Farmers begin their day early in Painters Mill. At seven o’clock sharp I stand outside the double glass doors of Quality Implement and Farm Supply and think about the conversation I’m about to have with Donny Beck. The sign on the door tells me the store opens for business at seven A.M. Monday through Saturday. Someone is running late this morning. Peering through the glass, I tap with my keys.
A short woman wearing a red smock and a nametag that reads “Dora” smiles at me through the glass. The keys in her hand jingle as she twists the lock. “Morning,” she says. “You’re the first customer of the day.”
I flash my badge. “I need to talk to Donny Beck. Is he here?”
Her smile falters. “He’s in the break room getting coffee.”
“Where?”
“It’s at the back of the store.” She points. “Want me to take you?”
“I’ll find it.” I start toward the rear of the store. I shop here every so often. It’s a nice place to pick up yard stuff like flowers, pots, hand tools. The police department buys tires for city vehicles here. But Quality Implement mostly sells farm supplies. Plowshares. Tractor tires. Fencing. Augers.
The rubber smell of new tires fills my nostrils as I approach the back of the store. I make a left, walking between massive, floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with tires of every shape and size. Ahead, I hear laughter. A door stands open at the end of the aisle. I purposefully arrived at the start of the business day to catch Beck off guard. I want him unprepared so I can gauge his unrehearsed reactions when I ask him about Amanda Horner.
I find Donny in the break room wolfing down a breakfast sandwich from the diner. A petite blonde wearing a Quality Implement smock sits across from him, slurping Coke through a straw. Both young people look up when I enter. The sandwich stops midway to Beck’s mouth. He knows why I’m here.
I give the girl a pointed look. “Can you excuse us?”
“ ’Kay.” She grabs her Coke and leaves the room.
Closing the door behind her, I face Donny Beck.
He swallows hard. “I guess you want to talk to me about Amanda.”
I nod. “I’m Kate Burkholder, Chief of Police.”
“I know who you are. You gave my dad a speeding ticket once.” Rising, he leans over the table and extends his hand. “I’m Donny Beck. You already know that, though.”
I shake his hand. His grip is firm, but his palm is slick with sweat. He seems like a decent young man. A farm boy. Probably uses the money he earns here to fix up his muscle car and raise hell on Saturday night. “When’s the last time you saw Amanda?” I begin.
“The night we broke up. About six weeks ago.”
“How long had you two been seeing each other?”
“Seven months.”
“Was it serious?”
“I thought so.”
“Who broke up with whom?”
“She broke up with me.”
“Why’d she do that?”
“She was going back to college. She didn’t want to be tied down.” He grimaces. “She said she didn’t love me.”
“You get pissed off when she dumped you?”
“No. I mean, I was upset, but I didn’t get mad.”
“Really? Why not?”
He chokes out a sound of denial. “I’m not like that.”
“Did you love her?”
Emotion flashes in his eyes, and he looks down at his half-eaten breakfast sandwich. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
“Were you sleeping with her?”
To my surprise, his face reddens. He gives me a nod.
“She sleep around with anyone else?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Did you two fight?”
“No.” As if catching himself, his gaze snaps to mine. “I mean we did. Sometimes. But not often. She was pretty easygoing.” He shrugs. “I was crazy about her.”
“Did she have any enemies?”
He shakes his head. “Everyone liked Amanda. She was sweet. Fun to be with.”
“Where were you Saturday night?”
“I went to Columbus with my dad and little brother.”
“What were you doing in Columbus?”
“We went to a basketball game. Special Olympics. My brother’s handicapped.”
“You spend the night?”
“Yeah.”
“Where did you stay?”
“Holiday Inn off of Interstate 23.”
“You know I’m going to check.” I jot everything down.
“It’s okay. We were there.”
“When Amanda told you she didn’t want to be tied down, did you get jealous?”
“No. I mean, a little. Like, when I imagined her going out with other guys. But not like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’d never hurt Amanda. Jesus Christ, not like that.” A quiver runs through the last word.
“Like what?”
“I heard . . . what he did to her.”
“Who’d you hear it from?”
“Waitress at the diner said he . . . you know.” Sweat beads on his forehead and upper lip. Wrapping the sandwich in a napkin, he tosses it into the trash. “Makes me sick.”
“I need you to think hard about this, Donny. Is it possible Amanda was seeing someone else?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. She wasn’t guy crazy or anything. Amanda had a level head.”
“So you think she was being straight with you?”
“She said she wanted to stay friends.” He lifts a shoulder, lets it drop. “I figured that was a lot better than never seeing her again.” His eyes mist. “Doesn’t matter now. I’m never going to see her again, anyway, am I?”