Billy was here, not missing anymore. Tamara was unaccounted for, but at least the children were safe. Even so, I had to check.

I edged around the chairs and went to the window, searching the small groups of children at each piece of equipment. I found Leslie’s wiry Billy, Karen’s stocky Nicholas, Gretchen’s petite Hannah, Ileana’s substantial Serena. Finally, I saw Molly. She waited in line at the trampoline. Yes, she was fine. Attentive. Having fun. They all were.

But Tamara’s spirited face floated through the gym, laughing, singing, chasing after Billy. Showing him how to ride his bike. How to Rollerblade. How to make a peanut-butter bird feeder. Talking about growing up in Nebraska, the five younger siblings she’d had to watch. All the kids loved her, took to her naturally. Where was she? What had happened to her? What could make her abandon Billy? I had to believe she’d merely run off somewhere, that she was safe. Maybe she’d been threatened. Stalked. Or blackmailed. No, that made no sense, She wasn’t rich enough to be blackmailed. Probably it was something else— maybe a romance.

Of course. That had to be it. Odd behavior in women was usually caused by men. Tamara must have gotten involved with some guy and run off with him. She was all right, just too embarrassed now, after all the publicity, to call or come back. Or maybe he wouldn’t let her come back. Maybe the guy was abusive. Or maybe it was something entirely harmless. Like, maybe she knew the other missing girls and they’d all gone off somewhere together. It wasn’t beyond possibility. Nannies tended to socialize with each other, and no evidence had been found indicating that anything serious had happened to any of them. Except the finger.

I caught my breath. Stop it, I told myself. Probably Tamara’s absence had nothing to do with the finger. Hundreds of young women wore red nail polish. Tamara wasn’t the only one.

No, Claudia probably wore it, too.

Charlie’s voice echoed, “Evil is all around ...You and your child are in danger.” Molly jumped and spun around, bounced from her knees to her feet, her feet to her seat. Six other children ringed the trampoline, waiting their turns. When Molly’s turn was finished, she turned to the window, saw me watching, and waved. I gave her a thumbs-up and smiled. But my chest was so tight, I almost couldn’t inhale.

I did inhale, though. I exhaled, too. Then I repeated the process. After a few more rounds, I looked back at the women in their huddle. I would rejoin them, but for a while I lingered, gazing out the window at the children, trying to insulate myself from the quiet hysteria in the room. In the gym, the world seemed normal. Children laughed; holiday music played; tinsel decorated the posts set at intervals into the floor.

But this side of the window reverberated with the shock of the headlines.

Davinder came and stood beside me. “Coach Gene looks all right, doesn’t he?” She stared at him. Eyed him up and down.

I was confused. Gene was hardly Davinder’s type, at least four inches shorter and twice as wide. And Davinder had a doctorate, while Gene had maybe finished high school. Not to mention that she was married. “Really?” I tried to sound nonjudgmental. “You think?”

“Yeah. I expected he’d be devastated, the way he felt about Tamara. He asked her out only about forty times.”

“No, that wasn’t Tamara,” Ileana interjected, overhearing. “Gene liked the other one—Claudia Rusk. You know, she worked for Susan’s friend.”

“No, uh-uh, it’s Tamara. Gene’s been hounding her to go out with him for months, but she keeps shooting him down. Poor guy.”

“That’s Claudia. Ask Susan. Coach Gene kept asking Claudia out until finally she gave in. But she dumped him after one date. It’s Claudia, not Tamara.”

Davinder and Ileana continued to bicker. It was Claudia; no, Tamara. No, Claudia.

“You know,” Leslie interrupted, “maybe he liked them both. Tamara told me Gene kept bugging her. But he still might have had a thing for Claudia. You’re both probably right.”

I watched Coach Gene through the window as he guided the children, one by one, over the horse. A compact little man, built of solid muscle, Gene radiated grins and tireless enthusiasm. He offered each child individual encouragement, motivating even the clumsiest to run, leap, bounce, swing, and flip. As a coach, he seemed ideal. But how would he seem as a romantic partner, as a man? Now that I thought about it,