“You’re not the first parent this has happened to,” I tell him.

“I’m a doctor. A pediatrician, for God’s sake. How could I not see it? Why didn’t she talk to me? How could I—”

“The most important thing right now is that we find her and make sure she’s safe,” I tell him. “We can deal with the rest later.”

He raises his hands, sets his fingers against his temples, and presses hard, misery etched into his every feature. “If you’re right about the baby, maybe she’s with the child’s father.”

The question pings in my brain. Maybe she’s with the child’s father. And suddenly I have an idea where to look first.

I glance at Tomasetti. “The Amish cemetery.”

The doctor’s eyes snap to mine. “Wait. The Amish boy? Noah Fisher? I knew they were friends, but … she never let on that they were … Oh, Dear God. No wonder she was so upset when he was killed. First her mom and then the boy … She must have been in so much pain. I was so busy with work I didn’t notice any of it.”

Tomasetti is already striding toward the door. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll go with you,” Atherton cries, following.

I reach the porch, glance over my shoulder at him, and raise my hand to stop him. “I need you to stay here, Mr. Atherton, in case she comes back or calls.”

“But she needs me.” He stops, but he doesn’t look convinced.

“If she’s there, we’ll bring her home.” I reach the Explorer, look at him over the hood. “I’ll call you the instant we lay eyes on her. In the interim, try to stay calm and keep trying her cell.”

“All right.” He’s already got his smartphone to his ear.

Giving him a reassuring nod, I get in the Explorer, crank the engine, and back onto the street.

Tomasetti punches numbers into his phone. “I’m going to call EMS.”

“Tell them to meet us at the Amish cemetery. No lights or siren. I don’t want to scare her. Tell them we need the hospital on standby.”

I push the speedometer to seventy when I hit the outskirts of Painters Mill proper. The engine groans beneath the hood, the tires humming against the asphalt. I’m not sure what we’ll find when we arrive; I’m not certain Chloe will even be there. But it’s the only place I can think of where she might go to seek comfort. The place where her lover—the father of the child she abandoned—was laid to rest.

The Graabhof is located on the township road west of town. A gnarled bois d’arc tree stands guard next to the gate, a brave sentry scarred by hundreds of harsh seasons. The gate, which is usually closed, stands open. Beyond, a sea of plain headstones form neat rows before fading into the darkness like white-capped waves. It’s a pretty place during the day, a peaceful and quiet sanctuary to reflect and pay homage to the dead. Tonight, the darkness is forbidding, the silence unbearably lonely.