“Deer Valley Barn. I saw a picture of the stupid bridesmaids drinking champagne this morning.”

“But Amanda wouldn’t go there. . . .”

I was thinking out loud, and my voice trailed off. She wouldn’t. But she and I would know a lot of people there. It was the greatest concentration of our friends I would be likely to find.

And maybe Sam had heard from her. . . .

“I’ll be in touch, Bill.”

And I went out the door.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT

Deer Valley Barn sat five miles east of Rossingville, nestled in a series of rolling hills and surrounded by farms and grazing cattle and wide-open spaces as far as the eye could see. I headed out there, navigating my way along the narrow two-lane road, dipping and rising past freshly disked fields, the rich, dark earth already planted and ready to yield the summer’s crop of corn and soybeans.

I thought of Dawn. So desperate to do something for her parents, something to ease their pain. How far we would go for those we love. To protect them. To care for them.

How far had Amanda gone to try to keep the person she loved?

The Barn had come into existence about five years earlier when a local farmer died and no one in his family wanted to hang on to the land, so they sold it to an event planner who realized money was to be made by renting out a renovated barn to young couples who wanted to get married in a rustic setting. The perfect Instagram filter at the right time of day, with cows and gently swaying grasses and trees in the background, made for beautiful wedding photos. Amanda and I might have said our vows in a similar place except that Bill had refused to pay for the wedding—and we’d had no money at the time to do it ourselves—unless we got married in his and Karen’s church.

I crested the last rise, and the Barn came into sight. As it did, my phone rang. Rountree’s name popped up on the car’s display. I pushed the button to hear her.

“Have you found Amanda yet, Mr. Francis?” she asked without offering any greeting.

“Not yet.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m out. Looking. Is that all you called for?”

“Where do you and your wife grocery shop?” she asked, her voice cool and detached. “I know there’s only one Kroger store close to downtown where you live. And it’s the nicest one. Is that where you shop?”