Long Lost: A Kate Burkholder Short Story by Linda Castillo

 
     
    There are some things that never grow old. The brilliant autumn foliage that blankets the rolling hills of Ohio’s Amish country is one of them. It’s mid-October and the Northeastern part of the state is a shimmering collage of orange, rust, and red. I’ve driven this road countless times in the years I’ve lived here, but I never tire of it. Every pilgrimage differs in some profound way so that I drink it in with a perspective that’s breathtaking and new. The way the light slants across the trees, turning the foliage to fire. The way the morning mist hovers like smoke over the forest floor. The unexpected sight of an Amish farmer and his team of draft horses harvesting corn. The spectacle of fallen leaves caught in an eddy and scattering across the asphalt like small creatures trying to escape the impending winter.
    My name is Kate Burkholder and I’m the chief of police of Painters Mill, Ohio, a small farming community nestled in the heart of Amish country. I’m sitting in the passenger seat of state agent John Tomasetti’s Tahoe and we’re bound for two days of R & R at a small bed-and-breakfast an hour from where I live. I should be relaxed and looking forward to some much-needed downtime and the chance to spend some quality time with the man I love. If only life was that simple.
    I’ve lived too many years to suddenly come down with a case of nerves over spending the weekend with a man I’ve known for almost three years now. I’m not prone to bouts of anxiety or angst. Tomasetti is, after all, my best friend. He’s my lover and confidant, and a man I admire greatly. We’ve worked some difficult cases together—murder and kidnapping and all the depraved things that go along with those kinds of crimes. Still, inexplicably, the thought of spending two nights at a cozy bed-and-breakfast without the buffer of work scares the living daylights out of me.
    Perhaps because deep inside I know the tension running up the back of my neck has little to do with the weekend ahead, and everything to do with the evolution of a relationship I value more than my own life. The next two days promise to take that relationship to the next level, a new level I have little experience with, and I’m not sure I’m up to the task.
    “You’re brooding awfully hard about something.”
    His voice draws me from my thoughts. I glance over at him and I’m moved not only by the sight of him, but by the depth of my feelings.
    “I’m not brooding,” I tell him. “I’m contemplating. There’s a difference.”
    “If I didn’t know better, I might jump to the conclusion that you’re having second thoughts about this.”
    “You’re not calling me chicken, are you?” I ask.
    He slants me a smile. “I would never disparage a woman who can outshoot me.”
    The words elicit a grin. “I think I can handle a weekend alone with you. I’m just…”
    “Nervous?”
    The word sounds juvenile and makes me feel just a little bit foolish. I want to tell him nerves are for schoolgirls, something I haven’t been for a very long time. “I’m not used to taking time off.”
    He cuts me an amused look. “Or sharing your bed with a man for an entire weekend.”
    “There is that.”
    “If it’s any consolation, Chief, this is new ground for me, too.”
    “So at least we’re on an even playing field.”
    The banter is like gentle fingers kneading the back of my neck and I feel myself begin to relax. “I’m glad I have you to help me keep things in perspective, Tomasetti.”
    “Anytime.”
    We crest a hill overlooking a lush, forested valley, and we’re met with a shimmering ocean of red and yellow and gold. Maples and black walnut trees shimmer like faceted gems as they rush by my window. We reach the valley floor and cross an old steel girder bridge tattooed with graffiti that spans the Rouge River. We pass an Amish buggy and then a rustic sign directs us toward the Maple Creek Inn.
    “Here we go.” Tomasetti makes a left