“That Swanz is dead?” I ask. “Or that we’re here, talking to you and your datt about it?”
His gaze sharpens on me at my Deitsch pronunciation, but he doesn’t ask. “All I’m saying is Milan rubbed a lot of people the wrong way.”
“How’s that?” I ask.
“He was loud and mean and didn’t much care one way or another.”
“Anyone in particular he rubbed the wrong way?” Tomasetti asks.
The large man lifts a shoulder and lets it drop. “Just about everyone he met, I imagine.”
“Where were the two of you last night?” Tomasetti asks.
Both men look more surprised than offended by the question.
Noah scoffs, all but rolling his eyes.
“You don’t think we done that, do you?” the older man asks.
“Just checking you off our list,” I put in.
“I was home with my wife,” Gideon says.
Noah frowns. “Same. You can check.”
After a moment, the younger man looks at his father. “You tell them about the fire?”
The elder Stutzman nods. “Of course I did.”
Sighing, Noah turns his attention back to me and Tomasetti. “I reckon he didn’t tell you the heater that caught belonged to Milan Swanz, did he?”
“No,” Tomasetti tells him. “But we appreciate the information.”
“What do you think?” I ask.
“I think we’re probably going to have quite a few persons of interest to check into before all is said and done.”
Tomasetti and I are sitting in the Explorer. Snow pellets tink lightly against the windshield. Disquiet sits in my belly like a stone. Frowning, I reach for the radio mike and hail Dispatch.
“Get me background checks on Noah and Gideon Stutzman.” I spell the first and last names.
“You got it.”
“Anything come back on Bertha Swanz?” I ask.
“She’s clean, Chief.”
“Did Glock get the search warrant?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Email me the PDF, will you? I’m going to try to swing by there and take a look on my way back to Painters Mill.”
“Sending it your way now.”
I rack the mike and look at Tomasetti. “Do you have time for a quick look at the victim’s residence?”
Before he can answer, my cell phone chirps. I glance at the dash display and see HOLMES COUNTY CORONER.