Gone Missing (Kate Burkholder 4)

yourself?”
    “God bestowed upon me the gift of carving. My datt didn’t see it as ornamentation, but an art form to be nurtured, like a crop. He saw to it that I didn’t let it go to waste.”
    Eli pauses outside a door and lowers his voice. “My wife works here in the office. We have spoken to the police many times. It never gets any easier for her.”
    “We’ll do our best not to upset her,” Tomasetti tells him.
    Nodding once, the Amish man opens the door.
    The office is small and cluttered, with a single window that looks out over a cherry tree. A plump Amish woman of about forty sits behind a wooden desk, clutching a number 2 pencil as she transfers numbers from a form onto a columnar pad, her concentration intent. When the door clicks shut, she looks up and smiles briefly. I know it the instant she recognizes us as cops. Her hand stills. The smile freezes on her lips.
    Her gaze goes to her husband and she slowly rises. “Is it Bonnie?” she asks hopefully.
    Eli shakes his head. “They have questions for us.”
    The woman seems to sink into herself. The hope that had lit her eyes just seconds before goes dark.
    “I’m Kate Burkholder.” I cross to her, extend my hand. “We’re sorry to bother you on such a busy day.”
    “I’m Suzy.” She returns the shake, but her hand is clammy and limp, as if the life has been drained from her.
    “You have a very nice workshop,” I tell her. “And some lovely things.”
    “The Lord has blessed us with much work.”
    I note the Rolodex on her desk and the wooden antique card files behind her. “I see you have a state-of-the-art computer system.”
    I’m speaking ironically, of course. While some of the younger Amish might sneak a cell phone and partake in texting or listen to music, the adults who have been baptized do not utilize any kind of electronic gadgetry.
    The woman offers a weak smile. “It contains the names and addresses of every wholesale customer we’ve had since Eli’s grandfather sold his first bread box seventy-six years ago.”
    Suzy lowers her eyes to the desktop, sets her hand over her mouth, and closes her eyes tightly. “We pray every day for her safe return,” she whispers.
    To my right, Eli rounds the desk and comes up behind his wife, sets his hand on her shoulder. “What is it you want to know?” he asks us.
    Tomasetti and I read the file before driving over. We know the particulars of the case: when Bonnie went missing, where she was last seen, who searched for her, whom she was last seen with, who was questioned. The local PD interviewed her friends and family. What we’re looking for today are any details that, for what ever reason, either weren’t included in the reports or that her parents failed to mention.
    “In the weeks and days before Bonnie disappeared, what was her frame of mind?” I ask.
    If my line of questioning surprises him, Eli doesn’t show it. “She was fine,” he tells me. “The same as always.”
    I look at Suzy. “Was she troubled by anything? Was she having problems with any of her friends?”
    The woman meets my gaze, shakes her head. “She is a happy girl. Looking forward to helping teach the little ones in the fall.”
    “Does she have a beau?”
    Suzy’s eyes skid right and she picks up her pencil. “She does not have time for a beau. She stays busy with teaching the children.”
    It is then that I realize Eli Fisher is either a better liar than his wife or is oblivious to the fact that his daughter was involved with someone. “What about arguments? Did either of you have words with her?”
    Eli shakes his head. “Nothing like that.”
    I don’t take my eyes off of Suzy. Beside me, Tomasetti hangs back, gives me the floor. “Is that true, Mrs. Fisher?” I ask gently.
    “Of course.” But the Amish woman’s breaths quicken. Her grip on the pencil tightens so much, her knuckles turn white.
    Eli runs his hand lightly over her shoulder before letting it fall to his side. “Why are you asking these things?” he asks.
    “Because I want to find your daughter.”
    “We have told the police everything.” He glares at me. “Why do you come here now and ask the same things all over again?”
    “I want to make sure no one left something out that could be important.” I hold his gaze. “Something that might help us find Bonnie.”
    I feel Tomasetti’s attention burning into me, but I don’t look away from Eli.
    “You think we have done something wrong?” the Amish man