I cut my lights and crept forward, driving with my left hand while I warmed my right fingers under the heating vent. We slipped and slid a quarter mile, until the lodge loomed suddenly in front of us, a giant timbered shape blotting out trees and sky. Geraldine directed me to its left, where the drive led to outbuildings and the cottage. The Saturn stuck briefly in the snow, then bucked forward.

At the rear of the lodge, Geraldine pointed out where the rear walls could be unhinged and opened: they had done that to create an impromptu stage for the famous 1948 benefit. The audience had sat on chairs and blankets in the yard.

We crept onward to a barn which served now as a garage and equipment shed. Beyond the barn lay Elk Horn Lake, black showing through white as the wind whipped the snow cover away from it. In a clearing on the shore stood a stone house. Compared to Larchmont Hall and the lodge behind us, I suppose you could call it a cottage, but it was about twice the size of the bungalow I’d grown up in.

Geraldine handed me the keys she’d brought with her. “The big one used to open this barn. If not, you’ll find your way in, I daresay.”

To my amazement-and relief-the lock hadn’t been changed in fifty years. I slid the doors open, glad now of the wind: it blew snow into my eyes and mouth, but its moan through the trees blocked the noise I was making.

I let out a small woof of relief inside the barn stood a white Range Rover. It had a fresh deep scrape on its right side where Catherine had misjudged the clearance around the pillar, but she was here.

I drove Geraldine as close to the cottage as I could. She climbed out, absurd for the setting in her nylons and heels and Hermes handbag, but still possessing a touching dignity. Before she left the car, she told me what she remembered of the cottage’s layout: the main rooms faced the lake. We would be entering through the kitchen. To the right was the dining room, and beyond it a living room that ran the length of the house. A staircase rose from the living room to the bedrooms above.

I backed the Saturn into the barn, shutting the door but leaving it unlocked in case we needed to get away in a hurry. When I rejoined her, I told Geraldine to stay behind me on the way in.

“I need both hands free to deal with whatever lies on the far side of this door. And I’m going to have my gun out, so don’t run into my back.” She handed me the key. Like the barn door, the lock here hadn’t been changed, either. It was an old dead bolt, which slid back with a snap. Taking my gun in my right hand, I went into a crouch, turned the knob and slid inside.