Nudging her aside, I turn off the stove and slide the Dutch oven off the hot burner. The greens smell good with bacon and cider vinegar. They were a summer staple at my house when I was a kid. Jacob and Sarah and I spent many an afternoon gathering dandelion greens with our mamm. But I suspect there’s pokeweed mixed in with these. Pokeweed that was not properly prepared. But why would Abigail want to hurt her parents?

“Mrs. Kaufman, I believe Abigail added pokeweed to these greens. You know that if pokeweed isn’t prepared properly, it’s toxic.”

“That’s just crazy talk, Kate Burkholder. She wouldn’t do that to us or anyone else. Everyone knows you got to cook the pokeweed three times.…” But she doesn’t look quite so sure of herself now, and I know that for the first time she’s considering the possibility that I’m right.

My cell phone vibrates. Annoyed by the interruption, I snatch it up and check the display. I’m surprised to see STARK CO SHER. I make eye contact with Kaufman. “Hold on a sec.” Turning away from her, I answer with my usual, “Burkholder.”

“This is Detective Tom White with the Stark County Sheriff’s Department. I wanted to let you know we got a line on Nick Kester.”

My interest surges. “You have him in custody?”

“No, but we’re pretty sure we know where he is. Three women on horseback in Whitacre Park near Waynesburg reported seeing a couple matching the descriptions of Paula and Nick Kester, camping in a remote area near some equestrian trails. One of the women recognized him from a photo in the newspaper. I’m dispatching deputies now. Since your department is involved, I wanted to give you a heads-up before the shit hits the fan.”

“I appreciate that, Detective. Do you need assistance?”

“Well, you never know how these things are going to go down. If Kester’s armed—and we’re assuming he is—I figure we can use all the officers we can get. I’m going to give Wayne County a call, too.”

“I’ll dispatch one of my officers now.”

I release the call and speed-dial Glock. He picks up on the first ring. “Hey, Chief.”

“Stark County Sheriff’s Department thinks they have Kester,” I tell him.

“Shit. Stark County?”

“They received a tip from some horseback riders. A woman recognized Kester from a newspaper photo. They’re camping in a remote area up in Whitacre Park near Waynesburg.”

“You want me to head over that way?”

I lower my voice. “Glock, I’d go with you, but I’m tied up here at the Kaufman farm.”

“You find Abigail Kline?” he asks.

“No, but I think she’s somewhere on the property.” I pause. “I think she may have tried to poison her parents.”

“Shit. You need an ambulance out there?”