As my eyes adjust to the dim interior, I recognize the woman as Elaina Reiglesberger. She’s a pretty thirtysomething with shoulder-length hair that’s pulled into a ponytail and tucked into a Starbucks cap. Her shirt is covered with specks of hay. Something dark and gooey mars the right hip of her jeans. But she has a wholesome, centered look about her. She smiles at me as I approach.

“Hi, Chief Burkholder.” Muttering something about her hands, she wipes them on her jeans before offering a handshake. “Terrible about the Miller girl.” She glances at the sheriff. “You guys have any idea what happened?”

Her accent broadcasts Kentucky. She’s got a straightforward countenance and a quiet confidence that tells me she’s probably a good role model for these young riders. “We’re working on it,” I say noncommittally. “I understand someone here thinks they might have seen something.”

“Mandy, my oldest. She was riding down the road yesterday, the day Sadie Miller disappeared, and thinks she might have seen her. She didn’t think anything about it until she was watching the news and saw the story.” Elaina turns, takes one of the girls by the shoulders, and moves her toward me. “Mandy, honey, tell the chief what you saw.”

The girl is pretty, with dark brown hair and wide, guileless eyes. I guess her age to be about twelve. She’s still more interested in horses than boys, and isn’t nearly as happy as the horse to be the center of attention.

“Hi, Mandy.” I extend my hand and we shake.

“Hi.” The girl’s palm is wet with sweat, telling me to tread lightly if I’m to loosen up her memory and pry something—anything—useful out of her brain.

I run my hand down the horse’s neck. “Is this big boy yours?”

A grin overtakes her face. “That’s Paxton.”

“Hey, Paxton.” I give the horse a pat. “What do you do with him?”

“We just started barrel racing.”

“I bet that’s fun.”

“Except when she hits the barrel,” a girl who is a younger version of Mandy blurts out.

Mandy rolls her eyes. “At least I don’t fall off like you.”

“Girls.” Elaina sets her hand on the younger girl’s shoulder and starts to play with her hair. “Let the chief ask her questions.”

I turn my attention back to Mandy. “Can you tell me what you saw yesterday?”

The other girls inch closer, as if they don’t want to miss a word. Mandy swallows. “Sometimes I take Paxton down the road after we practice barrels to cool him off. I saw that Amish girl walking along the road down by that old barn, and this car drove up next to her. She walked over and started talking to someone.”

“Did you see who she was talking to?”

“No.”

“What kind of car was it?”