“Mir hen Englischer bsuch ghadde,” he says, meaning “We have English visitors.”

The woman turns, her mouth open in surprise. I guess her to be at least a decade younger than her husband. I suspect that at one time she was beautiful, but there’s a hollowed-out countenance to her appearance. The look of the bereaved. I doubt she’s eaten or slept or had a moment’s peace of mind since her daughter went missing. Despite her faith, worry for her child’s well-being has begun eating away at her like some flesh-eating bacteria that can’t be stopped.

“I’m Kate Burkholder,” I tell her. “We’re here to help you find Annie.” Before even realizing I’m going to move, I’m across the kitchen and extending my hand. I sense the collective attention of Goddard and Tomasetti on me, and I address her in Pennsylvania Dutch. “Can we sit and talk awhile?”

The woman blinks at me as if I’ve shocked her. Out of sheer politeness, she raises her hand to mine. It’s wet and limp and cold, and I find myself wanting to warm it. Her eyes sweep to her husband, asking for his permission to speak with me, I realize, and I try not to be annoyed with her. His gaze levels on me. I stare back, not missing the hardness of his expression or the mistrust in his eyes.

He gives her a minute nod.

“I’m Edna.” She raises her eyes to mine. “Sitz dich anne un bleib e weil.” Sit yourself down and stay a while. “I’ll make coffee.”

CHAPTER 5

Ten minutes later, Edna and Levi King, Tomasetti, Goddard, and I are sitting at the big kitchen table with steaming mugs of coffee in front of us. I can hear the children playing in another part of the house; a dog barking from somewhere nearby; the jaay-jaay screech of a blue jay in the maple tree outside; the whistle of a train in the distance. The mood is somber, laced with a foreboding so thick, it’s tangible. I find myself hoping that none of us will have to tell this family that their little girl won’t be coming home.

Goddard pulls the satchel that was found at the scene from an evidence bag and presents it to the parents. “We found this earlier. We’re wondering if it’s Annie’s.”

Edna stares at the bag for a moment, then takes it from him, her mouth quivering. “It is hers.” She studies it, turning it over in her hands and appearing to search every inch of the fabric, as if the satchel holds the answers we all so desperately need. She raises her gaze, her eyes darting from the sheriff to Tomasetti and then to me. “Where did you find this?”

The sheriff answers. “Out on County Road 7.”