“All these rumors,” the sheriff says with distaste. “God only knows what the hell is going on out there. Remember what I said, Kate. If things get too dicey, we can pull you out any time.”

“I got it under control,” I tell him.

As I end the call, I wonder how many cops have said those very words only to realize they weren’t true.

*   *   *

I spend a couple of hours struggling with my sewing project. By the time ten P.M. rolls around I’m frustrated and cold and ready to call it a night. It’s not until midnight that I fall into a fitful slumber. Dreams of Rachel Esh invade my sleep. We’re sitting at the sewing table at The Calico Country Store. I’m stitching a crib quilt that’s nearly finished, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t manage the final stitches. Rachel and Laura stare at the mess I’ve made of it, and I can tell by their expressions that they’ve realized the work isn’t mine. That I’m no seamstress and my secret has been found out.

Laura looks at me with knowing eyes. “She’s not one of us,” she tells Rachel. “Sie hot en falsh Amisch.” She’s a phony Amish.

The girl replies, but I don’t hear the words. Her lips are blue and I can tell by the gray hue of her face that she’s dead. Her front teeth are broken to the gum. Blood between her teeth. Ice on her lips. Her smile is macabre.

“We’re going to have to tell the bishop,” she whispers.

“I’m trying to save you,” I tell the girl.

Rachel throws her head back and a terrible laugh spills from her bloody mouth. “No one can save me.”

I wake in a cold sweat and sit bolt upright. Around me, the trailer is quiet and freezing cold. I’m breathing hard and in the thin light slanting in through the window I can see the vapor of my breath.

Tossing the blankets aside, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and rise to turn up the heat. I’m midway down the hall when I see a shadow shift in the living room. I go still, squint into the darkness. Another wave of cold air wraps around my ankles and slinks up my legs. The front door is open, I realize, and a different kind of cold stabs me in the back.

Something scrapes across the carpet ten feet away, and in that instant I know I’m not alone. Adrenaline burns like fire in my gut. My .22 and phone are beneath the mattress.