Gone Missing (Kate Burkholder 4)

texting that the building could be crumbling around him and he wouldn’t notice until a chunk of concrete hit him in the head. “The first thing I’m going to ask you to do,” I say, “is put away the cell phones. That includes you, Matt.”
    The boy looks up, blinking, as if he’s been awakened from a dream, then powers down. His father tosses his BlackBerry and it clatters onto the table in front of him, letting me know in no uncertain terms that he’s an important man and doesn’t appreciate being pulled away from his day.
    Too bad.
    “What’s this all about, Chief Burkholder?” he asks.
    “She’s got it out for our kids.” Kathleen McClanahan casts me a spiteful look. “They’re easier to bully than us adults.”
    I don’t take the bait. “We have a missing teenager in Painters Mill. Fifteen-year-old Sadie Miller. She’s Amish and disappeared sometime last night.” I watch the reactions of each person as I relay the news, paying particular attention to Lori Westfall and Angi McClanahan.
    Andy Butler looks appropriately appalled. “My God, I had no idea.”
    Lori Westfall goes stone-still, her eyes looking everywhere except at me. I try to read her body language, her facial expressions, but she’s so stiff and unnatural, I can’t. Does she know something? Or is she as shocked and frightened as the rest of us and simply doesn’t know how to absorb the information?
    Kathleen McClanahan doesn’t react. When I look at her daughter, Angi, some of the toughness falls away. Before her eyes skate away from mine, I see a flash of guilt, and I wonder about its source. Does she have a guilty conscience because she fought with Sadie? Or does she have another reason to blame herself? It wouldn’t be the first time bullying took an ominous turn.
    I scan the group. “I need to know right now if any of you know where she is.”
    “Is it possible she ran away?” Andy asks me.
    “Anything is possible at this point,” I tell him.
    He looks at the other two teens in the room as if they have the answers, not his son.
    I remain silent, waiting, watching.
    At the door, Rasmussen remains unobtrusive. But his eyes are watchful and sharp, and I’m glad he’s here to help me gauge reactions.
    When no one speaks, I turn my attention to Lori Westfall. “You’re first,” I tell her. “Come with me.”
    “Wh—where are you taking me?” she asks in a tremulous voice.
    Without replying, I start toward my office.
    Once inside, I slide behind my desk and extract a legal pad, pen, and an antiquated tape recorder from the drawer. Lori lowers herself into the visitor chair across from me, nearly jumping out of her skin when Rasmussen closes the door and leans against it.
    I turn on the tape recorder and recite the date, time, and the names of all present. Then I turn my attention to the girl. “Why don’t you start by telling me about your relationship with Sadie.”
    The girl stares at me as if I’ve come at her with a knife. “She’s my best friend,” she mumbles.
    My interest surges. I knew the girls were friends, but I didn’t realize they were best friends. That’s unusual, since Sadie is Amish. It’s been a while since I was fifteen, but one thing I know will never change is that best friends tell each other everything.
    “How did you meet her?” I ask.
    “We met at the bridge. Last summer.”
    “So you’ve known her for about a year?”
    She nods.
    “How is it that you became friends, when she’s Amish?”
    “Most of the time, Sadie doesn’t seem very Amish.” The girl offers a pensive smile that reflects true affection. “She wears jeans and smokes and cusses. Sometimes I forget she’s different.”
    “You don’t seem to have much in common with her.” I prod, hoping she’ll relax and elaborate and give me something—anything—useful.
    Lori looks down and her hair falls forward, covering the sides of her face, as if she’s trying to hide behind it, and I realize this girl is painfully shy. “We just hit it off,” she tells me. “I mean, we’re both kind of outsiders, you know? Sadie because she’s Amish. Me because I’m not into the whole social clique thing.” She shrugs. “We don’t fit in, but when we’re together, that doesn’t matter.”
    “When’s the last time you saw her?” I ask.
    “Yesterday. Six o’clock or so. At the bridge.”
    “How did she seem?”
    “Same as always.” A ghost of a smile touches her mouth but vanishes quickly. “She was