“Or maybe being Amish isn’t just about going without the things the rest of us take for granted,” he says. “Maybe it’s something you carry inside. You know, faith. A kind heart.”

I smile. “Tomasetti, you’re full of surprises this afternoon.”

“I like to keep you on your toes.”

“You do.” Snuggling more deeply into the blanket I’ve thrown over me, I tell him about my visit to see Schrock earlier. “He didn’t ask any questions.”

“He already knew.”

“Exactly.” I tell him about the young woman who answered the door. “She’s pretty and young. She could have been there to clean or to cook for him, but I got a bit of an odd vibe.”

“You think she’s there for another reason?”

“The Amish are generally aware of appearances. They care what people think. With Schrock being unmarried, relatively young, and in a position of power, I thought it was odd that he’d have a pretty young woman cleaning his house.” I think about that a moment. “Most Amish would go to great lengths to avoid any hint of impropriety.”

“Was this girl a minor?”

“Late teens. Maybe early twenties. And pregnant.”

“Interesting.”

“I thought so, too.” I think about bishop. “I’m no schmuck when it comes to reading people, but I can’t get a handle on this guy.”

“Sometimes that happens when people put forth a false front,” he says.

“I’ve only met him twice. Both times, he was relaxed, said all the right things. Body language matched his words.”

“But?”

“I know it sounds melodramatic, but there’s something about him that seems … off.” I think about my visit with Mary Gingerich earlier in the day, about Laura Hershberger’s reticence. “Nobody wanted to talk about those men. I don’t know if they’re protective of their bishop or … scared of him.”

“Maybe he’s abusing his position. Intimidating people.”

I think about my conversation with Anna Gingerich. “Remember what Suggs said about people being locked in a chicken coop?”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

“I was chatting with a girl on Sunday and she told me she knows of another girl who’d been locked in a chicken coop.”

“That kind of extreme punishment would explain why people don’t talk about him.”

“They want to stay off his radar.”

“They sure as hell don’t want to piss him off.” He sighs unhappily. “I know I don’t have to remind you, but somehow a fifteen-year-old kid ended up dead. Don’t let down your guard. Don’t trust anyone. And keep your fucking eyes on Schrock.”

Despite my best intentions, the conversation has gone in a direction I didn’t want it to go. “I’m being careful.”

We go silent and I’m suddenly aware of the hiss of the miles stretching between us. “I could drive up there,” he says quietly. “We could shack up for a couple days.”