Gone Missing (Kate Burkholder 4)

thinking about it,” I blurt.
    The statement needs no explanation. “Okay,” he tells me.
    I close my eyes. “Let me know how it goes with Karns.” And I hit END before he can respond.
    I’ve barely hung up when my cell goes off. I look down and see Auggie’s name on the display and groan inwardly. For several seconds, I debate whether to answer, because I already know the direction in which the conversation will go.
    “Kate, look, I just wanted to let you know I’ve talked to the county attorney about the charges against Bradford.” He begins the conversation as if my only thought in the world is the state of his son’s life. “I also spoke with Judge Seibenthaler. They suggested I speak with you. I thought we could discuss it and perhaps get the charges bumped down.”
    “Auggie, I’ve got my hands full with the Sadie Miller case.”
    “I’m not asking you to drop the charges. . . .”
    He drones on as if I’m not there, and I realize that no matter how I handle this, I’m going to lose. I hit END , grab my keys off the desk, and leave my office.
    In the reception area, I find Glock standing at Mona’s station. “I could shoot him for you,” he offers without preamble.
    “Might not go over too well with the town council,” I say.
    Mona snorts. “On the other hand, it might help get that new budget passed.”
    “You know I could charge both of you with conspiracy to commit murder, right?”
    The three of us break into laughter, and another layer of stress sloughs off my back.
    “You heading back to Buck Creek?” Mona asks.
    I tell them about my conversation with Tomasetti and the photo found at Stacy Karns’s home. “I hate to leave with the Miller girl still missing. But it looks like Karns might be our guy.”
    “She could be in Buck Creek,” Glock puts in.
    I sigh. “How do you feel about putting together some volunteers and searching the woods near her house again?”
    “I’m all for it. I think Rasmussen is trying to get some dogs out there again, too.”
    I turn my attention to Mona. “Anything interesting on any of those names?”
    She looks up from her computer and shakes her head. “The only thing I’ve found so far is a piece from The Early Bird newspaper. Apparently, the Mast farm is historical. One hundred and fifty years ago, it was a stop on the Underground Railroad.”
    “Probably not too helpful in terms of the case.”
    “Interesting, though,” Glock puts in.
    Mona hits a few keys. “I’m just getting started, so maybe something will pop.”
    I start toward the door, wishing I could be as optimistic. “Call me if you need anything.”
    Two hours later, I’m in the Explorer, heading north on Ohio 44. I’m ten minutes from Buck Creek when my cell phone chirps. I glance down, half-expecting to see the mayor’s name on the display. I’m relieved to see it’s Mona.
    “What’s up?” I ask.
    “Hey, Chief, I wasn’t sure if I should bother you with this, but I think I found something interesting on that Amish couple in Monongahela Falls.”
    “The Masts?”
    “Did you know they lost a daughter, Rebecca?”
    “I know their son disappeared.”
    “Right. Noah. I was reading about the son when I found another story the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette did, like, ten years ago.”
    “What happened to the daughter?” I ask.
    “She went missing. Local PD conducted a search and found a suicide note in her room.”
    “Suicide?” In the back of my mind I wonder why the Masts didn’t mention it.
    “A year before Noah Mast disappeared,” I say, my mind scrambling to make sense of the news, draw some kind of connection. “Did they find her body?”
    “Four months later, when they dragged a nearby lake.” More keys click. “Evidently, she’d jumped through an ice-fishing hole on Mohawk Lake. Official manner of death was suicide.”
    Tomasetti and I drove past the lake on our way to the Mast farm.
    “Do you think this is relevant?” she asks. “I mean, connected to the missing teens or that murdered girl?
    “I don’t know.” Even as I say the words, I know that lying by omission can be as deceptive as an outright lie. “But I’m going to find out.”

 
CHAPTER 18
     
    Frustration rides my back as I speed past densely forested countryside interspersed with farmland and rolling, lush pastures toward Monongahela Falls. I’m annoyed because once again I’ve been pulled away from where I need to be: Buck Creek. I don’t know why the Masts failed to