It sometimes seemed to Gurney that something in America had gone terribly wrong. A large segment of a generation had become infected with ignorance, laziness, and vulgarity. It no longer seemed unusual for a young woman to have, say, three small children by three different fathers, two of whom were currently in prison. And places like Long Falls, which once may have nurtured a simpler kind of life, were now depressingly similar to everywhere else.

These thoughts were interrupted by his GPS announcing in an authoritative voice, “Arriving at destination on your right.”

The sign, next to a spotless blacktop driveway, said only WILLOW REST—leaving the nature of the enterprise unspecified. Gurney turned in and followed the driveway through an open wrought-iron gate in a yellow brick wall. Well-tended landscape plantings on each side of the entrance conveyed the impression not of a cemetery but of an upscale residential development. The driveway led directly to a small, empty parking area in front of an English-style cottage.

Window boxes overflowing with purple and yellow pansies below old-fashioned small-paned windows reminded him of the weird-cozy esthetic of a wildly popular painter whose name he could never recall. There was a VISITOR INFORMATION sign alongside a flagstone pathway that extended from the parking area to the cottage door.

As Gurney was heading up the path, the door opened and a woman who seemed not to notice him emerged onto a broad stone step. She was casually dressed, as if for some light gardening, a notion underscored by a small pruning scissors in her hand.

Gurney guessed her age to be mid-fifties. Her most noticeable feature was her hair, which was pure white and arranged in a short layered style, ending in choppy little points around her forehead and cheeks. He recalled his mother having that hairdo when it was first fashionable in his childhood. He even recalled its name: the artichoke. That word in turn produced a fleeting feeling of unease.

The woman glanced with surprise at Gurney. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you drive up. I was just coming out to take care of a few things. I’m Paulette Purley. How can I help you?”

During his drive to Long Falls, Gurney had considered various ways of answering questions about his visit and had decided on an approach that he labeled in his own mind “minimal honesty”—which meant telling enough of the truth to avoid being caught in a lie, but telling it in a way to avoid setting off unnecessary alarms.

“I’m not sure yet.” He smiled innocently. “Would it be all right for me to take a stroll around the grounds?”

Her unremarkable hazel eyes seemed to be appraising him. “Have you been here before?”

“This is my first visit. But I do have a satellite map I printed out from Google.”