Gone Missing (Kate Burkholder 4)

about Sadie’s talent. How she’d already sold a dozen quilts at one of the tourist shops in town and customers couldn’t seem to get enough. There’s a part of me that hates the idea of snuffing out that kind of passion. Too many people slog through their lives without it. It is a view, of course, that would not be welcomed by the Amish.
    “So are you going to take me to jail?” she asks, looking a little too excited by the prospect.
    “I’m going to take you home.”
    Sighing as if jail is the better option, Sadie reaches into her pocket, pulls a brown cigarette from a pack, and lights up. I can tell by the way she does it, she’s not a smoker.
    “Put that out,” I tell her.
    “Why, Katie? You smoke. I saw you. At the graebhoff. Why can’t I?”
    “Because you’re fifteen and it’s illegal.” I snatch the cigarette from her and toss it out the window.
    She stares at me with clear, watchful eyes that don’t miss a beat. It’s strange, but I find myself feeling self-conscious because, for some crazy reason, this girl looks up to me. She’s learning things she probably shouldn’t, wanting things that, if she remains Amish, she won’t ever possess. It’s a recipe for heartache, and I want no part of it.
    “I don’t want to go home,” she tells me.
    “Here’s a news flash for you, Sadie. You don’t always get what you want.” I glance over my shoulder. All but two of the kids have left. Glock is speaking with Angi McClanahan. She’s flirting with him, probably trying to get him to remove the cuffs. He jots something in his notebook, steadfastly unaffected.
    “Stay put,” I tell Sadie. “I’ll be right back.”
    I start toward Glock. He glances up and meets me in the center of the bridge, so that we’re out of earshot of both girls. “What do you think?” I ask him.
    Glock shakes his head. “Were we that dumb when we were teenagers?”
    “Probably.”
    He glances down at his note pad. “Apparently, the two girls were fighting over some guy. McClanahan made contact first. Other girl threw the first punch.”
    “I’m so glad I’m not a teenager.”
    “I’d kinda like to be the guy they were fighting over, though.”
    We grin at each other.
    “So who’re we taking to jail?” he asks.
    “I’m going to let them off with a warning and have a chat with the parents.”
    “Good call.” He nods his approval. “Fewer reports to write.”
    “Will you drive McClanahan home? Talk with her folks?”
    “Sure.”
    I glance over at Sadie Miller and sigh. She’s leaning against the windowsill, her foot propped against the wall, smoking a clove cigarette, watching me. “I can’t believe kids still smoke those things,” I mutter.
    Glock nods in agreement. “They’ll kill you, that’s for sure.”
    As I start toward the girl, I figure we both know there are far more dangerous ills facing our young people and that most of us are at a complete loss as far as how to keep them at bay.

 
CHAPTER 2
     
    Forty-five minutes later, I’m pulling out of the long gravel lane of the farm where Sadie Miller lives with her parents and four siblings. I’m adept at reading people, regardless of culture, and I’m pretty sure that when Sadie and I initially walked in, they thought I was the one who’d given her the black eye. Deserved or not, I’ve earned a reputation among the Amish.
    I did my best to remain objective as I explained what had happened. Esther and Roy Miller listened quietly, but I saw the distrust in their eyes—perhaps even a little suspicion. I heard a lot more silence than questions. By the time I left, I was starting to doubt if they believed any of what I’d told them.
    Had this been a non-Amish family, I’d still be in there, listening to the parents defend their child or, perhaps, deflecting cheap shots aimed at me and my department. Not so with the Amish. There was no finger-pointing or laying of blame or absurd rationalizations. Amish parents are generally strict with their children; obedience is ingrained at a young age and enforced with “smackings” when necessary.
    Sadie is past the age where a smacking would be effective. But I have no doubt she will be punished for her disobedience, more than likely by the assignment of some unpleasant chore. I wonder if it will be enough.
    I’m tired, still thinking about Sadie, on my way to the station to file my end-of-shift reports when my cell phone chirps. Mild annoyance transforms into plea sure when I see