Responded to disturbance call in the 3500 block of County Road 600 south of Charm. Concerned neighbor reported “screams and yelling” coming from the farm next door. Child witness reported an unknown individual falling into livestock pen with possible serious injury. Child’s mother, SuAnne Ferman, heard nothing but stated child witnessed the accident at Kaufman farm next door and was frightened. Responding deputy arrived on scene and spoke with property owner, Reuben Kaufman, who stated the child sneaked onto property and became upset after witnessing the butchering of hogs. No citation issued. No further action required. End.

“That is interesting.” I look at T.J. “Do you have an address for SuAnne Ferman?”

“I checked. Ferman passed away a few years back.”

“Well, shit.”

He grins. “Daughter’s around, though.”

“The kid who saw it?”

“Yep.” He looks down at the paper in his hand. “Sally Burris lives in Berlin. She’s owns a shop called Homespun.”

I smile back at him. “How old was she when this happened?”

He checks the paper in his hand. “Nine, according to the report.”

“Old enough to remember.”

*   *   *

Homespun is located in the front half of a small cottage-style home just off of Main Street in Berlin. The bell jangles when I open the beveled-glass door. I’m welcomed by the warm aromas of sandalwood, bergamot, and patchouli, and find myself surrounded by old-fashioned wooden shelves jammed with handmade candles of every shape and size and scent. Mason jars, martini glasses, hurricanes—even seashells. The wall to my left is plastered with dozens of cuckoo clocks, some in the shape of the iconic red-and-white barn, others in the form of an Amish buggy. At the rear, a plump red-haired woman wearing a purple cardigan is ringing up a sale for a customer.

I browse salt and pepper shakers, hot pads, and homemade dog biscuit kits while the two women chat about the tornado. I find an amber-scented candle in a sea-glass hurricane I like. When the customer leaves, I approach the counter and set it next to the antique cash register. “You have some beautiful things,” I begin.

The woman behind the counter beams a smile and picks up the candle. “Oh, I just love the sea glass. It’s one of my favorite pieces in the whole store. And the scent is to die for.”

“It’ll look good on my dining room table.”

“Look good anywhere.” She’s got dimpled cheeks and a gumdrop nose spattered with freckles.

I pull out my badge and identify myself. “I’m looking for Sally Burris.”

“You found her.” She gives me an exaggerated look of surprise. “What did I do?”

“I’m working on a cold case and ran across an old police report from the Coshocton County Sheriff’s Office from 1985. Your mother had filed a complaint—”

“Oh! This must be about our old neighbors! Those Amish people, the Kaufmans.”

“So you remember?”