“Going on thirty years now.” She motions toward a rusted-out swing set lying on its side on the slope that leads to the creek below. “Used to be nicer. People had kids. Jobs.”

“What happened?”

“Coal mine closed. Folks got laid off. Moved away.”

“You rent this place? Or own it?”

She frowns at me and shakes her head. “I own the whole park. Goddamn property taxes keep me broke, but that’s the government for you.”

“I was told there was an Amish woman by the name of Becky Weaver who used to live here. Do you know her?”

“I knew Becky. Lived here for twenty or so years. She died a couple of months ago.”

“Do you know how she died?”

“Heart attack or stroke or something. She was a strange bird, that one.”

“How so?”

“Well, for one thing, she wasn’t sure if she was Amish or English. Wore them Amish dresses and bonnet thingie, but let me tell you, there wasn’t nothing godly about her. Kept to herself mostly, but she had her share of men come over, and they weren’t there to fix the plumbing.” She speaks with a great deal of animation, and I realize she enjoys her gossip. “I always thought it was wrong of her to be that way with that girl around, but—”

“What girl?” I cut in.

“Her daughter. Ruth.”

“She had a daughter?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“Who was the father?”

“Never asked and she never said. She wadn’t much for small talk.”

“How old is her daughter?”

“Early thirties now, I’d say. Lived here until a few years ago, but she visited every so often. Ain’t seen her since her mama passed, though.”

The information pings inside my head, a rubber ball with no place to land. “Do you know where the daughter lives now?”

“No idea.”

“Did either of them have jobs?”

“Not like regular jobs. They cleaned houses and such, but it was kind of hit-or-miss.”

“Did they clean for anyone in particular?”

“I wouldn’t know. We weren’t exactly friendly.”

“Were you her landlord?”

“Yes, ma’am, I was.”

“Do you have a file? Maybe an application she filled out? An address or phone number for the daughter? Anything like that?”

“They wasn’t real forthcoming with information. And I don’t keep them kind of records, anyways. Alls I know is Becky paid on time every month, and usually in cash.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me about either woman? Or anything that might help me find Ruth?”

The woman shrugs. “Not really. Only talked to Ruth a handful of times over the years and she was about as strange as her mama. Looked like her a little bit, too.”

Nodding, my mind whirling with this new bit of information, I eye the three abandoned mobile homes. “Which trailer was theirs?”