Page 5 of A Gathering of Secrets

I feel Tomasetti’s eyes on me as I cross to her. “When did you last see him?” I ask.

She blinks as if trying to kick-start a brain that’s overloaded and misfiring. “Last night. He’d gone to bed. Early because he was out late the night before. He has to be at work this morning.”

“You’ve searched the house?”

“That’s the first thing we did. Looked all over for him.” She can’t seem to take her eyes off the barn, giving me only half of her attention. As if the sheer power of her stare will conjure her son.

“Is it possible he got up early and left without telling anyone?” I ask. “Maybe he went in for some overtime? Met a friend for breakfast?”

She shakes her head. “Danny has a car. An old thing he’s been driving since he started Rumspringa. Gideon doesn’t let him park it on the property, so Danny keeps it at the end of the lane. It’s still there.”

Vaguely, I recall seeing an old Chevy sedan parked at the mouth of the lane, beneath a walnut tree when I pulled in. I didn’t think much of it at the time; my attention had been on the fire. The revelation doesn’t bode well for her son.

“Is it possible someone picked him up?” I ask. “A coworker? Or girlfriend?”

“I don’t see why anyone would pick him up in the middle of the night. Not when he has a car and doesn’t have to be at work until eight. Danny likes his sleep, especially with all the running around.”

Expression anguished, she turns to look out the door. “Maybe they’ve found him by now. Maybe he’s out there, helping the firemen put out that fire.”

Tomasetti touches her arm. “I’ll go check.”

Hope leaps into the woman’s eyes. A wild thing, barely contained. “My husband, Gideon, is out there, too. He’s half crazy with worry, but the firemen won’t let him get close to the barn.”

“Hang tight.” Giving us a final nod, Tomasetti goes through the door.

My radio screeches with dozens of calls, so I lower the volume. “Mrs. Gingerich, while we’re waiting, why don’t you and I check the house one more time? Just to make sure someone didn’t miss something.”

“Mamm?”

We turn to see a teenage girl come through the kitchen door. Her face is red and tear-streaked. She’s wearing a sleep gown and socks, the soles soaked through with mud, a barn coat thrown on over the gown.

“Did you find Danny?” she asks.

“Not yet.” The woman wrings her hands, paces from the door to the girl and then back to the door. “I’m sure he’s around somewhere.”

I make eye contact with the girl. “Danny’s your brother?” I ask.

“Ja.”

“When did you last see him?”

“Right before he went to bed. We had ice cream on the porch and then he went to his room.”

“What time was that?”

“Ten o’clock or so.”

“You checked his bedroom? Bathroom?”

The Amish woman turns to me. “Of course we did. I told you. We checked. He’s not here.”

I keep my attention on the girl. “Let’s you and I check the house one more time, okay? Bathrooms. Closets. Just to make sure. Can you give me a hand with that?”

It doesn’t take us long to ascertain that young Danny isn’t in the house. Two little girls share a small bedroom and are sleeping peacefully in their beds.

I stop the girl in the upstairs hallway. “What’s your name?” I ask.

“Fannie.”