Page 12 of Disappeared

For the span of a full minute, she struggles with the words. When she finally speaks, her voice is so low I have to lean closer to hear her.

“Two days ago, Thomas asked my boyfriend about a hunting cabin he owns near the Deer Creek Reservoir. Thomas said he was going to drive up there and bag a buck.” She sighs. “I’m sure you know deer season ended in December. I’m the hunter in the family, Chief Burkholder. My brother could no more shoot a buck than he could his own foot.”

“Where’s the cabin?” I ask.

She gives a location near Alliance, Ohio, which is an hour or so northeast of Painters Mill. “I don’t know if Little Joe is with him,” she says. “The one thing I can tell you is that if Thomas took him, he had a damn good reason.”

Before I can respond, she swings open the door and disappears into the pouring rain.

I’ve just pulled onto the street, my mind still working over the conversation I had with Colleen McKee, when my cell erupts.

“Chief, Joseph Kline called a few minutes ago,” comes the voice of my first-shift dispatcher, Lois. “They can’t find Bonnie. He’s extremely worried and wants to speak to you.”

It’s the last thing I expected to hear. How is it that Bonnie Kline would go missing while there are dozens of volunteers and law enforcement searching the farm and surrounding area for her young son?

“I’m on my way,” I tell her.

The Kline farm is crawling with vehicles, four-wheelers, and buggies when I take the lane to the house. I’m forced to park a dozen yards away. I’ve just reached the porch when the door swings open.

“Chief Burkholder.” Joseph Kline rushes out to meet me. “Bonnie hott faganga.” Has disappeared.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “Maybe she’s out looking for Little Joe?”

The Amish man shakes his head. “We’ve looked everywhere for her. She was … distraught.” He squeezes his eyes shut, grapples for composure, finds it. “I think we need your help.”

The Amish man is soaking wet. His coat. Hat. Trousers. His boots squish when he walks back into the house. He’s shivering beneath all of it, but pays his own discomfort no heed.

An Amish woman in a blue dress stands at the stove, stirring something savory in a big Dutch oven. A second woman is at the sink with one of the Kline girls, washing dishes. Erma Kline sits at the table, clutching a cup of coffee as if it’s her lifeline to the rest of the world. She stands when I enter, coffee sloshing from her cup as she sets it down, and addresses me.

“We can’t find Bonnie.” She presses a hand against her mouth, but a sob escapes through her fingers. “Chief Burkholder, I don’t know what’s happening. First Little Joe and now this. We’re terrified she’s fallen into the creek.”

“When did you last see her?” I ask.

“An hour ago. She put on her coat and went out to look for Little Joe. But she didn’t come back and no one has seen her since.”

“Did she say where she was going?” I ask.

“I assumed she was going to look around the house. You know, not too far. She was so upset. So scared. She needed to do something to help find her son.” She wrings her hands. “This isn’t like her, Chief Burkholder. Bonnie is a responsible girl. She wouldn’t add to our worry at a time like this.”

I run through all the relevant questions. But in the back of my mind, I’m thinking about the conversation I had with Colleen McKee.

Bonnie was crazy about him, too, Chief Burkholder. Just because Thomas doesn’t share the same culture or religion or whatever, she walked away. Talk about a small mind. Might as well have cut his heart out.

“Does Bonnie have access to a vehicle or phone?” I ask.

“Of course not,” Erma snaps. “Those things are against the rules. Why would you even ask such a thing?”

“Is it possible Bonnie went to see Thomas McKee?”

She receives the question like a slap. She takes a step back, raises a hand as if to fend off an attack. “No. Not at a time like this. And how would she get there, for goodness’ sakes?”

I stare hard at her. “Mrs. Kline, there are two dozen men and women out there in the rain, searching for your grandson. If there’s a possibility Little Joe isn’t lost at all, but with another parent, you need to tell me right now.”

“Bonnie would not condone such a thing. She would not disobey us.” Her expression sours. “But then what would you know about obedience, Kate Burkholder?”

I’ve heard those words phrased a dozen different ways in the years I’ve been back in Painters Mill. I no longer let them get to me, but I feel them nonetheless.

“I know that sometimes love trumps the rules,” I say quietly.