Missing with Bonus Material: The Secrets of Crittenden County, Book One by Shelley Shepard Gray Page A

both a pillar of the community and the worst sort of bully. He’d been kind to animals and small children, but had taunted them as well.
    He’d been always amenable and patient. He’d also been mean and irresponsible and difficult.
    For all these reasons, no one liked him.
    But everyone was really sad he was dead.
    Luke was growing more frustrated by the day, and more certain that his time was being wasted. “Mose, I think I might be going soon,” he said as they left Mose’s office, one half of a trailer behind the bank building. It was raining again. He’d put on his ball cap from the police academy but had refrained from putting on his slicker.
    The light rain pattered against his flannel plaid shirt and cotton twill slacks. Mose had on a ball cap that read “Ice Road Truckers” and was dressed in loose jeans, a tan sheriff’s uniform shirt, and a red down vest. Luke figured that this was the first time in a while that they looked alike. Their strides matched, both easy and measured; instead of looking like a Kentucky Mennonite and a city guy from Cincinnati, he and Mose looked like a pair of friends.
    Much like they’d looked when back at the academy.
    “Wish you wouldn’t,” Mose muttered.
    “Staying here would only be a disservice to you. Fact is, I’m not making much headway.” Thinking about the hours of useless conversation he’d had, where the Amish men and women had talked in circles, practically daring him to delve into their personal world just so they could shoot him down. “Actually, I’m afraid I might be making things worse.”
    Mose glanced his way. “How so?”
    “People are clamming up the moment I get near them,” he said grudgingly. Feeling like the worst sort of rookie. “Or, even worse, they’re telling all kinds of stories about Perry that don’t add up. One minute it seems like the kid was a saint. Other times, that he was the worst sort of sinner.”
    “That sounds like most of us, don’tcha think?” Mose chuckled.
    Luke was not amused. He was frustrated and sitting here admitting his faults. “Mose, I’m trying to say that I think you would do better without me.”
    “I disagree. Yes, you’re a stranger here, but I know you’ll see some connections that I’ve been missing. Here in Crittenden County, our whole lives are intertwined; it’s hard to sometimes tell the good from the bad. Things might be making more sense than you realize.”
    “The information I’m getting and recording is only going to confuse your investigation.”
    As they walked along the sidewalk, Mose nodded to the few people they passed. Tipping the bill of his cap at a pair of elderly ladies; smiling at a pair of shy Amish girls—who didn’t look Luke’s way for even a second.
    “Maybe not. Maybe you’re helping more than you’ll ever know.”
    “I doubt that.” Even as he said the words, Luke wanted to cringe. He wasn’t the type of man to whine like this. Or to give up easily.
    But he was the type of man who dealt with realities. And the reality was that he was destined to remain a fish out of water. The majority of his experience was on the city streets and alleys of Cincinnati. He was used to informers and snitches and a whole team of forensic specialists to appear at a moment’s notice. Driving around the hills and valleys and woods in the county, talking with Englischers who rarely talked to their Amish neighbors or to the Amish who were so entrenched in their farms, families, and community that they weren’t aware of other’s gossip was difficult at best.
    And while he didn’t mind a difficult investigation, he did mind failing.
    “I appreciate your honesty. I do for sure,” Mose replied, sounding much like the Amish man he’d grown up as. “But I promise you this, I wouldn’t have asked you here if I didn’t think it would help, Luke.” Mose didn’t wait for an answer as they increased their pace, crossing the street and heading toward the veterans memorial. When