Tomasetti says something else, but I don’t hear the words. I pull onto the shoulder, brake with so much force that the tires skid. For several seconds, I sit there, trying to get a grip. I want to punch something; I want to rant and rave at the unfairness of death. Because I’m terrified the same fate awaits Sadie.
“What kind of a monster does that to a fifteen-year-old girl?” I whisper.
He knows I don’t mean the question literally; it doesn’t require an answer. What he also understands is that I need to find the person responsible and stop him. “Sooner or later, he’ll fuck up,” he tells me. “They always do. When that happens, we’ll get him.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks; then he says, “Anything on your end?”
I take a deep breath, and slowly the world around me settles back into place. My window is down and I hear a dove cooing from the fence outside. A small herd of Hereford cattle graze in the pasture beyond. The sun slants through the windshield, warm on my face, and I remind myself that no matter what happens, life goes on. Life always goes on.
“We might have a witness.” I tell him about the girl riding her horse. “I’m on my way to talk to her now.”
“A break would be nice.” He pauses. “You okay?”
“Better,” I tell him. “Thanks.”
“If I can get things tied up here, I’ll head your way.”
“I’d like that.” I start to tell him I miss him, but he ends the call before I get the words out.
CHAPTER 15
The Reiglesberger family lives on a small horse property located at a hairpin curve on County Road 14. They breed Appaloosa horses and have boarding facilities for people who don’t own land. I’ve met Elaina Reiglesberger several times over the years, but just to say hello. The only things I know about her are that she gives riding lessons to kids and that she runs a therapeutic riding program for special-needs children.
I pull into the gravel lane, drive past a double-wide trailer home, and park adjacent to the horse barn, next to Rasmussen’s cruiser. It’s an old building in need of paint; the pipe pens are rusty and bent, but the place is well kept.
I exit the Tahoe as two dogs of dubious breeding bound up to me, tongues lolling. I reach down to pet them, and I’m greeted with a barrage of wet kisses. The sliding door of the barn stands open and I can see the silhouettes of several people and at least one horse in the aisle. Wiping my slobbered-up hands on my slacks, I start toward the door.
The smell of horses and manure and fresh-cut hay greet me when I step inside. Five heads turn my way, one of which is Sheriff Rasmussen’s. He’s surrounded by several young girls in riding breeches and helmets, along with a plump, competent-looking woman wearing jeans and a yellow golf shirt. The horse is a big shiny bay in cross-ties and looks as if he’s enjoying the hubbub. I suspect the bag of carrots lying on a nearby lawn chair might be part of the reason.
As my eyes adjust to the dim interior, I recognize the woman as Elaina Reiglesberger. She’s a pretty thirtysomething with shoulder-length hair that’s pulled into a ponytail and tucked into a Starbucks cap. Her shirt is covered with specks of hay. Something dark and gooey mars the right hip of her jeans. But she has a wholesome, centered look about her. She smiles at me as I approach.
“Hi, Chief Burkholder.” Muttering something about her hands, she wipes them on her jeans before offering a handshake. “Terrible about the Miller girl.” She glances at the sheriff. “You guys have any idea what happened?”
Her accent broadcasts Kentucky. She’s got a straightforward countenance and a quiet confidence that tells me she’s probably a good role model for these young riders. “We’re working on it,” I say noncommittally. “I understand someone here thinks they might have seen something.”
“Mandy, my oldest. She was riding down the road yesterday, the day Sadie Miller disappeared, and thinks she might have seen her. She didn’t think anything about it until she was watching the news and saw the story.” Elaina turns, takes one of the girls by the shoulders, and moves her toward me. “Mandy, honey, tell the chief what you saw.”
The girl is pretty, with dark brown hair and wide, guileless eyes. I guess her age to be about twelve. She’s still more interested in horses than boys, and isn’t nearly as happy as the horse to be the center of attention.
“Hi, Mandy.” I extend my hand and we shake.
“Hi.” The girl’s palm is wet with sweat, telling me to tread lightly if I’m to loosen up her memory and pry something—anything—useful out of her brain.
I run my hand down the horse’s neck. “Is this big boy yours?”
A grin overtakes her face. “That’s Paxton.”
“Hey, Paxton.” I give the horse a pat. “What do you do with him?”
“We just started barrel racing.”
“I bet that’s fun.”
“Except when she hits the barrel,” a girl who is a younger version of Mandy blurts out.
Mandy rolls her eyes. “At least I don’t fall off like you.”
“Girls.” Elaina sets her hand on the younger girl’s shoulder and starts to play with her hair. “Let the chief ask her questions.”