I show her my badge and identify myself. “I’m working on an old case and was wondering if you’d mind answering a few questions.”

“We don’t know anything about any case.”

The aromas of yeast bread and a house that’s overly hot waft through the door. “I’m trying to find out what happened to a young Mennonite man who disappeared from Painters Mill back in 1985,” I tell her.

She fingers the worn dish towel in her hands. “You’re speaking of Leroy Nolt?”

“Yes, ma’am. Do you know him?”

“I met him once or twice. Way back. I heard he moved to Florida.”

It’s the first time in the course of the investigation anyone has mentioned Florida in relation to Leroy Nolt. “Did he tell you that?”

“Something I heard, is all. Don’t recall who said it.”

“Were you and Leroy friends? Was he friends with your husband?” I watch her closely for a reaction as I pose the questions.

She looks down at the dishcloth and dries hands that are already dry. “Leroy Nolt was no friend of my husband’s and no friend of mine.”

“Did you or your husband have some kind of falling out with him?”

She looks at me as if I’m dense. “Never was friendly to begin with. We’re Swartzentruber. Leroy’s Mennischt.” The laugh that follows isn’t pleasant. “He was maulgrischt.” A pretend Christian. “Always had a lot of Englischer ways, if you know what I mean, with all the drinking and running around. Always smoking cigarettes and taking the Lord’s name in vain.” She clucks her tongue, then lowers her voice. “From what I heard, he liked his women, too.”

“Any woman in particular?”

“Anything in a dress, I imagine. We didn’t associate with the likes of Leroy Nolt. Florida can have him, as far as I’m concerned. Sure don’t need him here in Ohio.”

“What about Abigail Kline?”

The Amish woman’s eyes sharpen on mine. “What about her?”

“Did she have a relationship with Leroy Nolt?”

“I suspect you’ll need to ask her about that now, won’t you?”

I nod. “When’s the last time you saw Leroy?”

“Been thirty years or more. Don’t rightly recall. Probably in town. He was always hanging out there, charming all those loose Englischer girls. Worked down to the farm store, so maybe that’s where I seen him last.”

I nod, realizing I’m not going to get anything useful out of her. “Is your husband here, Mrs. Kaufman?”

Her eyes flick toward the barn. “He’s out there in the barn, castrating calves.”

“Thank you for your help.” I offer a smile. “I won’t keep him long.”

She closes the door without responding.