her. She could have done something.”

“Stopped who? What happened?” I broke in.

Wordlessly, without glancing at me, Ileana handed me the morning Inquirer. With all that had happened at work, I hadn’t had a chance to see it.

“No, probably she couldn’t,” Davinder insisted, her dark eyes swollen with sorrow. “We shouldn’t blame her. She had no idea what was going to happen. We’ve got hindsight.”

I glanced at the paper. The faces of four women stared at me from the front page. One of them was Tamara, Leslie’s nanny. I looked at Leslie, then closed my eyes. This couldn’t be true.

But the newspaper insisted that it was, in glaring boldface above a three-column spread. Another young woman was missing, the fourth in three weeks. This one, also a nanny, was from Society Hill. I looked at Tamara’s picture, then at the one beside it. The caption identified it as Claudia Rusk, the third nanny to disappear. I thought of Susan’s children, running into the kitchen after they’d heard the news. I put the paper down.

Leslie spoke flatly. “What does it matter, anyway? Tamara’s gone.”

“What happened?” I kept asking the same question. “They were in the park—he was riding his bike—” “What park?” “Three Bears.”

Three Bears was a local playground named for its cement sculptures of a mother bear with two cubs. We all took our kids there. It was a place we’d all considered safe.

“When?”

“Wednesday.” This was Thursday evening, gymnastics day. Suddenly, it was difficult to remember how far it was from Wednesday to Thursday. The names of days sounded meaningless. Tamara with wavy golden hair, long legs, and a contagious laugh had been gone, missing, since yesterday morning. Nothing was making sense. A finger on the doorstep. Nannies missing. Tamara gone. Tamara? She was one of us. Family. I was having trouble absorbing it.

“Somebody tell Zoe what happened,” Leslie said. “I can’t right now.” Davinder pushed a lock of shiny black hair behind her ear and began in a monotone. “Yesterday, Tamara and Billy weren’t home when Leslie came back from shopping. She went to the park to look for them.” I looked at Leslie. Her chin wobbled slightly. Her freckles were striped with mascara. Karen reached over and touched her shoulder.

“They weren’t there,” Davinder went on. “Leslie found Billy’s bike near the statue. But nobody was at the park, and there was no sign of Billy or Tamara.”

“It’s so unlike Tamara to be late.” Leslie managed to pick up the story. “I went looking. up and down the block, knocking on doors, asking strangers if they’d seen them. I was afraid—what with what’s been going on—that they’d both . . . vanished.”

Karen took her hand. “It’s all right, Leslie. Billy’s fine. Look at him. He’s doing jumping jacks with Coach Gene.”

Indeed, Billy was smiling and red-faced, his blond curls bouncing while he jumped with the others. “Billy’s fine. And Tamara will show up. You’ll see.” Karen held onto Leslie’s hand and looked at me with eyes that said she’d talk to me later.

I picked up the article again and read. Tamara had apparently vanished in broad daylight, but not before thrusting Billy at a complete stranger. “Stay here,” she’d told Billy, and she commanded the woman, “Take care of him until I get back.”

The woman had waited at the park for over an hour, then left a note on Billy’s bike with her address. She’d taken the boy home with her own children and called the police. Before police could locate the child’s family, however, Billy’s mother, Leslie Baumann, had found the note, called the woman, who wished to remain anonymous, and retrieved her son. The whereabouts of the nanny, the paper reported, were still unknown.

The article pointed out that Tamara was the fourth childcare worker in a month to disappear from the area. It mentioned the others: Vanessa Ramsey, Claire Garnet, and Claudia Rusk. Their smiling faces lined up neatly across the page, beneath the headline.

I put the article down and looked at Leslie. I’d known her and Tamara both for years—we’d pushed baby swings together at the park. Now, Tamara’s absence surrounded Leslie, emanated from her. She adored Tamara, relied on her, treated her like a younger sister. They even looked alike. With Tamara gone, Leslie seemed to have faded. I closed my eyes and imagined finding Molly’s bike abandoned in the park, the relentless panic of not knowing where my child was. But I didn’t want to imagine that, couldn’t bear to. Besides, what was the point?