“Maybe this is a first.”

The muscles in his jaws flex. “I’ll make the call.”

The awful weight of this new possibility settles onto my shoulders with a crushing heaviness. I look down at my notes. “Did anything come back on Barbereaux?”

“One speeding ticket. Guy keeps his nose clean. Or else he’s careful.” He slides into the chair adjacent my desk.

“I’m going to talk to Barbereaux’s girlfriend to verify his alibi. Want to come?”

“Sure,” he says.

I’m reaching for my keys when Lois appears at my door. “Chief?” She’s wearing a gold pantsuit that clashes with her hair. “Evelyn Steinkruger is here to see you.”

Tomasetti shoots me a look. “Busybody from the shop?”

“That’s the one.” I set down my keys. “Send her in.”

A moment later, Evelyn Steinkruger walks into my office. She’s wearing a red suit and matching pumps with heels so high my feet hurt just looking at them. Her eyes flick from me to Tomasetti and back to me, and I see a trace of curiosity in their depths. I almost smile when I realize she’s wondering if it’s all business between us.

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Steinkruger?” I begin.

She sets a quilted satchel the size of a small purse on my desk. “After you left, I remembered telling Mary she could keep her things on the bottom shelf in the storage room. I never thought about it again because she never carried sunglasses or a phone or iPod thingie like most girls do nowadays. I checked the shelf and found this.”

I look down at the satchel. The workmanship is good, but it looks hand sewn, and I wonder if Mary made it herself. The fabric is pink with white and lavender flowers. Not an Amish print. She probably bought the material at a fabric store without her parents’ knowledge and sewed it in the privacy of her bedroom. Though a purse isn’t in any way against the Ordnung, I suspect whatever’s inside it might be.

“There are a few things inside,” Evelyn says. “Including some kind of computer plug-in thing. I thought it might be important.”

My mind jumps at the mention of a flash drive.

“Did you touch or handle anything?” Tomasetti asks.

She shakes her head. “Just the satchel. I peeked inside, but as soon as I realized it was Mary’s, I closed it and came straight here.”

She waits a beat, her eyes flicking to the satchel. “Are you going to look inside?”

“I’ll need to process it first,” I say, ignoring Tomasetti’s pointed look.

“Oh.” She sighs, her disappointment clear that she won’t be able to discuss her discovery with her friends over chai tea later. “I need to get back to the shop.”

“We appreciate your bringing in the satchel,” I say.