I find Adam standing at the kitchen sink, a mixing bowl and an array of various bottles and containers on the counter next to him.
“How’s our patient?” I ask.
He looks at me over his shoulder and grins. “Hot-water bottle helped. I think he’s enjoying the attention.”
“Can’t blame him for that.” I move to the counter and stand beside him. A ripple of concern goes through me when I recognize the items he’s arranged on the counter. “Frostbite?”
“His heels look a little white.” The Amish man gives me a half smile. “Frostnip more than likely.”
“If I can get the Explorer out of the lane, I might be able to get him to the hospital,” I say. “Say the word if you want to try.”
“He’s going to be fine, Katie.”
I watch as he pours cooking oil into a medium-size bowl. Next comes the oil of turpentine and, lastly, a dash of ammonia. He stirs everything together with a soup spoon. “Smells familiar,” I say, remembering.
I was twelve years old when my brother, Jacob, fell victim to frostbite while ice fishing at a neighbor’s pond. Upon his arrival home, my mamm cooked up a mixture using the same ingredients and applied it to his frostbitten toes.
“It’s a rite of passage for a lot of Amish boys,” he says. “For Sammy, more than once.”
“My mamm used the same remedy,” I tell him.
Adam stirs the mixture, the pungent odors of the ammonia and turpentine filling the kitchen. “It’s been a while. I’m not sure if I remembered all the ingredients.”
“Smells right.” I can’t vouch for the effectiveness of the concoction, but I had it rubbed onto my fingers and toes a couple of times growing up, and I didn’t suffer any ill effects.
“He’s sleeping?” I ask.
“Talking more likely.” He slants me an amused look. “If Gina and the girls are with him, he will not be sleeping.”
“You did your fair share of talking when you were his age,” I say teasingly.
Smiling, he taps the spoon on the side of the bowl, then sets the spoon in the sink. “So I’ve heard.”
“He looks like you.”
“He’s got his mamm’s heart. Her faith.”
The lightness of the moment gives way to solemnity. I want to say something to bring the smile back to his face, but the words don’t come and the moment is lost.
Picking up the mixing bowl, Adam carries it through the doorway to the stairs. I refill the old-fashioned water bottle, snag a towel off the counter, and follow. At the top of the stairs I hear the boy talking animatedly, and I head toward the room at the end of the hall.
“The frost bit Datt on the heel when we went deer hunting last winter.” His voice floats down the hall, making me smile. “He didn’t even feel it because he’s so big and strong.”
I enter the room to find Lizzie and Annie sitting on the side of their older brother’s bed, fascinated by the tall tale they’re being told. Adam stands just inside the doorway, holding the bowl. Gina kneels next to the bed. She’s holding a stuffed animal—a faceless black-and-white cow—simulating that it’s walking on Sammy’s tummy. The boy is enjoying the game and giggles each time the cow decides to “buck” him with its little horns.
The sight of Gina—with her wild hair, snug blue jeans, and reckless smile—on the floor next to an indisposed Amish boy is so contradictory to everything I know about her, I pause in the doorway and take in the scene. I’m aware of Adam standing in front of me. He, too, has stopped. I don’t need to see his face to know his eyes are on Gina.
The boy’s face lights up at the sight of his father. “My feet aren’t cold anymore, Datt.”
Adam moves to the small table next to the bed and sets down the bowl. “Still have to put the greidah-ayl on your heels,” he says, using the Deitsch word for ointment.
Sammy eyes the bowl with suspicion, and his smile fades.
“Take off your socks and let’s have a look at those toes,” Adam tells him.
The boy pulls up the blankets, revealing feet covered with well-used socks.
I cross to the bed and pass the water bottle to him. “Set this against your tummy,” I tell him. “It’ll help warm you up.”
He grins. “Ja.”
Gina raises her hand and holds her nose. “Those are some pretty stinky toes,” she tells the boy. “Are you sure you want to save them? Maybe we ought to just cut them off and feed them to the chickens.”
Annie lets out a squeal that’s part delight, part horror. Sammy’s mouth opens an instant before he realizes she’s kidding, and the three children burst out laughing.
“Mamm always said me and Datt have the stinkiest feet in the whole house,” he proclaims with no small amount of pride.
“I’ve no doubt,” I murmur, but I’m smiling.
Adam tugs the boy’s socks from feet that are still red from the cold. The heels are, indeed, pale but I don’t see any telltale signs of serious frostbite. He’s in the process of rubbing the unguent into the toes and heels when my cell phone vibrates.
I glance down and see Tomasetti’s name pop up on the display. Excusing myself, I leave the room and duck into the hall. “Did you make your meeting with Denny?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “We need to talk.”
I know immediately from his tone that something has changed. That it’s not good. “What’s going on?”
“Not on the cell. I’m on my way.”
I’ve just taken my cell out to the Explorer to charge when I hear the snowmobile zipping up the lane. I stand in the driveway and watch as Tomasetti slides to a stop next to my vehicle and pulls off his helmet.
John Tomasetti isn’t much of a hugger. He’s not the sentimental type. And he’s pretty good at keeping his emotions under lock and key. He doesn’t quite succeed as he crosses to me and leans in for a kiss.
“Farm is kind of quiet without you around,” he murmurs.
“You’re not insinuating I talk too much, are you?” I ask.
“Well…”
I ease away from him, tilt my head for a better look, see a flicker of something that gives me pause. “Okay,” I say. “Lay it on me.”
“There’s something else going on with Colorosa.”
“Not to state the obvious, but that could be the understatement of the year.”
“I drove to Columbus this morning and met with Denny,” he tells me, referring to Special Agent Supervisor Denny McNinch. “I told him everything. When I brought up the possibility of police corruption in Columbus, he clammed up, wouldn’t talk about it. Even when I pushed, he wouldn’t confirm or deny much.”
“Tomasetti, what does that mean?”
He shrugs. “If I were to venture a guess, I’d say there’s another agency involved, there’s an ongoing investigation, it’s hot and being kept under wraps.”
“Which agency?”
Another shrug. “My guess would be FBI. If we’re dealing with organized corruption inside a police department, even if it’s contained to a unit or involves just a few individuals, that’s extremely sensitive information. No one’s going to discuss it, at least not while it’s ongoing.”
“What did he say about Gina?” I ask. “I mean, there’s an active warrant for her arrest. We can’t ignore that. What are we supposed to do with her?”
He grimaces. “Officially, we don’t know her exact whereabouts. Unofficially—and just between us—we need to keep her here for a few more days, if Lengacher is willing.” His eyes settle on mine. “Out of sight. Safe. And quiet. My understanding is that the situation in Columbus is about to come to a head.”
“If she’s part of the investigation, if she has information—names, places, dates, events—that will help, why not make it official and bring her in? Depose her. Something.”
“I got the impression Colorosa is in way over her head. I don’t believe she’s the focus of the investigation.”
I think about that a moment, my mind poking into places I don’t want it to poke. “They’re looking at another individual inside the department.”
“Or individuals,” he says. “Someone higher up on the food chain.”
A quiver of unease moves through my gut even as all the disjointed parts of the situation fall into place. “That’s the first theory I’ve heard that actually makes sense.”
“Considering the sensitive nature of this, I can’t take it any further,” he tells me. “Cops are under investigation. They get wind of it and all the work that’s gone into it goes up in smoke. Bottom line, we need to lay low for now.”
I nod, but my head is spinning. The notion of deep-rooted corruption inside a police department I spent nearly ten years of my life in puts a queasy sensation in the pit of my stomach.
“There are so many good cops inside that department,” I tell him.
“I’ve no doubt,” he says. “We’re likely dealing with a few individuals inside the vice unit. Maybe a handful of guys. And someone higher up who’s letting it happen and is probably benefiting from it.”
“So Gina’s telling the truth.” Though the confirmation of corruption is devastating, that she hasn’t been lying to us settles the uneasiness that’s been pricking the back of my brain since she arrived.
“Evidently, someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to muck up her reputation.”
“They’re going after her credibility,” I murmur.
“That’s what I’d do,” he tells me. “Destroy her reputation. Stain her character. If she points a finger, no one believes a word.”
My mind forges ahead to Adam and his family. “Tomasetti, we could take Gina to the farm. Or I could check her into the motel for a few days.”
“I told Denny where she was and he seemed to think it was a good place. No phone. No contact with the outside world. I know it’s asking a lot of this family, that it’s an inconvenience, but do you think Lengacher would agree to letting her stay here for another day or two?”
“I’ll pull Adam aside and talk to him.” But I’m still thinking about Gina.
He notices my hesitation. “Are you uneasy with her being here?”
“More concerned about Adam and the children. I don’t want them involved.”
“Gina getting on with them all right?”
I sigh. “Maybe a little too well.”
Tilting his head, he arches a brow. “Seriously?”
I give his shoulder a faux punch. “I don’t want her to complicate things for Adam. He’s a widower. If something … happens, he would be judged harshly.” I sigh. “The problem is, I don’t know how to fix it or where to put her.”
He nods, turns thoughtful. “Look, if you’re not comfortable with her staying here, we can find another place. Say the word and I’ll get it done.”
“Do you think anyone’s looking for her?” I ask.
“You mean aside from every cop in the state?” He shrugs. “We can’t rule that out. But she has no connection to Lengacher. The rural roads are nearly impassable. And we’re only talking about another day or two. It’s your call.”
“All right,” I say after a moment. “I’ll talk to Adam.”
He nods, looking closely at me, and his expression softens. “If you’re an optimist, the weather and road conditions might not be such a bad thing. Keeps the bad guys at home.”
I know he’s right. Still, the thought of being stuck here any longer makes me sigh. “I think I’m coming down with a serious case of cabin fever.”
“Just don’t go all Jack Nicholson on me. Someone is probably counting on her testimony.”
I laugh. “I’ll wait until she completes her civic duty.”
Standing on my tiptoes, I press a kiss to his mouth. “Do me a favor and keep your snowmobile handy, will you?”
“In case you need a quick escape?”
“In case I need a quick … something else.”
He grins. “Bet on it.”
The years I was a police officer with the Columbus Division of Police were some of the most personally and professionally satisfying of my life. I loved the work. I gained a lot of experience in a short period of time. With the help of some generous mentors, I learned how to be a cop—a good one. Most importantly, I’d found my calling.
I didn’t hear from my Amish family often. I missed them desperately. I thought about them every day. Sometimes I even missed the lifestyle and I worried about my relationship with God. But the despair I’d experienced so acutely early on had faded to a dull ache over the years. An ache I’d grown accustomed to and rarely acknowledged.
I was living with Gina in a nicer apartment in a better neighborhood. She was still my best friend, my confidante, and my adopted sister all rolled into one. We didn’t spend as much time together as we once had. We didn’t gather around the coffee table for burgers or the occasional Chinese takeout and talk for hours about our day. We didn’t laugh as much. We were working a lot, putting in double shifts sometimes, and there simply wasn’t time.
That’s what I told myself, anyway.
I’d become adept at looking away from things I didn’t want to see, especially when it came to Gina. Over the last couple of years, our friendship had become topical and sometimes strained. She was keeping company with some cops I didn’t care for. She’d become brash. I still loved her, but I didn’t like the person who’d emerged. The truth of the matter was she’d started down a road that could only lead to no good. But of course, I’d gotten good at rationalizing those kinds of things away.
The day I received the letter from home, I’d just completed a double shift and arrived at the apartment a little after five P.M. I’d been up all night and I was dead tired. I spotted the letter on the coffee table. My heart jumped at the sight of my sister’s name. The Painters Mill address. The familiar scrawl of her handwriting. The jolt of emotion was powerful. That letter told me in no uncertain terms that I still mattered. That even though I’d mucked things up with my family, they still thought of me. They cared enough to write. They still loved me.
It was the fourth letter from Sarah in as many years. The first was to let me know she married the man who’d been courting her before I left. The second was to let me know Mamm would be attending my graduation from the police academy, which had been nothing short of a miracle. The third, to inform me she’d lost the baby she’d been carrying.
I grinned like a fool as I tore open the seal. I’d been missing them, thinking about them more often than usual. I’d been yearning for Painters Mill. The farm where I grew up and spending time outdoors. I wondered if Sarah had news. If she was ime familye weg again—in the family way, which was the Amish term for pregnant. I wondered if my mamm would finally invite me home for a visit because she’d forgiven me for my transgressions.
Dear Katie,
I hope this letter finds you well. I was hoping to hear from you after my last letter. But, of course, I know you must be busy with your new life and friends and your job as a police. You must lead such an exciting life!
Sister, I wish I could tell you everything is okay here, but it’s not. It’s with a heavy heart that I must tell you Datt has cancer. He’s been sick. (Of course, he didn’t complain or tell anyone—you know how he is!) Then he finally went to the doctor in Wooster. I prayed it could be treated, but it’s too late. The cancer has spread and he’s very frail. I think it may be time for you to come home to see him. I hope you find your way.
God bless you,
Sarah
I’d barely finished reading the letter—my befuddled brain trying to digest the news—when Gina charged through the door. She was excited about something. Rushed, as usual. She didn’t take the time to get a read on me.
“I got new wheels,” she said as she went to the fridge and pulled out a beer.
I folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope. Datt? Cancer? The man was as strong as a bull. How could that be?
“It’s badass.” She prattled on, not noticing that my world had just unraveled a little. “A Camry. Practically new. Just ten thousand miles.”
“Where did you get it?” I asked as I tucked the letter into the breast pocket of my uniform.
“It’s part of the asset forfeiture program,” she told me.
“How much did it cost?”
“Didn’t cost me a thing.” Grinning, she lifted the bottle to her lips and drank deeply. “Think of it as a perquisite.”
“How does that work exactly?” I asked. It was not an ingenuous question; this conversation was like a dozen others we’d had as of late. The kind that didn’t quite add up. The kind in which you knew there was something else going on and you weren’t getting the whole story. If I were to be perfectly honest with myself, I’d admit that I didn’t want the whole story. I’d realized some time ago that the truth would make me think less of her. And if things came to a head, I’d have to do something about it.
“Good things come to those of us who pay our dues.” At the table, she paged through the day’s mail. “Or maybe I just know the right people. You really need to get out more, Kate, make some connections. I can only do so much for you. You have to show a little initiative.”
From my place on the sofa, I watched her stride to the living room, toss her ever-present canvas bag onto the chair, and flop onto the loveseat opposite me. The canvas bag teetered, then tipped over, and fell to the floor. A mishmash of items spilled out—a flip phone, an iPad, a zippered case. I was only giving it half of my attention until I spotted the wad of cash. I had no idea how much or even the denominations of the bills, but the stack was half an inch thick and bound with bank wrappers.
“Shit.” Muttering beneath her breath, she leaned over and began tossing the items back into the bag.
“Where did you get all that cash?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t look at me. Just continued to pick up her items—an extra clip for her Sig Sauer, her duty gloves, a notebook.
“Gina, where did you get the cash?” I repeated.
Tossing the last item into the bag, she took her seat on the loveseat, and yanked the zipper closed. “I’ve been working a lot. Double shifts. You do that, and there are some fringe benefits.”
“Fringe benefits? Are you kidding me?” I heard the words as if someone else spoke them. The doubt in my voice. The skepticism. The anger. Gina and I had had a few disagreements over the years. This was the first time I’d demanded answers.
“Like I said, Kate, I’ve been working a lot. I make sure I’m at the right place at the right time.”
“And someone magically gives you cash money and a car? You expect me to believe that?”
Eyes on mine, she got to her feet. Hands clenched at her sides. Eyes flashing. Combat ready. “I got this money fair and square. What right do you have to question my ethics?”
“I know where it came from, Gina.”
“Since when did you become such a Goody Two-Shoes, Kate?”
Reaching into the canvas bag, she yanked out the wad of cash, shook it in my face. “All right. Tell me this. Do you think some dope dealer or hooker or pimp deserves this? Someone who’s never worked a day in their entire useless life? Instead of me? Instead of us?”
I stared at the cash, the way she clenched it in her fist, and my heart began to pound. “There is no ‘us,’” I tell her. “Just you.”
“How many nights have we gone without sleep? How many times have we risked our lives to save someone else’s ass? How many times have you feared for your own safety and had to face down someone who was violent and dangerous?”
“It’s part of the job!” I shouted. “If you don’t like it, quit.”
“Oh, I like it just fine.” Snarling at me, she flung the cash back into the canvas bag and yanked the zipper closed. “I’m not the only one, Kate. There are others. Good cops. This is the way it works in the real world and if you don’t believe that you are not only naive, but a fool.”
“That is not the way it works,” I told her, hating it that I couldn’t quite catch my breath. “Nothing in this world is free and if it is, chances are there are strings attached.”
She made a bitter sound that was part laugh, part growl. “You are a holier-than-thou-art piece of work, aren’t you?” Dropping the bag to the floor, she moved closer to me, jabbed her finger in my face. “You have no right to judge me. I’m the one who brought you in. I made you what you are. I got you off the street. If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be waiting tables at some dump.”
The fury came with such force that I was dizzy with it. I wasn’t a violent person, but the urge to strike her was powerful. In that instant, I thought about my mamm. I thought about my sister, my datt, my brother, and I wondered what they would think of this callous, foulmouthed English woman. I wondered what they would think of me for being part of this, and for the first time in a long time, I felt ashamed.
I stared at her, seeing more than I wanted to see. Things I’d ignored for months because I didn’t have the courage to face the truth. “I’ve been hearing things about your cop friends, Gina,” I told her. “I’ve been hearing things about you, too.”
“Thanks for the warning. I’ll be sure to let them know.” Looking at me as if I were a dog that didn’t have the mental capacity to get the trick right, she picked up the canvas bag. “Me? I don’t really give a damn.”
I got to my feet, hating it that my legs were shaking. I got in her face anyway. “You need to return the cash.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, for God’s sake. What are you going to go do? Go all Amish on me?”
“If you don’t return that cash, I will. You won’t like the outcome.”
A flicker of something I couldn’t identify in her eyes. Instead of moving away, she stepped closer until her face was inches from mine. “I got the money and that car fair and square. I worked for it. I earned it. I risked my life for it. If you don’t believe me, you do what you need to do. But let me tell you this, Kate. You take all of those unfounded suspicions of yours to anyone inside the department and you’ll find yourself out of a job so fast your head will spin.”
“If I ever see you with that kind of cash again, I will turn you in. I mean it, Gina. This is your final warning.”
After a too-long moment, she stepped away from me and hefted the strap of the canvas bag onto her shoulder. As she was walking down the hall, she shot me a withering look over her shoulder and blew me a kiss.