I’m not holding out hope that this incident is related in any way to Baby Doe, but I listen with interest nonetheless. “What makes you think that has something to do with the abandoned newborn?”

“That’s what was so strange and pathetic about the whole thing. The items he took.”

“What were they?”

“He had this cute little onesie. The yellow one with bears on it. And two pairs of newborn socks. A knit hat. Who steals stuff like that?”

“Did you get his name?”

“In a sad twist, Chief Burkholder, his name was Noah Fisher.”

The words impact me like a sucker punch. Not too hard, but in just the right place. Six weeks ago, I worked a fatality farm accident in which a young Amish man driving a horse-drawn manure spreader fell and ended up under the wheels. He was killed instantly. It was one of the saddest and most disturbing accidents I’d ever worked. Noah Fisher was seventeen years old. An only child. And his parents were absolutely devastated.

Paige Stelinski is still talking. “Anyway, after I caught him and we talked, he spent the rest of the day cleaning the storage closet and the bathroom, too. I’m telling you, the place gleamed when he was finished. I let him have the items he wanted, and I threw in a pack of cute little bibs.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t give it much thought and just figured he had a little brother or sister on the way and his mom needed help. Just about broke my heart when I heard he was killed. Really nice boy and talented, too.” She laughs. “A woodcarver, of all things. I ended up buying some toys from him.” A wistful sigh escapes her. “I’m sure one day he would have been quite the businessman.”

The mention of the wood carving garners my attention. “What kind of toys?”

“Kind of rustic, but interesting. I think there was a top. A little round teething toy. A couple of rattles. Even a toy box.”

I pull the evidence bag containing the rattle from my desk drawer. “Do the rattles look like this one?”

Her mouth opens. “Exactly the same.” Her eyes land on mine. “You think he’s the—”

“I’d appreciate if you’d keep this between us for now,” I cut in.

“I understand. Of course.”

At the moment, she means it. But I’ve been around long enough to know it won’t last. This is too juicy not to become gossip. At some point, she’ll have a weak moment and spill her guts. The details of the story and the players involved will eventually get around. But if Noah Fisher was involved—if he’s the father of Baby Doe—I want to let his parents know before they hear it from another source.

“I appreciate it,” I tell her. “His parents have been put through the ringer.”

“I can’t imagine how devastated they must be. He was such a sweet kid.” Rising, she smooths her hands over her midi skirt. “In any case, I don’t know if any of what I’ve just told you is helpful, Chief Burkholder, but I thought it was my civic responsibility to let you know.”