“I don’t know,” I tell her. “But I’m going to do my best to find out.”

Ten minutes later, I slide into the Tahoe beside Tomasetti. Neither of us speaks as he backs from the parking space. The two horses and the wagon filled with furniture are still there. Eli Fisher is helping a younger man load a cabinet into the back. He stops what he’s doing to watch us. His eyes are shadowed by the brim of his hat, so I can’t discern his expression, but he’s not smiling and he doesn’t wave.

“Mrs. Fisher isn’t a very good liar,” Tomasetti says as he pulls onto the road. “Did you get anything?”

“Bonnie Fisher was pregnant.” Only after the words are out do I realize I’m speaking of her in the past tense.

He glances away from his driving and makes eye contact with me. “Who’s the father?”

“She doesn’t know.” I pause. “Evidently, the girl didn’t know, either.”

He cuts me a sharp look. “Maybe her disappearance is some kind of jealous-lover situation. One guy finds out about the other and the girl gets the short end of the stick.”

“Or maybe lover boy decided he didn’t want to be a dad.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

I think about that a moment. “Two of the missing girls were involved in relationships.”

“I don’t think that’s unusual.”

“Undesirable relationships,” I say, clarifying. “Especially in the eyes of the Amish.”

He nods. “Might be something we need to add to the profile.”

I run all of that through my mind. “Do you think she’s dead?”

“Two months is a long time to be missing, Kate.” He grimaces. “We need the names of the men she was involved with.”

“All we can do at this point is talk to the people she knew,” I tell him. “Especially her friends.”

As we pull away, I try to put my finger on something else that’s bothering me about our meeting with the Fishers, but I can’t pinpoint it. I glance out the window and see Eli Fisher standing at the rear of the wagon, watching us, his mouth a thin, flat line.

“You know, Chief, that was pretty smooth, asking for one of those bread boxes.”

I glance over at Tomasetti and see one side of his mouth twitch, and I know he’s messing with me. “How much do I owe you?” I ask.

“I thought maybe you could buy dinner.”

I glance at the clock on the dash. It’s almost 6:00 P.M. I wish I could reach out and stop time. “Is later okay?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I thought we’d drive up to Monongahela Falls and talk to the parents of the missing boy.”

He gives me a look of feigned disappointment. “You’re not trying to weasel out of dinner, are you?”