“Oh … well. I’m relieved you won’t be in any danger. We want you back here in one piece.”

“Thanks, Auggie.” We rise simultaneously.

I motion to the letter. “I’d appreciate if you kept everything we talked about confidential.”

“I may need an explanation for the town council, Kate.”

“The council members are fine. And of course, I’ll fill in everyone in my department. But the fewer people who know where I am and what I’m doing, the better.”

“Sure.”

I extend my hand for a shake. “And if you could mention my vacation to the town council, I’d appreciate it.”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”

CHAPTER 4

I spent a good part of the morning with my sister, Sarah. To say she was surprised that I wanted to borrow Amish dresses from her was an understatement. A small stab of pain caught in my chest when I saw the flash of hope in her eyes. I knew what she was thinking: that I’d come to my senses and decided to return to the plain life. I didn’t go into detail, but explained to her that I needed the clothes for an assignment.

“Your least favorites,” I told her. “I’m not particular, but the plainer, the better.”

“I’ve more bosom than you, Katie.” She patted her belly. “The baby, you know. I’ll need to take them in.”

“They don’t have to fit well, Sarah. Besides, there’s no time for you to alter them.”

“That’s my Katie, always in a hurry.” But she tempered the statement with a smile.

Remembering I’d be joining the church district in New York as a relatively new widow, I added, “And black, if you have them.”

“Black?” She tossed me a quizzical look, and not for the first time I’m reminded of the stark contrast between my life and hers.

“I can’t get into why,” I told her, relieved when she didn’t press.

An hour later, I walked away with five plain dresses. Three black, one navy, and one dark gray. Five aprons. An organdy kapp and a black winter bonnet. A quick stop at the Walmart in Millersburg, and I own two pairs of plain black sneakers. An insulated black barn coat that comes nearly down to my knees. Several pair of black cotton tights for warmth. Rubber boots for getting around in the snow. Betancourt warned me upstate New York is frigid, with plenty of lake effect snow in late January.

Next, I swing by En Schtich in Zeit, A Stitch in Time. It’s an Amish quilt and sewing shop on Main Street just two blocks from the police station. Twenty minutes later, I walk out with four crib quilts and half a dozen potholders—all by the same quilter so that the stitching and workmanship are consistent. I also purchased a used sewing kit—the kind any Amish woman might have in her home for mending clothes. All of it cost me a month’s salary—which will hopefully be reimbursed by the sheriff’s department—but I figure I’ll need an Amish-related vocation while I’m there. A profession that serves double-duty, because I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to use it to my advantage when it comes to meeting people and, hopefully, infiltrating the community.