“Yes.” Her smile is real this time. “It is lovely.”

I drop my hand and ask the question that’s been eating at me since Tomasetti waylaid me in the bar with his riddle about Pete the cop. “Sarah, have you told anyone about Daniel Lapp?”

She brushes a speck of thread off the quilt. “I do not wish to speak of that, Katie.”

“Did you tell someone about Lapp?”

Lowering the quilt, she stares at me as if I’ve just pulled out my pistol and shot her dead-center. “I did what I had to do.”

“What does that mean?”

“I prayed to God for guidance. When I woke yesterday morning, I knew I would find peace, that you would find peace, in the truth.”

A keen sense of betrayal cuts me. “Who did you tell?”

“I sent a note to Bishop Troyer.”

“What did the note say?”

“The truth.” She looks down at the quilt. “That you know who the killer is.” The words send a flood of panic through me. The scene at the bar with Tomasetti flashes in my mind’s eye. For an instant, I’m so stricken, I can’t catch my breath.

“I am sorry if this hurts you, Katie. But I felt very strongly that telling the truth was the right thing to do.”

“You don’t know the truth!” Turning away from her, I begin to pace. “Sarah, how could you?”

“Your police friends can help you find Daniel now,” she offered.

Heart pounding, I rub my hands over my face and try to calm down. “Did you sign the note? Do they know it came from you?”

“I did not sign my name.”

I try to think through the ramifications, but my brain is so muddled by exhaustion, I can’t think past the panic clenching my chest.

“Katie, what happened?”

I stop pacing and look at her. “Bishop Troyer took the note to the town council. Maybe the mayor. Now, they’re suspicious of me. Are you happy now?”

“I am not happy to see you hurting. All I want is for Daniel Lapp to be caught.”

“We don’t know that he’s the killer!” I shout.

She glances nervously toward the door. “Please do not shout.”

Trying hard to fend off the fingers of panic crawling all over me, I draw a deep breath. “Sarah, I need to talk to you about what happened that day.”

She starts to turn away, but I set my hands on her shoulders and force her to face me. “I need you to remember. Think back to that day. Is it really possible Daniel Lapp survived?”

“If he’s back, then he must have survived.” Her fingers flutter at the neckline of her plain dress. “You saw him, too.”

The human mind is a powerful thing. Like the body, it possesses protective mechanisms to safeguard it against trauma. The abject horror of what happened that day was branded into my brain and will remain there forever. But I remember few details of the rape, even less of the shooting. The one thing I do recall with vivid clarity is the blood. On the curtains. On my hands. An ocean of it glistening on the floor.