There’s a pause and then Tomasetti says, “I’m playing devil’s advocate here, Kate, but every one of those so-called vices could be considered typical behavior for a huge percentage of American teenagers.”

“Not if you’re Amish. Sure, you hear about Amish kids misbehaving during rumspringa. But something like eighty percent of them go on to be baptized and join the church. These missing kids aren’t simply misbehaving. They’re breaking major Amish tenets and they’re completely impenitent. They’re anomalies and someone has taken it upon himself to do something about it.”

“It’s tenuous,” he says. “What about Ruth Wagler? Noah Mast?”

“I don’t have it all figured out, but I think it’s worth exploring.” I think about that for a moment. “Did Ruth Wagler’s parents mention having any problems with her before she disappeared?”

“No, but they weren’t exactly forthcoming.”

“I want to talk to them.”

“Makes it tough when no one has a damn phone,” he grumbles.

I sigh, relived he’s on board—or at least halfway in the boat. “I don’t know if I’m right but it feels . . . close.”

“It’s not like you’re an expert on breaking the rules or anything.”

The words dangle for a moment; then I clear my throat and tell him about Irene and Perry Mast’s having lost a daughter ten years earlier.

“Odd that they didn’t mention it,” he says.

“I’m on my way to Monongahela Falls now.” I pause. “If you can hang tight for a couple of hours, I’d like to go with you when you speak to the Wagler girl’s parents.”

“I’ll wait.” He goes back to my earlier assertion. “Keeping your rule-breaking theory in mind, what do you think about Gideon Stoltzfus? Do you think he figures into this angle somehow?”

All red hair and freckles, Gideon Stoltzfus looks about as harmless as a Labrador pup. But Tomasetti is right about appearances. Sometimes it’s the most benign-seeming individuals who are capable of the most heinous acts. “He’s put himself in a position to make direct contact with young people who are considering leaving the Amish way of life.”

“What about motive?” he asks.

I mull over the question and something ugly pushes at the door, trying to slip into the mix. “He’s been excommunicated. His family won’t talk to him. They won’t take meals with him. His parents won’t let him see his siblings. Those things can cause a lot of stress. A lot of anger. Rage, even.”

“Especially if your family is the center of your life.”

“For most Amish, it is,” I tell him. “In every sense.”

A pause ensues. I sense that we’re both working through the possibilities.