Among the Wicked: A Kate Burkholder Novel (8 page)

“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.”

Suggs nods vigorously. “The Coffee Cup closed last month. Used to be a dozen or more Amish-owned businesses, but most of them closed once Schrock got in there as bishop. Hated to see The Coffee Cup go. I swear they made the best strawberry-rhubarb pie I’ve ever had.” He grins. “Don’t tell my wife I said that.”

I smile back. “Attending worship will be one of the best ways for me to get to know people. Generally, the Amish will use someone’s home or farm and rotate every other week so hosting such a large event doesn’t become a hardship for any one person or family.”

“I don’t think this community rotates Sunday worship,” Suggs replies. “I’m pretty sure Schrock preaches every Sunday out to his place.”

“That’s unusual,” I say. “At his home?”

“I went out there one Sunday morning to talk to him about the lack of reflective signage on his buggy,” the sheriff tells me. “There were fifty or sixty people in chairs out in his barn. He has a big potbellied stove in there.”

I nod. “Do I have a form of transportation?”

He offers a hangdog frown. “We considered setting you up with a horse and buggy, but we didn’t have the funds or the time or the right kind of place for you, frankly. There are no facilities for a horse at Bowman’s trailer.”

“In Ohio,” I begin, “some of the Amish get around on bicycles or scooters. Would that be an option?”

“We can definitely purchase either for you,” Suggs says. “Or you can pick up whatever you need and we’ll reimburse the cost. But Chief, I can tell you that this time of year there’s just too damn much snow for that to be practical.”

My heart takes another dive. With several inches of snow on the ground and the temperature below freezing, I’m wondering about the physical logistics of getting around. The notion of trekking through miles of snow in a dress isn’t pleasant.

“How far is Roaring Springs from the trailer home where I’ll be staying?”

Suggs renders a pained look. “Half a mile south. Like I mentioned, Schrock’s place is half a mile straight north. So you’re pretty central, if that’s any consolation.”

“We’re sorry, Chief Burkholder,” Betancourt says. “We know the lack of transportation may present a hardship, especially with the weather this time of year, but it’s the best we could do considering our budget and all those Amish rules.”

I think about that a moment. “If there’s an Amish family living nearby, I may be able to arrange it so I can pay them to take me places. And there’s always the possibility of using a driver.” Still, there’s no doubt I’ll be spending a good bit of time marching through snow.

“What can you tell me about the children in the settlement?” I ask.

“The kids live with their families, of course,” Suggs replies. “Some of the families live on Schrock’s land. Others live in the general area, on small farms mostly. I think we’ve got two or three families living in town.”

“Is there a school?”

He nods. “It’s on Schrock’s property. Smallish white clapboard building a few hundred yards from the dirt road. One of the first buildings you come to when you drive in.”

I pull out my notebook, scan my notes, then put it away. “I’ll be going by the name Kate Miller. I’m a widow. My husband, John, died of cancer nine months ago. I’m Swartzentruber, so I’m looking for a community with like beliefs. I’m from near Millersburg, but I’ll keep it vague, in case someone tries to check up on me. Since they have no reason to be suspicious, I don’t think they’ll go to the trouble. Back in Ohio, I found the Amish bishop too lenient. I heard about Eli Schrock from a cousin who’d heard about him from a friend. My parents are passed away.” I shrug. “That’s about it.”

“Always best to keep things simple when you’re undercover,” Suggs says. “Good cover story.”

Betancourt nods. “A few things to keep in mind, Chief Burkholder. In addition to information on the death of Rachel Esh, we’re looking for any indication of child abuse or neglect. You know what to look for.” He motions toward the phone. “It’s set up for photos.”

I nod.

“As we mentioned back in Painters Mill, local law enforcement also got wind of a rumor about people being held against their will. We got nothing concrete. Since these people are so damn secretive, you’ll just have to keep your ear to the ground.”

“I’m good at that.”

Betancourt holds my gaze. “We’re going to need you to report in at least once every twenty-four hours. More, if you can manage it. If you go past twenty-four hours, we’ll have no choice but to assume you’re in trouble.”

Suggs interjects, “In which case, I’ll check on you at your home. If you’re not there, I’ll get my deputies involved. We’ll drive out to Schrock’s place and find an excuse to look around.”

I nod. “All right.”

Suggs and Betancourt exchange looks. “Is there anything else we can do for you to help you get started with all this, Chief Burkholder?” Betancourt asks.

A uneasy silence echoes within the walls like curse words whispered by a child. I work to settle in my mind everything that’s been said, but the mission ahead is unwieldy, with far too many variables.

“I think we’ve covered just about everything,” I say after a moment.

Betancourt reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a plain white envelope. “Eight hundred bucks cash. It’ll get you into the trailer, buy your groceries, and keep you in petty cash for a while. Probably enough left to buy a bike over at the Walmart, if you need it.”

I pocket the envelope without looking at the cash. “I think now would be a good time for me to get dressed.”

Suggs rises. “I’ll grab your suitcase.”

CHAPTER 6

It’s been eighteen years since I last wore an Amish dress. Even after so much time, the memories and old resentments rise inside me as I pull the clothes from my suitcase. This particular dress is slightly large for my frame, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing when you’re packing heat. The fabric is heavy for winter warmth, and dark gray, which is acceptable by almost all church districts. I’d forgotten what a pain the pins are, and my fingers fumble helplessly as I secure the
halsduch
, or cape, over the bodice. I poke myself twice before getting everything into its proper place.

I’ve chosen a thigh holster for the .22 mini Magnum. It’s black neoprene. I adjust it so the weapon rests on the side and slightly in front of my right thigh. I drop the cell phone into my pocket. Both items are accessible yet undetectable. For now, I’ll keep my .38 and extra ammo tucked into my suitcase.

It takes me another five minutes to secure my hair in a bun, roll the sides upward, and tuck all of it into the white organdy
kapp
. The black winter bonnet fits over the
kapp
. Fully dressed, I stand before the mirror in the bathroom at the rear of the travel trailer, a little shocked by my appearance.

“Hello, Kate Miller,” I whisper.

Beyond the door, I hear Suggs and Betancourt talking. Waiting for me. Quickly, I fold my street clothes and cram everything into the canvas bag that will stay with my Explorer. A final glance in the mirror and I open the door.

Betancourt is standing near the dining table and does a double take upon spotting me. “That’s quite a transformation.”

A sense of self-consciousness steals over me. I feel vulnerable, and for the first time I realize how much of my identity is based on the uniform I wear and the badge that’s now stowed in the canvas bag I’ll be leaving behind.

Suggs is at the sink, drinking coffee. He swallows hard when he sees me. “You certainly look the part, Chief Burkholder.” I give him points for trying not to stare, but he doesn’t quite manage. “A deputy is on the way to pick up your vehicle.”

Betancourt crosses to me and extends his hand for a shake. “If you need anything, call, day or night.” He holds my gaze, doesn’t let go of my hand. “You’re going to do great.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He jerks his head at Suggs and then leaves.

I blow out a breath, glance at the sheriff. “This feels weird as hell.”

“I bet.” He grins. “Ready?”

Plucking my coat from the back of the chair, I put it on. I’ve removed the buttons and replaced them with safety pins, which take another minute to secure. “Let’s go.”

My Amish clothes are squeezed into a single suitcase. I rolled the baby quilts to save space and fit them into the cardboard box. Tucking the box under my arm, I extend the suitcase handle and roll it to the door.

Outside, the engine of Betancourt’s truck roars to life. Suggs opens the door for me. “Good luck, Chief Burkholder.”

I look at him. My heart is pounding. I wonder if my face reveals the tension running like hot wires through my nerves. I force a smile. “Roger that,” I tell him, and go through the door.

Snow falls from a sky the color of slate. I go down the steps with Suggs behind me. My Explorer is gone. The last link to my life. Behind me, I hear Suggs stowing the steps. I’m aware of the rumble of Betancourt’s vehicle as I make my way toward the diner, but I don’t look back. As I reach the front of the building, I see the travel trailer pull onto the road.

There are two cars and an old pickup truck parked in front of the diner. A few cars pass on the highway, but the sound of the tires is muted by snow. Propping the box on my hip, I open the door. A blast of heat and the smell of eggs fried in grease greet me. The Doors’ “Riders on the Storm” crackles over a bad sound system. Two men in brown coveralls and Ray’s Machine Shop caps sit at the counter. In an orange Naugahyde booth to my left, a woman and a little boy share a chocolate sundae. Behind the counter, a waitress in a blue uniform refills a ketchup bottle from a Sam’s Club–size container. When the door closes behind me, she looks up and frowns.

I walk to the counter, my suitcase rolling beside me, and set the box on the nearest stool. “May I use your phone?” I ask, invoking the Pennsylvania Dutch inflection I’d fought so hard to eradicate.

The waitress doesn’t acknowledge me. Taking her time, she sets down the condiment and screws on the lid. Behind me, I hear the door open. I glance over, see Suggs walk in and take a seat at the other end of the counter without looking at me. For a moment, I think the waitress is going to ignore my request, then she glances my way and rolls her eyes.

“There’s a phone booth outside the convenience store in town,” she tells me.

Before I can respond, Suggs’s voice sounds from the end of the counter. “Aw, now, Dee Dee, let the girl use your phone.”

The waitress sets her hand on her hip. “They’re always coming in here to use the phone like this is their office or something and I’m their damn secretary. I ain’t no one’s secretary, and I sure don’t have to take orders from you.”

He chuckles. “Come on now. It’s cold as a well digger’s ass out there. This girl looks like she’s been on the road awhile. Why don’t you let her make her call so she can get to where she needs to go before the snow piles up?”

She glares at me and shakes her head. “No modern conveniences, my big toe. I wish you people would get your own damn phones. They’re not free, you know.” She reaches beneath the counter, produces an old cordless, and smacks it down on the counter. “I ought to charge you for it.”

“I can pay,” I tell her. “I just need to call a driver.”

“Just use the damn thing,” she snaps. “Make it quick, ’cause I got customers.”

Pulling the number of the Yoder Toter from my coat pocket, I dial. I feel the waitress and the two men watching me as I wait for someone to pick up. Just when I think no one’s going to answer, a gruff female voice answers. “’Lo?”

“This is Kate Miller. I’m Amish and I need a ride to Roaring Springs.”

“Where you at?”

“Skelly’s Diner.”

“That far out gonna cost you, ’specially in all this snow.”

“How much?”

“Fifteen bucks.”

“I got it.”

“All-righty. Give me ten minutes. Be out front, so I don’t have to wait.”

The line goes dead before I can reply. Keeping an eye on the cantankerous waitress, I disconnect and quickly dial the number for my soon-to-be landlady, Mrs. Bowman. She’s a little less colorful than the driver and agrees to meet me in half an hour at the property I’ll be renting.

I set the phone on the counter. Dee Dee the waitress is pouring coffee for Suggs. An oversized muffin sits on a saucer next to his mug. He says something and she giggles, slaps at his hand. She pauses at the two coverall-clad men, who’ve finished their meals, and refills their cups. Setting the pot on the burner, she heads my way and picks up the phone. “You done with this?” she asks.

I nod. I’m wondering if I have time for a cup of coffee when the coverall-clad man closest to me lays a five-dollar bill on the counter, rises, and saunters over to me. He’s about thirty. A couple days’ growth of beard. His coveralls are dirty, and he smells of ground steel.

“You need a ride somewhere?” He jabs a thumb at his friend. “My buddy and I just finished our shift and we can drop you somewhere if you want. No charge.”

I look past him at his friend. I feel Suggs watching me, but I don’t look at him. “I already have a ride.”

“You sure? Save you some bucks?” He grins. “It’s cold and snowy out there.”

His friend leans forward and makes eye contact with me. “Warm in our truck.”

“And we got four-wheel drive.”

“Driver’s on the way,” I tell him.

He smiles, but it’s not quite so friendly now. “Suit yourself. I reckon we can take a hint.” He glances at his friend. “You ready?” He grins at the waitress. “See you tomorrow, Dee Dee.”

“Be careful out there.” She goes to where they were sitting, swipes the five off the counter, stuffs it into her pocket, and begins clearing the dishes.

Suggs does a good job of keeping the cranky waitress entertained while I wait for the driver. By the time I see the blue van pull up, she’s laughing. Gathering my box and suitcase, I lug both to the door and walk into my new life.