“Did you know her?” I ask.

“Mandy?”

“Mary,” I correct. “Last name Plank.”

“Just to say hello. I saw her at the store just about every time I delivered. Mostly on Fridays. They went through a lot of coffee. Evelyn offers it free to tourists, you know. I guess that’s a good way to entice them, but . . .” As if realizing he’d drifted off topic he sighs. “I just can’t believe someone could do something so frickin’ bad to a helpless Amish family.”

“Did you ever see Mary with anyone?” I ask.

“Not that I recall.”

“Did you ever see her get into a vehicle?”

“I’m sorry. I never really noticed. My route’s got a lot of stops, so I’m always rushed. God, now I wish I’d paid more attention.” He runs his fingers through his hair, musses it to tousled perfection. “I mean, I’ve got nieces and nephews. I know you guys don’t want to hear this, but I swear to God if someone ever hurt them, I’d go Dirty Harry on them.”

“Did you ever speak to Mary?” Standing behind Barbereaux now, Tomasetti picks up a sheet of paper, skims it, sets it back down.

“I helped her lift some heavy stuff once. A case of jelly or jam or something. I think she was really shy.”

“Did you ever meet any of her family members?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I think I saw her mom once, but we didn’t speak or anything.”

Tomasetti makes his way around to the front of the desk. “Where were you Sunday night?”

“Shit. Me?” Barbereaux presses his hand to his chest. Mr. Innocent. “You don’t think I had something to do with this, do you?”

“We’re just collecting information,” I add. “You know, to rule people out.”

“Well, I was home all night. With my girlfriend, Glenda Patterson.” He spells the last name. “We watched a movie. You can call her.”

I jot down the name. “You two live together?”

“No, she’s got her own place in Maple Crest.”

Maple Crest is a new housing development that’s gobbled up a good bit of farmland on the east side of town. “Anything else you can tell us about Mary that might help us?” I press.

“Not that I can think of.”

“Did she ever seem upset?” I ask.

“Not really,” he says. “She was always head down, working. Like I said, Evelyn kept her pretty busy.”

“What kind of vehicle do you drive?” Tomasetti asks.

“Grand Am.

“What color?”

“Black.” Barbereaux’s eyes narrow. “Why?”

Tomasetti gives him a half smile. “We appreciate your time,” he says and starts toward the door.

Barbereaux makes eye contact with me. “I hope you catch the asshole who did this,” he says.

“We will,” I say and fall in beside Tomasetti.