“Well, we have a coffee guy comes in once a week. Replenishes our coffees and creamers.”

“Same guy every week?”

She nods. “Nice young man. Attractive. His name is Scott, I believe.”

“Last name?”

“I don’t know, but he’s cute as a speckled pup.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “What’s the name of the coffee service?”

“We use Tuscarawus Coffee Roasters. Fabulous coffee.” She draws out the A so that the word sounds very northeastern. “Our customers love the Pennsylvania Dutch chocolate. Can’t keep it in the store.”

I write the name of the coffee service and the route man in my notebook.

Tomasetti asks the next question. “Did you ever see Mary with anyone? She go to lunch with anyone? Talk on the phone?”

Her brows knit and she slides her glasses onto her crown. “You know, now that I’m thinking about it, I vaguely remember seeing Mary get into a car a couple of weeks ago. I thought it was odd, her being Amish and all. Those people have all those rules about fraternization.”

My cop’s radar goes on alert. “Did you recognize the driver?”

“We were busy that day. I just happened to look out the window. I didn’t think anything of it because she was on her lunch break. I remember hoping she wasn’t late coming back because we’d just gotten in a shipment of candy that needed to be priced and stocked.”

“Do you recall what kind of vehicle it was?” I ask.

Her brows knit. “It was a nice car. Looked new. Shiny paint. Dark.”

“Do you remember the color?”

“Black or blue.” She puts her finger to her chin. “Maybe brown. Dark is all I recall.”

“What about the make or model?”

“I’m so bad with those kinds of details. My husband worked at GM for thirty years. He thinks it’s blasphemous that I don’t know a Ford from a Toyota.”

“That is blasphemous,” Tomasetti mutters.

“I’m sorry. I only saw the car for a second.”

“Do you know if the driver was male or female?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I don’t recall.”

“Did you get the sense that Mary knew the driver?” I try.

“Well, I don’t really know. But I can tell you she wasn’t the kind of girl who would get in a stranger’s car.”

“This could be important, Mrs. Steinkruger. Do you remember any details at all about the vehicle or driver?”

She considers my question for a moment. “I remember thinking it was strange that she got in halfway down the block. She lowers her voice. “And she came back once smelling of cigarettes. I was going to tell her mother about it, but I forgot about it until now.”

Tomasetti and I exchange looks. I can see that his cop’s radar is beeping as loudly as mine.