“I’m in the rear bedroom. I can see the backyard to the fence from here.”

“Good.” I pause. “Blue behaving himself?”

“Like an angel.”

“Make sure he stays visible,” I say. “Going to be a long night. Let’s do everything we can to draw this woman out.”

“Got it.”

I end the call and settle in for the wait.

*   *   *

By 4:30 a.m., I’m stiff and cold and convinced the entire operation is a bust. Not only am I stretching the rules by involving Blue, but I’m also starting to think I was a fool for thinking it would work. Of course, I went into this knowing there was a high probability that Ruth Weaver wouldn’t show. I could spend a week parked in this junkyard, and it could all be a waste. Still, it was worth a shot, but disappointing nonetheless.

I’ve talked to Glock six times and Mona twice in the last three and a half hours, eaten an energy bar I found in my glove compartment that was a month past its expiration date, and left my vehicle to pee in the weeds next to a totaled ’72 Ford LTD.

I’m thinking about throwing in the towel—at least for the night—when my cell vibrates. I glance down to see Mona’s name on the display. “Hey, Mona.”

“Chief, I’m sorry to bother you, but I thought you should know … Hoch Yoder called for you a few minutes ago. Wouldn’t say what he wanted, but he sounded … strange. I offered to patch him through, but he started talking about souls and forgiveness and then he just hung up.”

I pause, trying to ignore the twinge of worry threading through my gut. “Do you know where he was calling from?”

“That Amish community pay phone at Hogpath Road and the township road.”

“Did you call him back?”

“I let it ring like twenty times, but he didn’t pick up.”

I sigh. “There’s nothing going on here. I’m going to call this off for now and head out to the Yoder place to make sure everything’s okay.”

“You want me to let Glock know?”

“I’ll call him,” I tell her. “Thanks for the heads-up.” I hit End and dial Glock. “We need to wrap this up,” I say, and tell him about the call from Hoch Yoder.

“You want me to meet you out there?” he asks.

“I’ve got it. I don’t expect any trouble, but I’m a little concerned. He was pretty upset when I told him about his mother.”

“Gotcha.”

“Take Blue back to the station and put him in a cell.” I choose my next words with care because I don’t want to seem paranoid. But I know this is one of those situations when paranoid isn’t necessarily a bad thing. “Stay with him until I get back.”

“Ten four.”

*   *   *

I cruise by the phone booth Hoch used on my way to the Yoder place, but there’s no one there. The closer I get, the more convinced I become that there’s something wrong. I can’t imagine Hoch calling the police at four thirty in the morning unless there’s a problem. I’m also aware that Hoch, along with his half sister, both have a motive for murder.

The black trunks of naked apple trees blur by as I head toward the farm. I find my eyes combing the ditches on either side of the road, looking for a buggy or pedestrian—anything out of the norm. The fruit stand is closed up and dark, so I speed past and make a left into the lane. Slinging mud, gravel pinging in the wheel wells of the Explorer, I barrel toward the house. A hard stop, and I’m out of the vehicle and jogging toward the house.

Hoch’s wife, Hannah, comes through the door as I reach the steps. “Chief Burkholder?”

She’s still in her sleeping gown, but has thrown a shawl over her shoulders. Her damp hair tells me she’s already been outside.

“Hoch called the police department earlier,” I tell her. “Is everything all right?”

She blinks, and I can tell she’s struggling to hold back tears. “I can’t find him,” she blurts. “I woke up twenty minutes ago. I thought he’d gone out to the fruit stand, but he’s not there.”

“Did he take the buggy?”

“He harnessed the horse, but left the buggy in the barn.”

“He took it to the pay phone down the road,” I say, thinking aloud. “He must have come back.”

“Why would he leave at this hour to call the police?”

“Hannah, is it possible he couldn’t sleep and started his chores early? Or is there a place on the property he might go if he’s troubled and needs some time alone?”

She shakes her head. “I checked the shop and the fruit stand first thing, but he’s not at either place. I called out to him, but he didn’t answer. I even tried the dinner bell, in case he was out walking in the orchard. Chief Burkholder, he didn’t make coffee. He always makes coffee.”

“How was his frame of mind after I left last night? Was he upset or acting strangely?”

“He was … quiet. He gets that way when he’s restless.” She pauses, her face screwing up slightly. “Do you think that crazy woman who killed those men would go after Hoch, too?”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet.” But my own mind has already ventured into the same territory.

She nods, but I can plainly see by the way she’s shaking that she doesn’t believe me.

“When did you last see him?” I ask.

“Last night. At bedtime.”

“What time was that?”

“Eleven or so.”

“Do you mind if I take a look around your property?”

She brightens, as if pleased to have something proactive to do. “I’ll go with you.”

“I’d prefer if you stayed here.” I set my hand on her shoulder and give a reassuring squeeze. “In case he comes back while I’m gone.”

Wringing her hands, she crosses to the porch and sits on the step, not caring about the damp. “I know God will take care of him. But I’m frightened.”

I hit my lapel mike. “T.J.?”

“Hey, Chief.”

“Any sign of anyone at Norm’s place?”

“Nothing here.”

I fill him in on the situation. “Will you take a cruise around the block out here at the Hochstetler farm?”

“Will do.”

I disconnect to see Hannah returning from the mudroom off the kitchen with a pair of mud boots in hand. “He didn’t take his boots with him. If he’d been going out, he would have taken them.”

“Go inside and lock the doors,” I tell her. I’m going to take a look around. I’ll be back in a few minutes, all right?”

Nodding, she goes back into the house and closes the door behind her. I hold my ground until I hear the lock click, and then I go to the Explorer. It’s drizzling, so I pull on my slicker, grab my full-size Maglite, and head into the darkness.

I begin my search at the fruit stand. The structure is small, and within minutes I’ve determined that Hoch isn’t there. The only visible footprints are Hannah’s. I leave the fruit stand and take the gravel driveway to the rear of the house, where a ten-foot-wide gate opens to the orchard. The hinges squeak as I open it and go through. Mud sucks at my boots as I follow the two-track path toward the trees where the road splits. I set my beam on the ground in front of me and spot a single set of tracks. The mud is too sloppy for me to discern the size or type of shoe, but they go left, so I follow.

Around me the night is as dark and wet as some underwater cave. The air is heavy with mist, and I can feel the cold weight of it pressing down on me. The tracks take me along a row of mature apple trees. In the darkness, the branches look like black capillaries spread out against the sky. It’s so quiet, I can hear the water dripping off of the branches and splattering on the saturated ground.

I’ve walked about half a mile when I spot the old mill house. It’s a small wooden structure with a stone foundation and steeply pitched roof. A whisper of nostalgia moves through me when I realize this is one of the places I used to come with my datt when I was a girl before the new mill was built closer to the stand. Twenty-five years ago, the siding had been painted cheery red with crisp white trim. Lush ivy had climbed the walls all the way to the roof, giving it a cottage-like countenance. I remember being intrigued by the wind chimes Mrs. Yoder had hung beneath the eaves. The pretty red paint is long gone now. The ivy clings to the rotting wood like the skeletons of long-dead snakes. It disheartens me to see such a place abandoned and left to the elements.