Her opportunity to discover this secret did not come until much later in the day. The guests and Mr. Whitlock had frittered away the afternoon on board games (‘Bored games,’ Maxine had joked to herself) while Mrs. Whitlock laboured over a pork loin dinner in the kitchen. It was a little after four when she came bursting into the sitting room. She was nearly frantic over the fact that she had forgotten to buy both the heavy cream and the chicken stock required to make the loin’s herb sauce.

“Well, we’d run out and get them for you,” Mr. Whitlock began, “but I’m afraid we’ve all had a few.” He held up his whiskey glass as evidence.

“Never you mind, I’ll go,” replied Mrs. Whitlock. “But I’d better leave now. The stores are all closing early for New Year’s.”

“I’ll keep an eye on the loin if you like, Mrs. Whitlock,” volunteered Maxine. She stood and stepped away from the gaming table.

Mrs. Whitlock puckered her face. Was this tiny gesture (which Maxine had given for wholly selfish reasons) truly enough to drive the woman to tears? She reached out and clutched Maxine’s left wrist and thanked her profusely.

Maxine entered the kitchen and pretended to hear Mrs. Whitlock’s whirl of instructions, when Maxine was simply waiting for her opportunity.

It came the instant she saw Mrs. Whitlock’s sleek car verging off the winding driveway and onto the road toward town. Maxine abandoned her charade of stirring and fussing in favor of searching behind the china hutch. She caught sight of the dustbin, which now stood empty by the corn whisk broom in the corner.

Turning her attention back to the task at hand, Maxine found the key dangling from a small brass hook that had been screwed into the back of the hutch. She snatched it, then paused to listen to the boisterous laughter from the players in the sitting room. Assured that they were too engrossed in their game to check on her, Maxine slipped out the back door.

The sunbeams must have been melting the snow for some time, for the gardens had lost their smooth carpet of white. They were now a shoddy, patchwork place. Lumpy mounds of mud and matted grass jutted up in between pockets of dirty slush. The stone walkways hosted puddles where twigs and old leaves floated, resembling pools of loose-leaf tea.

Before she crossed the muddy slope to reach the cabin, Maxine checked over both shoulders. She was petrified of discovery.

The planks of the narrow porch were twisted and caused Maxine’s ankles to wobble as she strained to find her footing. The little square window was at her shoulder now, inviting her to partake of its view at last. She cupped her hands on either side of her face and squinted to gain a preview of the space she planned to invade.