“No, I don’t think you can,” she tells me. “I’m cleaning windows and I don’t see how I can help you with something I know nothing about.”

I remind myself that talking to her is secondary to getting inside that bank barn with a metal detector, so I’m not unduly perturbed by her refusal. “How is your son-in-law doing?”

She shrugs, her expression conveying worry. “He’s very sick. The doctor’s running tests and trying to figure out what’s wrong with him. I’ve been praying for him. Abigail, too.”

I nod. “I talked to Abigail.”

Her eyes sharpen on mine.

“She admitted to knowing Leroy Nolt. I thought you should know.” I pause. “In case you remembered something and wanted to tell me.”

“A lot of young people get to know other young people, during Rumspringa and such. All that running around. I don’t see what I could tell you about that.”

“Did you ever meet Leroy?”

“No.”

“Did Leroy ever visit you here at the farm?”

“No.”

“What about your husband?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Is your husband home, ma’am?”

“He’s getting his physical therapy up in Wooster. Yoder Toter picked him up an hour ago.”

Nodding, I look out across the cornfields, admiring the tranquil beauty of the place despite the sense of uneasiness between my shoulder blades. The leaves of the two giant maples in the front yard hiss in the breeze. A cardinal trills at us from a cherry tree near the fence.

I’m not above using my Amish roots to cozy up to someone to gain his or her trust. I don’t fall to that particular device often, mainly because many of the Amish still judge me harshly for leaving the fold. But if the end result justifies the means, especially when it comes to a case, I have no qualms.

I address her in Pennsylvania Dutch. “I couldn’t help but notice that old bank barn.” I motion in the general direction of the rear structure. “They don’t build them like that anymore.”

She’s not impressed by my fluency or my interest in the barn. “The barn on the farm where I grew up was nearly two hundred years old,” I tell her. “They used wooden dowels, and some of the beams were as thick as a man’s waist.”

“The Amish certainly know how to build a barn to last.”

I nod and I extend my hand for a shake. “It’s been a pleasure speaking to you, Mrs. Kaufman. I appreciate your time.”

She gives my hand a halfhearted shake, her expression telling me she’s surprised to be rid of us so easily.

Skid and I turn to leave. Behind me, the hinges of the door squeak as she begins to close it. I reach the steps and then turn back to her. “Mrs. Kaufman?”