He drones on as if I’m not there, and I realize that no matter how I handle this, I’m going to lose. I hit END, grab my keys off the desk, and leave my office.

In the reception area, I find Glock standing at Mona’s station. “I could shoot him for you,” he offers without preamble.

“Might not go over too well with the town council,” I say.

Mona snorts. “On the other hand, it might help get that new budget passed.”

“You know I could charge both of you with conspiracy to commit murder, right?”

The three of us break into laughter, and another layer of stress sloughs off my back.

“You heading back to Buck Creek?” Mona asks.

I tell them about my conversation with Tomasetti and the photo found at Stacy Karns’s home. “I hate to leave with the Miller girl still missing. But it looks like Karns might be our guy.”

“She could be in Buck Creek,” Glock puts in.

I sigh. “How do you feel about putting together some volunteers and searching the woods near her house again?”

“I’m all for it. I think Rasmussen is trying to get some dogs out there again, too.”

I turn my attention to Mona. “Anything interesting on any of those names?”

She looks up from her computer and shakes her head. “The only thing I’ve found so far is a piece from The Early Bird newspaper. Apparently, the Mast farm is historical. One hundred and fifty years ago, it was a stop on the Underground Railroad.”

“Probably not too helpful in terms of the case.”

“Interesting, though,” Glock puts in.

Mona hits a few keys. “I’m just getting started, so maybe something will pop.”

I start toward the door, wishing I could be as optimistic. “Call me if you need anything.”

Two hours later, I’m in the Explorer, heading north on Ohio 44. I’m ten minutes from Buck Creek when my cell phone chirps. I glance down, half-expecting to see the mayor’s name on the display. I’m relieved to see it’s Mona.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Hey, Chief, I wasn’t sure if I should bother you with this, but I think I found something interesting on that Amish couple in Monongahela Falls.”

“The Masts?”

“Did you know they lost a daughter, Rebecca?”

“I know their son disappeared.”

“Right. Noah. I was reading about the son when I found another story the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette did, like, ten years ago.”

“What happened to the daughter?” I ask.

“She went missing. Local PD conducted a search and found a suicide note in her room.”

“Suicide?” In the back of my mind I wonder why the Masts didn’t mention it.

“A year before Noah Mast disappeared,” I say, my mind scrambling to make sense of the news, draw some kind of connection. “Did they find her body?”