The Athertons live in the upscale Maple Crest subdivision. It’s nearly six P.M. by the time I pull into the driveway and park behind a silver Land Rover. The house is a massive Tudor with a four-car garage, landscaping befitting a European castle, and an extravagant entrance covered with ivy. I take the curved flagstone path to the front porch and make use of the brass knocker.

I hear voices on the other side of the door. A girl calling out to someone. Laughter. The door swings open and I find myself looking at a tall, slender teenage girl with huge brown eyes, her dark hair cut into a messy bob. She’s wearing loose-fitting sweat pants and an oversize Painters Mill Panthers sweatshirt Bare feet. Toenails painted blue.

“Chloe Atherton?” I say.

She steps back as if expecting me to reach in, grab her, and drag her away. Her mouth opens, a sound of distress escaping between perfect white teeth. Her eyes widen as she takes in my uniform. She looks over her shoulder. Her fingers twitch on the doorknob, and I know she’s thinking about slamming it in my face.

“There’s no one here by that name,” she says quietly.

“Don’t be afraid,” I tell her. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“You have the wrong house.” She starts to close the door.

I put my hand out and stop her. “No, I don’t.”

“What do you want?”

“I just want to talk. That’s all.”

She glances over her shoulder again, and I realize her most pressing concern is her father. “Just go away,” she whispers. “Please.”

“Honey?” comes a male voice from somewhere inside the house. “Hey, the sweet potato fries are burning.”

I look past her to see Dr. Damon Atherton approach. He’s still in his work clothes. Custom trousers. Lavender pinstripe button-down shirt. Tie askew. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Big Rolex strapped to his wrist. He’s probably just arrived home from the hospital after a busy day.

He looks perplexed by my presence. Slightly annoyed that dinnertime with his daughter has been interrupted. “Can I help you?”

I show him my badge and identify myself.

His gaze switches from me to his daughter and then back to me. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine, sir,” I tell him. “If you have a minute, I’d like to talk to you.”

He blinks at me, surprised, but invites me inside. “Of course. Come in.”

I enter a tiled foyer with an impossibly high ceiling and gleaming walnut floors. Overhead, a crystal chandelier dangles like a giant diamond earring. To my right, a console table holds a massive vase. I can smell the fresh-cut flowers from where I stand.

“You’ll have to excuse the boxes,” he tells me.

For the first time I notice several corrugated boxes stacked against the wall ahead. “You’re moving?” I ask.

“I just accepted a chief-of-pediatrics position in Phoenix.”

“Big change.”

He grins. “Nicer weather.”

I smile at his daughter. “Are you excited or bummed?”