“Even though we’re only bringing in the parents to identify the body, if it’s her, the bishop should be there,” I say.

Goddard nods. “That’d be Old Abe Hertzler. He and his wife live out on River Road.” He lowers his voice, gives a single grim nod. “I’ll go get him. Can you two oversee things here? We can meet up at the hospital in Warren in a couple of hours. That’s where our morgue facilities are.”

Notifying next of kin is a responsibility no cop relishes. I would venture to say it’s one of the most difficult aspects of being a chief of police. Regardless of the manner of death, whether it’s a traffic accident, a drowning, or the result of foul play, breaking the news to a loved one can affect a cop profoundly.

Goddard starts to turn away, but I stop him. “I’ll do it.”

He casts me a slightly incredulous look. “Aw, Chief Burkholder, I can’t put that on you.”

“It might help that I used to be Amish,” I tell him.

I’m aware that Tomasetti’s watching me, but I don’t look at him. I’m not sure I’m succeeding with the “I’m not affected” persona I’m striving to project. “That’s why I’m here,” I add.

I don’t mention the fact that most Amish are not only suspicious of the English but also of Amish who are from a different area. Not to mention those who have been excommunicated, like me.

The relief on his face is palpable. “To tell you the truth, I’m a little out of my element when it comes to the Amish,” he says sheepishly.

“She knows the territory,” Tomasetti puts in.

“Where can we find the bishop?” I ask.

The sheriff gives us directions to the bishop’s house, which is only a few miles to the south. “I’ll see you at the morgue in a couple of hours.”

CHAPTER 11

“Are you sure you’re up to this?”

Tomasetti doesn’t ask the question until we’re turning into the gravel lane of the farm where Bishop Abraham Hertzler, aka “Old Abe,” and his wife, Ruth, reside.

“I’m sure.” I don’t look at him as I reply, because I know he’s far too astute to miss the trepidation that’s plastered all over my face. “I’ll do a better job than Goddard.”

“I could have just run over you with the Tahoe.”

I can’t help it; I laugh and glance over at him. “You’re not trying to subtly tell me I’m a glutton for punishment, are you?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

But I know he won’t try to talk me out of it; he knows I’m right.