“Can’t have it ringing while you’re at church.” Betancourt’s gaze meets mine. “You have your sidearm with you?”

“Both of them.”

“I’ll take care of any paperwork so we’re on the up and up with that,” Betancourt says. “Once we finish here and you’re dressed and ready to go, you’ll walk into the diner with your suitcase and box, and ask the waitress to use the phone.”

“Dee Dee—the waitress—can be a little persnickety,” the sheriff tells me. “If she gives you any shit, I’ll be at the counter. I go in all the time for coffee. She knows me and I’ll make sure she lets you use the phone.”

“Most phones have caller ID, and we thought it was better for Skelly’s Diner to come up,” Betancourt clarifies, “rather than your personal ID or anything to do with law enforcement.”

“All this will get the rumor mill humming, by the way,” Suggs tells me. “We don’t get many new residents around here.”

The grapevine is a powerful mode of communication in most Amish communities. Word of a new resident will travel fast.

Suggs passes me a sheet of paper with two names and phone numbers, and a Roaring Springs address at the bottom. “The driver’s name is Marcella Jennings, but everyone calls her Marc. Drives a beat-up blue van and hauls the Amish around all the time. Everyone knows her, so she’s legit.”

“Good,” I say.

“You’ll also need to call the landlady and tell her you want to rent the trailer,” Suggs continues. “Just tell her you saw the ad in The Bridge; it says something about the trailer being Amish friendly.”

“Got it,” I say.

“Once you set a time to meet Bowman out at the trailer, call Marc. Tell her you need a ride from Skelly’s in Brushton to the trailer home.” He nods to the paper. “Address is there. Marc’ll pick you up and drive you out there for fifteen bucks.”

The men fall silent. Now that we’ve touched on some of the details, I suspect the complexity of the assignment is hitting all of us.

After a moment, I say, “I have some thoughts on how to insert myself if you want to hear them.”

Both men look slightly relieved, as if they’re fresh out of ideas and unsure as to what else they can contribute from this point forward.

“I brought some Amish quilts with me,” I tell them. “Baby quilts I picked up at a shop in Painters Mill. I can pass the work off as my own and sell them at one of the shops in town. It’ll be a good way to meet some of the Amish women.”

“That’s good,” Betancourt says.

“I think getting a job in town will be beneficial, too, especially in terms of meeting the Amish,” I tell them. “I cruised around the Internet last night and found several Amish-owned businesses that might suffice.” I glance down at my notes. “The Coffee Cup. The Calico Country Store. And The Dutch Kitchen restaurant.”