headlights on, emergency lights off. Waiting for us. One of the deputies has already left.
“There’s no child on this property,” the sheriff says as we approach. “We searched the house, the land. There’s nothing there. I’ve got deputies canvassing, talking to neighbors, and no one has seen either Detweiler in the vicinity. No one recalls seeing a light-colored truck in the area.”
“We’ve run both of them through the system,” Tomasetti adds. “No warrants. No criminal record.”
Pallant makes a sound of frustration. “We tried locating known associates, but we haven’t had any luck. None of the Amish have phones.” He sighs. “Part of the problem is these Old Order Amish stay off the grid. No electricity. No phone. No driver’s license.”
“Did you get anything from Irene Detweiler?” I ask.
“We talked to her at length,” he tells me. “She doesn’t know anything about a missing child. And she doesn’t know where her son and daughter-in-law are. I guess they had some kind of falling-out with the Amish, got them excommunicated or something.”
The sheriff tips his hat and water runs off the brim. “Look, we’ve done our due diligence and there’s nothing to be had. We’re going to call it a day.”
“Do you mind if I speak with her?” I ask.
“Look, I’m sorry this didn’t pan out for you, Chief Burkholder. I’m sorry we didn’t find the girl.” He jabs a thumb at the house and lowers his voice. “I know you two want to find that kid; believe me, we do too. But you can’t get blood from a turnip.”
“There’s a familial connection,” I tell him. “I’d like to ask her about it.”
Neither of us moves. The sheriff holds his ground, his expression steely and set.
“With Chief Burkholder’s roots being Amish,” Tomasetti says, “she may have some insights into the culture, into this family in particular, that might help jog this woman’s memory or open some doors.”
The sheriff sighs. “Well, hell, we’re here. You do what you need to do.” He looks at his watch. “We’re going to take off. All I ask is that you not overstep.”
“Of course,” I say.
Tomasetti and I watch them pull away, and then we go back to the house. He knocks on the door. Irene Detweiler peers out at us. “I thought you were finished,” she says.
“Just a couple of quick questions,” I say in Deitsch.
Looking put out, she opens the door and ushers us inside. At some point, she’s lit another lantern, and the living area glows with golden light.
The woman shuffles to the sofa, lowers herself onto it, and picks up some knitting project—two needles and a ball of yarn. Tomasetti holds his ground near the door. I sit in the chair next to the sofa and spend a few minutes trying to build rapport, gauge her receptivity to my being formerly Amish, hoping it will somehow garner me an added level of trust.
I take her through some of the questions that have already been asked, hoping for more detailed answers or something she’d forgotten to mention before. She remains consistent, giving me nothing.
“Did Rosanna have any children?” I ask.
“The Lord never blessed them with little ones. She was ime familye weg once or twice, but … no babies.” She gives a shrug. “She never spoke of it, but I know it was hard on her. You know how important children are to the Amish. To tell you the truth, I never felt close enough to her to ask. Lord knows the men don’t talk about such things. The women used to gossip about poor Rosanna and her not having any little ones. Some said worse.”
“Worse like what?”
“Cruel nonsense mostly. Gossipmongers saying she wasn’t fit to be a mother.” The Amish woman clucks in disgust. “It must have hurt her something awful.”
“Why would they say such a thing?” I ask.
“Rosanna was a quiet thing. Serious, you know. Different. She didn’t laugh much. Didn’t get close to people like most of us do. Some of the Amish thought that was odd. I suppose I did, too.”
“Why were they put under the bann?”
“Vernon bought a truck.” She makes a sound of disapproval. “I didn’t have them over anymore after that. You know how it is. I couldn’t take meals with them. No one would do business with them. I urged them to mend their ways. To honor their baptismal promises.”
“Do you know what kind of truck it was? Color?”
“Never saw it. I wouldn’t let him bring it on the property.”
I nod, thinking about a woman without