“Do you want me to drive into town? I can be there in half an hour.”

“No,” I say quickly. “I’ve got a couple of things to tie up here before I can leave.”

He sighs. “Kate.”

“Look, I’ve got to run. Seven o’clock or so?”

“Sure.”

I disconnect before either of us can say anything more.

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

There’s no more beautiful place in the world than northeastern Ohio in the summertime. The drive to A Place in Thyme Bed-and-Breakfast is as calming and picturesque as a Bill Coleman photograph. Rolling hills of farmland with big red barns and neat farmhouses interspersed with thick forests and ponds alive with weeping willow and cattails. By the time I arrive, I’m feeling settled and optimistic.

The cottage is nestled in a wooded area just off of Spooky Hollow Road. I take the narrow gravel drive and park next to a golf cart adjacent to a small garage. I emerge from the Explorer to a cacophony of birdsongs—cardinals and sparrows and red-winged blackbirds.

The Tudor-style cottage is storybook pretty with a steeply pitched roof, cheery yellow paint, and shutters the color of old brick. Red geraniums bloom in profusion at the base of the screened front porch. Flowers with delicate pink blooms overflow from earthenware pots set on concrete steps. A gingerbread picket fence surrounds the front yard. I’m walking through an arbor dripping with antique roses, when a voice calls out: “If you’re looking for a rental, we’re booked through August!”

I look to my left to see a plump woman in a floppy hat rising from her place on the ground where a flat of petunias are in the process of being planted. I guess her to be in her late forties. Clad in blue jeans and an oversize denim tunic, she pulls off leather gloves and starts toward me.

“I’m looking for Rachel Zimmerman,” I say.

“You’ve found her.” Her stride falters as she takes in my uniform. “You must be Chief Burkholder.”

I cross to her and extend my hand. “Sorry to disturb your planting.”

“Oh, I needed a break, anyway.”

I look around. “This is a lovely bed-and-breakfast.”

“Thank you. We love it here. My husband and I both have a passion for historical homes. When it came up on the market we couldn’t resist. We’ve been running the place for almost five years now. And, of course, it’s a bonus that the winery is so close. The tourists love it.” She tilts her head, looking at me more closely. “My parents called me with the news.”

“The identification won’t be official until DNA comes back, but we think it’s Leroy. I’m sorry.”