them.”
“They condemned you for being different. They thought you were perverted. Maybe you wanted to pay them back for the hell they put you through when you were seventeen.”
“All I wanted was to live my own life.”
“They wouldn’t let you do that, though, would they?” Tomasetti is goading him now.
“I forgave them a long time ago.” Aaron’s voice turns defensive.
“Did they forgive you?”
“I had no control over what they thought of me or my lifestyle,” he says.
“This is a nice house, Aaron,” I break in. “Are you going to keep it?”
“I haven’t decided.”
Tomasetti picks up an empty bottle of wine, makes a show of looking at the label, then sets it down. “Nice little love nest. Private. Roomy. Kind of ironic that the two of you are holed up in here now, drinking wine, hanging out, while the rest of your family is buried just down the road.”
Rob steps forward. “You’re out of line.”
Tomasetti shows his teeth, but his eyes are focused on Aaron. “They put you through hell, Aaron. Especially your old man. He thought you were sick. Maybe this is your way of paying him back.” He makes a sweeping motion with his hand. “Maybe you and lover boy are celebrating. Rubbing all that intolerance in their self-righteous faces.”
“That’s not how it is,” Aaron retorts, his voice rising.
“Then tell us how it is.”