“Just making sure,” the first man said. “Come on, y’all.”

I moved aside. They glanced at the dead woman and then concentrated on Luke. Blood pressure cuffs came out. Heart monitors. One of the men was talking on a cell phone, nodding, receiving information from a trauma center, I realized, where this information was being transmitted. I was impressed.

“Here.” One of the paramedics handed me my coat and Sister’s cloak. She had followed the men into the church and was sitting on a back bench. I took the cloak back to her and put my own coat on.

“Did you hear them asking about snakes?”

“No.” She shivered. “It’s snowing. I swear, Patricia Anne. I can’t figure out for the life of me how you keep getting us into these predicaments.”

“Me? Ha!” A real smart answer and the end of that conversation. We huddled on the bench in silence.

In a few minutes we heard another siren. Two deputy sheriffs came in, spoke to the paramedics, and started working the other side of the aisle where the woman’s body was.

“What a mess,” Sister grumbled.

I got up and walked outside. It was, indeed, snowing. Tiny, dry flakes were being blown by the wind. Lord, we needed to get off this mountain.

An ambulance pulled up. Two young women hopped out, nodded to me, and rushed into the church.

“Mouse?”

Sister was standing in the doorway.

“The policemen want to talk to you.”

“Why? All we did was ride up here with Luke to look for Virginia.”

“That’s what I told them.”

“Lady?” One of the paramedics leaned around Sister. “We’re taking your husband to the hospital in Oneonta. You want to ride in the ambulance?”

I didn’t bother to explain that Luke wasn’t my husband.

“Of course. How is he?”

“We’ve got him pretty stable.”

The two young women came out lifting Luke down the steps as if he weighed nothing. He had regained consciousness, but looked puzzled.

“Patricia Anne?” he said when he saw me.

“I’m going to ride in the ambulance with you, Luke.”

“Where’s Virginia?”

“She’ll be along later,” I lied.

“What about the policemen?” Sister called as I followed the gurney.

“I don’t have anything to tell them.”

The ambulance doors closed, and I got the hell off of Chandler Mountain.

All ambulance drivers should be women. The one who was actually doing the driving took the hairpin curves gently. The other woman sitting in the back with Luke and me introduced herself as Tammy Parsons. Around thirty and pretty with dark curly hair, she held Luke’s hand and told us about the new house she and her husband were building up near Gadsden on the river. A real log cabin from a kit.

“Must be a big kit,” Luke said.

Tammy smiled. “Now, aren’t you doing fine.”