“I guess it’s the perfect night for ghost hunting,” he mutters, and we walk back out into the rain.

*   *   *

Because of water on the road and low visibility, I end up creeping along at thirty miles an hour, and it takes us fifteen minutes to reach the Hochstetler farm. I nearly miss my turn into the lane, brake hard enough to skid, and then jam it into four-wheel drive and slosh up the hill. I traverse mud puddles deep enough to swallow a tire and park several yards from the hollow where the house had once stood. I kill the engine, and in the darkness and flickering lightning, the place looks like the set of some B horror movie.

“Never liked this place,” Pickles grumbles.

“You don’t believe in all that ghost talk, do you?”

He doesn’t answer, and my attempt at humor is lost.

Through the rain-streaked windshield, the old farm has a sad, abandoned appearance. The maple tree that had once stood tall in the front yard is still there but long dead. Some of the branches have rotted and fallen to the ground amongst hip-high brown weeds.

“I don’t think there’s anyone here,” I tell him. “Let’s take a quick look around and get back to the station.”

He points. “If she’s got a vehicle, she might’ve stowed it in that old round barn over there.”

I set my hand against the door handle and look at Pickles. “Just in case, you might want to keep your sidearm handy. She’s armed.”

Flipping up my hood, I get out of the Explorer. The rain hammers down on me in torrents. I can hear it pinging against the Explorer, the tin roof of the old round barn twenty yards away, and plunking into the standing water in the old basement like hailstones.

My slicker comes to my knees, and the lower half of my slacks and feet are soaked in seconds. Usually, if I’m approaching a scene and I don’t want to be visible, I wouldn’t risk using a flashlight. But nights are incredibly dark in Amish Country. No streetlights or porch lights. With the thick cloud cover, visibility is nearly down to zero. The last thing I want to do is end up in some hole or ditch, so I pull out my Maglite and we start toward the barn.

I train the beam on the ground, looking for tire tracks or footprints, any sign that someone has been here, but all I see are weeds and mud, stands of saplings, and the occasional piece of trash. The old round barn has stood on this spot for over a century. But for the last three decades, the structure has gone without maintenance and looks every bit of its hundred years.