He releases a long sigh. “You’re sure?”

“Yup.”

“All right.” He pauses. “So what’s next?”

“The same. I’ll keep talking to people. Keep digging. Sooner or later I’ll find someone who knows something and get them to talk to me.”

“Do you need anything?”

“A car. Cable TV. A decent furnace.”

His laugh is halfhearted, as if he knows I’m only partially kidding. We fall silent. Suggs is trying hard not to look at my gown, my bare feet sticking out from beneath the sheet. He isn’t quite succeeding.

“Kate, you need to be careful,” he says. “I mean it. Especially with Schrock.”

“You bet I will.” I tell him about the man who works in the kitchen at The Dutch Kitchen. “He was watching us. Eavesdropping. I think that’s why Mary Gingerich wouldn’t talk to me.”

“That’s so far out there, I don’t even know what to say,” he snaps. “Fucking spies.” Shaking his head, he shoves his hands into his pockets. “You think someone’s watching your trailer?”

“It’s possible, but I don’t think they’re suspicious of me.”

Yet.

The word hangs in the air, but neither of us acknowledges it.

“You can’t walk home tonight,” he says. “Too far. Too cold.”

“Since it’s late and you’re in a civilian vehicle, I think it would be okay for you to drop me at the Amish pay phone.”

“I guess it’s a chance we’ll have to take.” But he looks worried as he scrubs a hand over his jaw. “I’ll be in the waiting area. Come get me when you’re ready.”

Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

My encounter with Schrock haunts me through the night. When I’m not tossing and turning, I’m dreaming of being trapped inside that house with him, unable to escape, and when I reach for my sidearm it’s not there …

I had every intention of calling Tomasetti to let him know what happened, but I couldn’t make myself pick up the phone. I know that’s not fair. Nor is it honest. He’s a strong man and I’m not giving him the credit he deserves. But telling him about a dangerous incident when I’m so far away didn’t feel like the right thing to do. I’m ever cognizant of the anguish he endured after the deaths of his wife and children. He doesn’t speak of it, but there are still nights when his demons come calling. Nights when he wakes in a cold sweat, shaking and choking back panic. I don’t want to add to that.

I rise at dawn, take a hot shower, careful to leave my cell and .38 sitting on the edge of the tub. At nine, I pack my sewing supplies in a canvas bag and head into town.