Amish Christmas Abduction. Dana R. Lynn

But within half an hour, all of them took off.” Mrs. Zilcher twisted her wedding ring. “I didn’t see them come out, but I heard lots of loud revving, and then the truck and the car both left. I haven’t seen them since.”

      The man who went after Irene must have warned them when he saw Paul’s police car approaching.

      Paul broke into their narrative. “Who is ‘them’? Can you describe the people you saw there? Anything you can remember will help. Age, gender, descriptions...anything at all.”

      “Well, let’s see,” Mrs. Zilcher ticked them off on her fingers. “There was that young guy. Just an average-looking man. Maybe in his early twenties? Blondish hair, collar length. Average build. Really, no one you’d look twice at if you saw him on the street or at the store. Then the big guy who shot at Irene, our service coordinator. He was a handsome enough man. Well groomed. But he looked so fierce. Probably late thirties, early forties. Not overweight, but big. Definitely over six feet. The last guy I never got a real good look at.” She turned to her husband.

      He shook his head. “I didn’t, either. He was usually pretty covered up. Hats, hooded sweatshirts, hunting coats. Got the impression that he tried to keep from being noticed. Only glimpsed him briefly when I did see him. And then I only really saw him from the back.”

      “Did you ever notice a young woman, maybe in her late teens or early twenties, at the house?”

      Both of them shook their heads.

      So how long had she been there? And was she one of them or another victim? Paul was starting to get a very ugly picture in his mind.

      “What about any children?”

      “Children?” Mrs. Zilcher blinked, startled. “No, I certainly never saw any children there.”

      Half an hour later, that picture was even darker.

      Going through the abandoned house was not something that Paul was likely to forget. In the back bedroom, around where Irene would have seen the girl looking out the window, there was indeed dried blood on the floor. Recent blood. There was some on the wall, too. One spot looked like a handprint, tiny and low to the ground. Either from a very young person or someone who was very small. The team had already pulled fingerprints and would see if they could track down any matches. Hopefully, there would be something in their system that would connect to either Mary or the girl Irene had seen. Paul refused to think of what might have happened to her. She was gone, so there was a shot she was still alive, though his faith in finding her alive was fading. And it would continue to fade every hour that they couldn’t find her.

      His cell phone rang. It was Irene. His pulse spiked. Irene never called him.

      “Irene? Are you okay? Is someone hurt?”

      There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a breathy sound, almost a laugh but not quite. “Paul, I’m fine. You startled me. I’m not used to hearing you yell.”

      He had yelled, hadn’t he? Stretching his neck to the side to relieve his sudden tension, he tried again, keeping his voice calm.

      “Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. But you caught me at a tense moment.”

      “Oh. Is everything okay?” Her voice was reluctantly concerned.

      “With me, everything’s dandy. But this house, Irene, it’s bad. Really bad.” He shook his head, deciding not to say any more. She might have been married to a cop, but she still was a civilian. And he wanted to spare her from the rougher parts of his job. Not that she’d ever give him a chance to share anything more. He had more or less shattered any chance with her, now or in the future, when he’d abandoned her on that long-ago homecoming night. If only he could explain why...

      He scoffed silently. That would make her even more resistant, knowing his secrets. No, his secret scars would have to remain that way.

      “I just realized something, that’s why I called. When I was thinking about the girl in the house, the one who was watching me? Well, I just realized that she looked like there was something around her neck. And now, thinking about it, I believe they were bonnet straps. I think she was Amish, too, just like Mary.”

      “What else was she wearing?”

      “I couldn’t tell. She was mostly out of view. I’m sorry. I’m probably not much help.” Her voice was growing embarrassed.

      “No, actually, you are. I have more information than I did before—that’s always a good thing.”

      So now they needed to search for a missing child and a missing girl. They would start searching in the local Amish communities. If they didn’t succeed there, then they would widen their search.

      “Thanks, Irene. I mean it. Every detail helps.”

      “How’s Mary doing?”

      His heart softened. Irene, always thinking about the plight of others. She’d always been that way. “I left her with Sergeant Zee.”

      “Did she go quietly?”

      “Yeah, but that was probably because she was asleep.”

      “Paul!”

      He sighed, rolling his eyes. She couldn’t see him, after all. “I will check on her first thing in the morning. Promise.”

      After disconnecting the call, he went to the room where Olsen was taking pictures.

      “What did you want to see me about, Olsen?”

      “Look at all this stuff, Chief. What do you make of it?”

      There was a trunk full of children’s clothes in various sizes and colors. All of them showed signs of wear. And there was a pair of Amish breeches on top. Beside the trunk, there was a bottle, still half-full, and a dirty sippy cup.

      “Mary wasn’t the only child these people have taken, is my guess. Maybe they still have one or two of them. What they were planning to do with them, I don’t know. But we need to find them. Fast.”

      Before any more children were taken. Or worse.

      * * *

      Irene couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so tired. Last night, she had tossed and turned. When she had finally fallen into a restless sleep, it was to be disturbed in her dreams by images of being chased at gunpoint. She finally gave up. It was only quarter after six, but she knew trying to fall back to sleep was hopeless. Throwing back the covers, she padded to the boys’ bedroom and peeked in. Both were still sound asleep. She sighed, aching with tenderness at the sight of the peaceful children.

      Since the peace wouldn’t last, she might as well get ready for the day. She dressed in casual jeans and an emerald green turtleneck sweater. She lugged out her workbag, shaking off the memories.

      Pulling out her laptop, she spent some time finishing an evaluation report. By the time it was completed, she could hear the boys arguing in the kitchen. They were up early. Normally, the thought of facing their fighting at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning would annoy her. The memory of the night before washed away any trace of aggravation. She was here, safe, with her kids. That was a lot to be grateful for.

      She entered the kitchen, kissed her boys and ruffled their hair as she walked past. Their dog, Izzy, was peacefully snoozing under the table.

      “Hi, Mommy!” Matthew peeked up at her with his ragged grin, his front teeth missing. “Can we have waffles for breakfast?”

      That was Matthew. His stomach always came first.

      “Waffles sound good to me. AJ?”

      Her older son peered at her through his new glasses. My, he was looking so grown-up. When had her baby become such a big boy?

      Tony would have loved this.

      “Waffles are yummy. Can we set up the tree today?”

      Ugh. The Christmas