Read Online Gone Missing (Kate Burkholder 4) by Castillo Linda - Free Book Online Page A

thought he’d make an example of a cop who crossed him. That was three years ago, and I know Tomasetti is still clawing his way out of that bottomless pit of despair. Most days, I think, he succeeds. But sometimes when I look into his eyes, I see the dark place in which he resides.
    He cuts me a sideways look. “I think the dog is going to win.”
    “My money’s on the girls.” I smile at him.
    “Are you telling me I shouldn’t underestimate the determination of an Amish girl?”
    “Especially when she’s got her sister to help her. Dog doesn’t stand a chance. One way or another, he’s going to get that bath.”
    He parks adjacent to a rail fence next to the sheriff’s cruiser and kills the engine. Neither of us speaks as we take the sidewalk to the porch and wait for Sheriff Goddard.
    “Damn, it’s humid.” Before he can knock, the door swings open. I find myself looking down at a little boy whose head comes up to about waist level. He’s blond-haired and blue-eyed, with blunt-cut bangs that are crooked from a recent trim. His small nose is covered with a smattering of freckles.
    “Hello there, little guy,” Sheriff Goddard says. “Is your mom or dad home?”
    The little boy squeals and runs back into the house.
    “You’ve got a way with kids,” Tomasetti says.
    The sheriff glances sideways at us. “Same situation with women.” He looks at me. “No offense.”
    I withhold a smile. “None taken.”
    He’s barely gotten the words out when an Amish man enters the mudroom and crosses to the door. He’s tall—well over six feet—with muscled shoulders and the beginnings of a paunch, divulging the fact that, despite his fitness, he’s a well-fed man. He’s blond and has a brown beard that reaches halfway down his belly, telling me he’s married. I guess him to be in his mid-forties. Dressed in black trousers, suspenders, and a vest over a white shirt, he is an imposing figure.
    His eyes are the color of onyx beneath heavy brows, and they take in our presence with no emotion. “Can I help you?” he asks, but he makes no move to invite us inside.
    “Afternoon, Mr. King,” Sheriff Goddard begins. “We’d like to talk to you about your daughter.”
    The Amish man’s expression remains impassive as his eyes move from Goddard to Tomasetti and me.
    Goddard introduces us, letting him know which agency we represent. “They’re here to help us find Annie, Mr. King. We were wondering if you and your wife could answer a few questions.”
    King’s eyes narrow on me. I’m not sure if he recognized my last name as a common Amish one or if he’s merely curious because I’m from Holmes County. He doesn’t ask, turning his attention to Goddard. “Do you have news of her?” he asks.
    “We think we found her bag,” the sheriff tells him.
    A quiver runs through King, as if hope and terror are waging war inside him. “Where?”
    “A couple of miles from the vegetable stand,” Goddard says. “Have you had any luck on your end?”
    The man’s shoulders fall forward and he shakes his head. “No,” he says, and opens the door.
    We enter a mudroom with a scuffed plank floor and two bare windows, which usher in plenty of light. I see six straw hats hanging neatly on wooden dowels set into the wall. Muddy work boots are lined up on a homemade rug. An ancient wringer washing machine that smells of soap and mildew has been shoved into a corner. A basket filled with clothespins sits on the floor next to the machine.
    King leads us through a doorway and into a large, well-used kitchen. The aromas of bread, seared meat, and kerosene greet me, and the same sense of déjà vu from earlier grips me. Light filters in from a single window over the sink, but it’s not enough to cut the shadows. Dual lanterns glow yellow from atop a rectangular table covered with a blue-and-white-checkered cloth. Scraped-clean plates and a smattering of flatware and a few drinking glasses litter the table’s surface, and I