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the city in the last storm. The big-box stores and warehouses morphed into RV dealerships and manufacturing businesses, then into miles and miles of woods, their tree trunks exposed and limbs bare and black, like etchings in an inky drawing.
    She switched onto Route 80, then traveled on back roads through the small-town landscape of aging two-story clapboard houses only steps from the road, their porches decorated with Christmas lights, plastic icicles, and inflatable Santa heads. Zoning seemed fairly chaotic, mixing residential and commercial; the homes were interspersed with Family Dollar Stores, Turkey Hill convenience marts, fire halls, churches, a John Deere dealership, and Masonic lodges, their signs advertising Spaghetti Suppers and Bingo Nights.
    Her ears began to pop as the elevation grew even higher, and she passed a colliery, a reminder of the region’s once-booming coal industry. She navigated onto Route 81 and found South Mountain Boulevard heading into Mountain Top, where civilization seemed to reappear in the form of a Weis Market, gas stations, and McDonald’s, as well as independent businesses, selling cigars, cigarettes, and lottery tickets. She took Church Road and Nuangola Road, finally turning off the commercial district into a rural residential area that contained Heslop Road, where Matthew Lefkavick lived.
    Bennie turned onto the street, and a pristine blanket of snow lay everywhere. There were no streetlights, and she flicked on her high beams, catching a fox off guard, his blood-red eyes glimmering before he dashed off into the woods lining the street. There were only a few houses along the road on multiacre lots, and the neighborhood looked solidly middle-class, with well-maintained Cape Cods and ranches set back from the road, behind front yards with snow-covered swing sets and homemade nativity scenes, aglow with multicolored lights.
    She looked for the house number on the black mailboxes and stopped when she got to the Lefkavicks’, cutting the engine. She wrapped her coat closer around her, grabbed her purse and messenger bag, and got out of the car, breathing in a lungful of freezing air. Snow shimmered in the moonlight, its hard crust making a twinkling layer around the Lefkavicks’ house, which was of golden-yellow clapboard, a bright spot in the darkness some three stories tall. Its porch roof was lined with multicolored lights, which lit her way down a brick path to the front door.
    She hurried toward the house, noticing a large bay window to the right of the door, filled with shelves of knickknacks, and as she climbed onto the wooden porch, there was a wooden bench with a matching porch swing. She was about to knock when she heard barking coming from inside, and at the same moment, the door was opened wide, by a heavyset bald man in a flannel work shirt and jeans.
    â€œBennie, come in, it’s cold out there!” Matthew shook her hand, tugging her inside the house, with a smile that looked relieved. A small black-and-white mutt barked excitedly, jumping around his workboots.
    â€œThank you, Matthew.”
    â€œI can’t thank you enough for coming. They say snow’s on the way, but not until later.” Matthew opened the door. “Go on out, Patch, run your willies out.”
    â€œWhat about traffic and cars, with the dog?” Bennie watched the little dog run into the snow.
    â€œAround here?” Matthew closed the door, extending a hand. “Here, let me take your coat.”
    â€œThanks.” Bennie shed her coat, glancing around. The house was small, but neat, with a living room to the left, furnished with blue quilted couches, matching chairs, and a blue hooked rug. To the right was a large kitchen/dining area, with a round wooden table set with three blue-checked place mats. In the center was an arrangement of blue silk flowers.
    â€œEver been up here before?” Matthew took her coat to a wall closet with a louvered door, hanging it