“Bonnie?” Hope leaps into his eyes, and I realize he thinks we’re here with news. “You have some news of her?”

Quickly, I shake my head. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Fisher. We just want to get some information from you.”

“I have already talked to the police.”

“These are just a few follow-up questions,” Tomasetti replies easily.

Suspicion hardens Fisher’s eyes. He knows this is no chance visit. “It has been two months. What questions do you have now that you did not have before?”

There’s a thread of steel in his voice. He’s frightened for his daughter and frustrated with the police. He stares at us with direct, intelligent eyes, and I wonder how he was treated by local law enforcement in the agonizing days following her disappearance. I don’t believe the sheriff’s office had treated him callously, but I know that sometimes cultural differences can cause misunderstandings.

I notice the other man looking our way and lower my voice. “Is there a place we can speak in private?”

He looks from Tomasetti to me as if trying to decide whether he should throw us out or let us rip his world to shreds one last time. He’s wondering if we’re there to help him find his daughter, or if we’re just two more in a long line of bureaucrats.

After a moment, he nods. “There is an office in the back.”

He takes us through the shop, past wood shelves filled with intricately carved bread boxes and dollhouses with tiny shutters and a chimney fashioned from cut stones. The workmanship is exquisite, and I find myself wanting to run my fingers over the wood to explore every detail.

“You have many beautiful things.” I say the words in Pennsylvania Dutch.

He gives me a sharp look over his shoulder. “You speak the language well. How did you come to know it?”

“I was born Amish,” I tell him. “Did you make the bread boxes yourself?”

“God bestowed upon me the gift of carving. My datt didn’t see it as ornamentation, but an art form to be nurtured, like a crop. He saw to it that I didn’t let it go to waste.”

Eli pauses outside a door and lowers his voice. “My wife works here in the office. We have spoken to the police many times. It never gets any easier for her.”

“We’ll do our best not to upset her,” Tomasetti tells him.

Nodding once, the Amish man opens the door.