“Like I said, she was quiet. Didn’t really talk to anyone.”
“Do you have any other employees?” I ask.
“A couple of high school girls help out on the weekend. Otherwise, I’m it.”
“Can you give me their names?” I ask.
She rattles off two names, and I jot them down.
“What about males?” Tomasetti asks. “Any males come into the shop on a regular basis?”
“You mean customers?” Steinkruger asks. “We get a few, but most of our shoppers are female.”
“What about suppliers?” I ask. “Or have you had any work done on the place recently? Construction work, maybe?”
“Well, we have a coffee guy comes in once a week. Replenishes our coffees and creamers.”
“Same guy every week?”
She nods. “Nice young man. Attractive. His name is Scott, I believe.”
“Last name?”
“I don’t know, but he’s cute as a speckled pup.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “What’s the name of the coffee service?”
“We use Tuscarawus Coffee Roasters. Fabulous coffee.” She draws out the A so that the word sounds very northeastern. “Our customers love the Pennsylvania Dutch chocolate. Can’t keep it in the store.”
I write the name of the coffee service and the route man in my notebook.
Tomasetti asks the next question. “Did you ever see Mary with anyone? She go to lunch with anyone? Talk on the phone?”
Her brows knit and she slides her glasses onto her crown. “You know, now that I’m thinking about it, I vaguely remember seeing Mary get into a car a couple of weeks ago. I thought it was odd, her being Amish and all. Those people have all those rules about fraternization.”
My cop’s radar goes on alert. “Did you recognize the driver?”
“We were busy that day. I just happened to look out the window. I didn’t think anything of it because she was on her lunch break. I remember hoping she wasn’t late coming back because we’d just gotten in a shipment of candy that needed to be priced and stocked.”
“Do you recall what kind of vehicle it was?” I ask.
Her brows knit. “It was a nice car. Looked new. Shiny paint. Dark.”
“Do you remember the color?”
“Black or blue.” She puts her finger to her chin. “Maybe brown. Dark is all I recall.”
“What about the make or model?”
“I’m so bad with those kinds of details. My husband worked at GM for thirty years. He thinks it’s blasphemous that I don’t know a Ford from a Toyota.”
“That is blasphemous,” Tomasetti mutters.
“I’m sorry. I only saw the car for a second.”
“Do you know if the driver was male or female?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I don’t recall.”
“Did you get the sense that Mary knew the driver?” I try.
“Well, I don’t really know. But I can tell you she wasn’t the kind of girl who would get in a stranger’s car.”
“This could be important, Mrs. Steinkruger. Do you remember any details at all about the vehicle or driver?”
She considers my question for a moment. “I remember thinking it was strange that she got in halfway down the block. She lowers her voice. “And she came back once smelling of cigarettes. I was going to tell her mother about it, but I forgot about it until now.”
Tomasetti and I exchange looks. I can see that his cop’s radar is beeping as loudly as mine.
“Did she have any English friends?” I ask.
“Not that I ever saw.”
“Did she have a desk or locker here at the shop we could take a look at?” Tomasetti asks.
“We don’t have anything like that here.”
The bell on the door jangles. A group of golf shirt–clad, fifty-something tourists wander in.
“Thanks for your time,” Tomasetti says and we head toward the door.
“Fruit didn’t fall far from the tree in that family,” I mutter beneath my breath.
He gives me an amused look. “Rotten fruit?”
“Putrid.”
“Oh, Chief Burkholder?”
At the sound of Evelyn’s voice, we stop and turn.
She speaks to us from her place behind the cash register. “I have Mary’s final paycheck here. What should I do with it?”
“You might give it to her brother, Aaron,” I say. “He may want to put it toward the cost of the caskets.”
I’m thinking about Mary’s diary as I get into the Tahoe. “The guy in the car could be our killer,” I say. “In her journal, she mentioned meeting her boyfriend for lunch.”
“Maybe we could get a couple of your officers to canvass the area.”
“Okay.”
“Not much to go on.” Tomasetti starts the engine and pulls away from the curb. “I should probably read the journal. Can I get a copy of it?”
“I’ll have Lois make you one.”
“Might give me some insight. You know what they say. Two brains are better than one.”
“That’s a scary thought, Tomasetti.”
CHAPTER 15
Tuscarawus Coffee Roasters is located in a small office complex on the north side of town. The barrel-tile roof and stucco facade cascading with English ivy lends it the ambience of an Italian villa. It shares space with two dentists, an insurance company, a photo studio and a high-end nail salon called Elegante.
We park in the only empty space and take the sidewalk to an arched entry. Beyond, I spot the sign for the coffee company.
“Nice digs,” I say.
“Must sell a lot of coffee.”
The door opens to a trendily decorated reception area with turquoise walls and mahogany colored molding. A black and silver sofa lines the wall to my right. The coffee table in front of it is piled high with
“May I help you?” she asks.
I cross to the desk and show her my badge. “Do you have a route driver named Scott? He delivers to the Carriage Stop in Painters Mill.”
“Oh. Wow. Cops.” Her eyes dart from my badge, to Tomasetti and back to me. “Carriage Stop is part of Scott Barbereaux’s route. Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“We just want to speak with him,” Tomasetti says. “Is he in?”
She glances at the clock on her desk. “He usually gets in from his route at about this time. Hangs out in the warehouse, doing his paperwork. Let me page him for you.” Using her pen, she presses a button on the switchboard. “Scott, please call 900.”
Tomasetti gives me a look that tells me he’s not in the mood to wait. “Where’s the warehouse?”
“Well, um, I’m not really allowed to let you go back there.”
His smile looks more like a snarl. “If your boss gives you a hard time, I’ll arrest him for you.”
A nervous giggle escapes her, and she points a pink nail at the door beyond. “Go through that door. Make a
