Something splats against my arm. At first I think it’s an insect, but when I glance down, I see the black smear of guano on my forearm. I look up and see dozens of bats hanging from the ridge rafter at the roof’s peak. “Shit.”

I’m looking around for something with which to wipe my arm, when movement to my right snags my attention. I startle and find myself looking at a disheveled Abigail Kline. She’s wearing a gray dress with a black apron. Her kapp is untied and slightly askew. Her sneakers are covered with mud. She’s holding the leather rein from the buggy in her left hand. In her right, she’s clutching a knife the size of a machete.

Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

“Abigail.”

She’s standing about fifteen feet away. Butcher knife in her right hand. Buggy rein clutched in her left. I’m aware of her body language, and I keep a close eye on her hands. I wonder if she was planning to use the leather to hang herself.

“How did you find me?” she asks.

“It wasn’t easy.” With deliberate slowness, I tilt my head and speak into my lapel mike. “Ten-seven-five,” I say, letting dispatch know I’ve made contact with her. But I never take my eyes off of Abigail.

“What are you doing out here?” I ask.

She’s staring at me as if I’m an apparition that’s arrived to drag her to hell. In the light slanting in through the door, I discern dull eyes and a flat expression. She’s a pretty woman with a wholesome smile and easy-to-read expression. Today, her face has transformed into something I barely recognize. Dark circles beneath her eyes. Hair that’s greasy at her crown. The crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes seem deeper. Lips that had once smiled so easily are dry and cracked.

“I just … want to be alone for a while,” she says quietly.

I nod toward the knife in her hand. “Will you do me a favor, Abigail, and put down the knife?”

She doesn’t comply, doesn’t acknowledge my request, and she doesn’t release the knife. “How did you know I was here?”

“I was looking for you,” I tell her. “I saw the buggy tracks. I need you to put down the knife so we can talk about what’s bothering you.”

She offers a smile, but it conflicts with the hollowed look in her eyes. “I don’t think I have anything to say, Chief Burkholder. To you or to anyone else.”

I nod, taking my time, not rushing her. “I know you’re upset. I think if we could just sit down and talk for a few minutes, I think we could get all of this straightened out.”