I feel my pulse throbbing at my temples. I remind myself there’s no way he could know what happened, but the reassurance is little comfort. I’ve underestimated John Tomasetti. He isn’t just a figurehead with a badge. He’s a cop with a cop’s suspicions and the resolve to get to the bottom of those suspicions no matter what it takes.

“I’m not very good at riddles,” I say.

“I think Pete’s hiding something.” He shrugs. “I thought he might come clean if the right person asked.”

All I can think is How does he know? “You’re full of shit, Tomasetti.”

He smiles, but it’s the cunning smile of a shark. A big one with bottomless black eyes, sharp teeth and an unfailing killer instinct. Leaning back in the booth, he studies me as if I’m some lab experiment gone wrong. “So how did you go from being an Amish farm girl to a cop? That’s one hell of a leap.”

The quick change of topic throws me, but only for an instant. “Just trying to buck the system, I guess.”

“Anything in particular inspire you?”

I’m saved from having to answer when my phone chirps. “I gotta take this,” I say and hit the Talk button.

“We-got-another-body!” Lois’s voice blasts over the line like a foghorn.

I stand so abruptly, I bump the table and knock over a glass. “Where?”

“Miller’s Pond. Petra Srinvassen’s girl was skating out there and found it.”

I’m out of the booth and running toward the door. I hear Tomasetti behind me, his boots heavy against the floor.

“Are they still at the pond?” I hit the door with both hands. I barely notice the dark sky or the cold as I run toward the Tahoe.

“I think so.”

“Tell them to be careful. Tell them not to touch anything or disturb any tracks. I’m on my way.”

CHAPTER 22

John had always been a suspicious son of a bitch. Once upon a time that was one of the traits that made him a good cop. He didn’t give a damn where those suspicions took him. He’d arrest his own grandmother if she crossed the line. He supposed that was why it came as a shock to realize he didn’t like the suspicions creeping over him when it came to Kate Burkholder.

Experience had taught him that people let you see only what they wanted you to. Whether they succeeded in that all too human art of deception depended on a couple of things. How good an actor they were. And how good you were at judging character. John had always considered himself a damn good judge of character.

By all accounts, Kate Burkholder seemed like a straight shooter with just enough edge to make the hard choices when the chips were down. But John sensed a thin layer of ambiguity beneath that girl-next-door exterior. She might project an air of moral resolve, but his gut was telling him there was more to the formerly Amish chief than met the eye. If it hadn’t been for the note, he might have let it go. Now, he couldn’t. He was pretty sure she was hiding something. But what? The question rolled around inside his head like a lone die as he jacked the speedometer to eighty.