“I’m worried about this disguise business. Did you ever go undercover on an assignment when you worked for the newspaper?” I said.

“Print journalists aren’t like the kind of investigative reporters you see on the TV news. We can’t go in with hidden cameras. We have to be very upfront when pursuing a story, right down to our real name.”

“That’s tough,” I said. “How did you get people to open up?”

“I tried to engage people, play straight with them, be honest. And in the end, I lost my job to the ever-shrinking hard-copy newspaper business.”

“Do you miss it?” I said.

“I did at first. I mean, I played by the rules, wrote plenty of pieces I’m proud of, and when my position disappeared, I felt a little lost. But now that’s all behind me,” she said. “I’m closing in on buying the local paper, building my house and learning plenty from Tom about stuff I never even knew I’d like. Surveillance is so cool.”

“What hints can you give me about getting people to open up?” I said.

“You’ve already been tagged as a troublemaker, and as we’ve both learned, word gets around in these small towns. You’ll have to be careful.”

“You think I do need the disguise, then?”

“To get as much information as you need, I’d say yes. Maybe I can help with the disguise. Show me what Ed gave you.”

I led her to my bedroom, and minutes later, after I’d donned the wig and showed Kara the dress, I could tell she was trying hard not to laugh. And I was more self-conscious than I could ever remember.

I shook my head, causing the stinky fake hair to offer up even more aroma. Syrah, who’d been observing me with intense curiosity, hissed and ran off when the hair on my head actually moved. I’d scared the poor guy.

“I cannot do this,” I said, whipping off the wig.

Kara attempted not to laugh, but her eyes betrayed her. “Sure you can. But the floral dress from 1950? No way. I’d just wear a pair of sunglasses and the wig. You don’t want to draw too much attention, and that dress would definitely make you look like an escapee from the funny farm.”