Clandestine Weston’s Costume Shoppe was located two blocks from my office. It took forty minutes to find a cab. We arrived around four o’clock, which was perfect. Any later and we would have gotten caught in the after-work costume rush. I hated crowds. Especially crowds of people.

Weston, the owner, was dressed as a pirate, complete with an eye patch and a plastic hook for a hand. He wore a Show Me Your Booty button.

“Hello again, Jessica. Returning the costume so soon?” he asked Lulu.

“Don’t mind her, Weston,” I told him. “I need you to make me look like Harrison Ford’s most famous character.”

“The retard from Regarding Henry?”

“No. His other famous character.”

“Ah. The Amish cop from Witness.”

“Nailed it in two, Weston.”

Weston walked past a Star Wars display and over to the Mennonite aisle. Lulu grabbed my shoulders and began to shake me, urgently.

“We need to get out of here,” she said. “Right away.”

“Stop it,” I told her. “I thought you were Amish, not a Shaker.”

I grinned at my clever pun, but Lulu didn’t see the humor.

“I am Amish,” she said. “Why would I lie about that? Do you think I’m lying? What good would it do me to lie?”

“Ease off the throttle, Goldilocks. You’re too high strung. Let me rent this costume, and I’ll blend into your quaint, idyllic community without anyone noticing, and find out who Amos is snogging.”

A moment later, Weston had returned with full Amish regalia for me.

“Pay for it, tootsiepop,” I told Lulu. Then I went into the dressing room, to get dressed. But halfway into putting on my pants, the magic of Combville ensnared me, and half an hour later someone was knocking on the door.

“Mr. McGlade?”

“Call me Sexybeast,” I said. “That was my childhood nickname.”

Actually, my childhood nickname was Bitch Tits. But that made me cry.

“Are you okay in there?”

I finished dressing and opened the door. “I’m fine, baby. I’ve been dressing myself since high school.”

She let out a deep sigh. “I was worried. I thought you figured out I was faking this Amish thing, and had taken off.”

“I figured out no such thing. We ready to rock?”

Lulu nodded. Weston came up to us, grinning. “You look terrific, Harry. Here’s one final touch.

He pinned a button to my coat. It said Amish is as Good as a Mile. Now my disguise was perfect. No one would ever know I was an imposter, living among the God-fearing.

But did I truly know enough about this mysterious and elusive race of prehistoric proto-humans known as the Amish? Was I ready to delve into their strange cult where they worshipped some imaginary savior named Jesus? Perhaps I needed to do some research before diving in.

Should Harry research the Amish? If so, click here.

Should Harry just delve right into the case? If so, click here.