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him. “I just wanted you to know I’m here all night and in constant contact with the sheriff’s department in Owl Creek County.”
    “Mind giving me the number of the people out there you’re talking with?”
    “I’m sure they’re busy and doing everything they can.”
    “I’m sure,” Cork said. “I’d still like the number.”
    She gave it to him, though he could tell it was with reservation.
    “I’m watching The Weather Channel,” he said. “Doesn’t look good.”
    “Local conditions vary a lot, you know that.”
    “Right. Thanks, Marsha.”
    He called the number she’d given him.
    “Sheriff’s office.” A tired male voice.
    “My name’s Cork O’Connor. My wife, Jo O’Connor, was one of the passengers on the flight that’s missing there in the Rockies. I’d like to talk to someone about what you folks are doing.”
    “Just a moment.”
    The moment turned into two minutes. Cork assumed a couple of possibilities. First, that the department was overwhelmed. Second, that they were taking time to verify his identity via caller ID and whatever information the Tamarack County Sheriff’s Department had given them.
    “Mr. O’Connor, this is Deputy Quinn.” Sounded like he had a cold, something rattling in his chest.
    “I’m wondering, Deputy, if you could give me a rundown on where things stand.”
    “All right. The FAA is still trying to contact all the possible landingfields. That’s not easy because there are a lot of private airstrips, some pretty remote, and the storm’s brought down a lot of power and telephone lines. It’s snowing like blazes and it’s dark as pitch.” The deputy coughed away from the phone, then came back. “If a search becomes necessary, we’ve already got a number of Civil Air Patrol volunteers standing by. And our own search and rescue people are geared up and ready. They’re good. They’ve done this kind of thing before. As soon as we get a break in the weather, if necessary we’ll be out there looking. Believe me, Mr. O’Connor, we’re doing everything we can.”
    “Are you familiar with the area where the plane disappeared from radar?”
    “We know where it dropped off the radar, but we don’t know that it actually went down in that particular area. The folks at the FAA are doing their best to advise us.”
    “I was told it’s called the Washakie Wilderness. Could you tell me about it?”
    “As I said, we have no reason at the moment to believe that the plane went down there.”
    “Tell me anyway.”
    A too long pause. “It’s remote, rugged. Mostly big mountains and no roads.”
    “What’s the local weather forecast?”
    “Just a moment.” The deputy covered the phone, but not well enough that Cork couldn’t hear him hacking something up. He came back on. “They’re saying the snow could last another twelve to eighteen hours. We’re looking at total accumulations in the high country of four, maybe five feet. Mr. O’Connor, Sheriff Dross has told us about your law enforcement background, so I’m guessing you know to a certain extent our situation. Believe me, we’re doing everything we can, and we’ll keep you well informed.”
    Which translated into “please don’t call us.”
    “I appreciate your time, Deputy Quinn.”
    “No problem, Mr. O’Connor.”
    He was no place different from where he’d been ten minutes before. Absolutely lost.
    Stephen wandered down the stairs and slumped onto the other end of the sofa. He looked at the television screen, which was delivering the “Local on the 8s.” In northern Minnesota tomorrow, the prediction was for another beautiful day. A minute later, the coverage returned to the storm in the Wyoming Rockies.
    “Is she dead?” Stephen said.
    “Why would you think that, Stephen? There’s every reason to hope that she and the others are safe.”
    “I don’t care about the others. I just want Mom to be okay.” He stared at The Weather Channel, the shifting of white against green that