“Come on, Sadie,” I mutter as I cross to the bed.
I’m not sure what I’m looking for. The name of a boyfriend written in a notebook. A cell phone number or address scribbled on a scrap of paper. A letter with some helpful information. A diary. I lift the mattress and run my hand along the box spring. My fingers brush against paper. I pull out a Cosmopolitan magazine and stare down at the busty model in a low-cut red dress on the cover. The smile that emerges feels sad on my face.
“Where are you?” I whisper.
And I tuck the magazine back into its hiding place.
CHAPTER 14
I’m at the police station, standing in the hall outside the conference room with Sheriff Rasmussen. Inside, it’s a full house.
Angi McClanahan and her mother sit together at the table, eyeing us like a couple of pissed-off cats. Matt Butler and his father, Andy, sit one chair away from the McClanahans. Andy looks impatient and put out as he thumbs his BlackBerry. His son, Matt, is hunched over his own device, texting and grinning with equal fervor. On the opposite side of the table, Lori Westfall sits alone, trying to look tough. Despite the too-tight jeans, black eyeliner, and pierced eyebrow, she’s not doing a very good job.
“We need to split them up,” I say to the sheriff. “Talk to each of them separately. We can use my office. Let the rest of them stew in here.”
He nods. “Which one is the friend?”
I indicate Lori Westfall. “I don’t know how close they are, but she was with Sadie that day at the bridge.”
“Any idea where her parents are?” Rasmussen asks. “They should be here for this.”
I shake my head. “When I called her mother and told her I needed to speak with her daughter, she didn’t seem too interested. I think she dropped her off and went back to work.”
“Nice.” He sighs. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll tell us the Miller girl is at some tat shop in Wooster, getting her goddamn eyebrow pierced.”
We both know the outcome of this isn’t going to be as cut-and-dried.
When I step inside, the room goes silent and all eyes land on me. Rasmussen hangs back, giving me the floor. “I know everyone is busy, but I appreciate your coming.”
“Like we had a choice,” Angi McClanahan mutters.
Ignoring her, I turn my attention to Matt Butler, who’s so embroiled in 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.