“Then why are you hassling me?” Crossing to the counter, he snags another wineglass and pours more merlot into it.

“Because you withheld information that might have been helpful.” I return evenly. “What else aren’t you telling us?”

He looks away, raises the glass to his lips, takes a too-big gulp of wine. “I heard you used to be Amish,” he says. “Is that true?”

“I was. A long time ago.”

“Then you know gossip is one of their favorite pastimes,” he says. “You know they can be a bunch of judgmental pricks.”

“Who are you protecting?” I ask point-blank.

“No one.”

“Is it Mary? Was she into something she shouldn’t have been? Are you trying to protect her reputation? Her memory? What?”

He looks down at the wineglass in his hand.

“Aaron, you need to talk to me. We’re trying to find out who killed your family. If you know something, now is the time to open up.”

After a moment, he raises his eyes to mine. “I know in the scope of things it doesn’t seem important, Chief Burkholder, but I don’t want anyone to know what I’m about to tell you, especially the Amish community. Mary cared about her reputation. It mattered to her. She wouldn’t want them gossiping about her. About Mamm and Datt.”

I give him the most honest answer I can. “I’ll do my best to keep whatever you tell me out of the public eye.”

His hand trembles when he sets down the glass. “I received a letter from Mary. About a month ago.”

The revelation sends a jolt through me. “What did it say?”

“She wanted to leave the Amish lifestyle. She asked for my help.”

“Why did she want to leave?”

“She said she didn’t fit in, couldn’t conform.”

I know there’s more. “Did she mention a boyfriend?”

He eyes me warily. “You know about him?”

“She kept a journal. I found it in her room. I’ve read it.”

“A journal?” Emotion swells in his eyes. “Can I see it?”

“You can when I close this case. For now, it’s evidence.” I move closer to him. “What did she say about the boyfriend?”

“Just that he wasn’t Amish, but she was crazy about him. Really crazy. Made it sound all romantic. You know, teenaged girl stuff. She wanted to marry him. Have his kids. Shit like that. She was sneaking out at night to be with him.”

“Did she mention a name?”

“No.”

I hold his gaze. “Do you still have the letter?”

“I tossed it.” He looks away. “I didn’t know it would be the last time I heard from her.”

“What was the tone of the letter?” I ask.