“Okay. I’ll get my coat.” As she left the room, Rose heard Detective O’Hara blowing her nose like a foghorn.

“We found Carla Fentesso this morning,” O’Hara said when they were ensconced in a booth at Benny’s and she had her hands cupped around a mug of steaming black coffee. It was obvious that she felt terrible, and it softened Rose a little. Not much.

“I’ll be frank with you, Rose, I think you can handle it. Stab wounds in the chest and head. She was in a ditch alongside old route 7. A red plastic flower found on the body. We’ve traced the flowers to a theatrical supply house in New York.”

“So you know who did it?”

O’Hara let out a hoarse laugh, coughed and took a sip of coffee. “Hold on. It’s not as easy as that. The flowers can’t talk. We still don’t know who he is.”

Benny brought over Rose’s hamburger himself. He paused to give Detective O’Hara a long look. O’Hara stopped talking and looked back until he wiped his hands on his apron and went away.

“I know we didn’t get off on the right foot,” O’Hara said. “I’d like to make it different now. I hope you’ll help us.”

“You know what happened yesterday,” Rose broke in. “I was accused of being a witch. In public, where everybody could hear. Maybe people would like to see me burned at the stake.” She laughed nervously.

“I know it’s been hard for you and that it could get harder,” O’Hara said. “Fear can sometimes bring out the best in people, but more often the worst.” Her eyes flicked toward the window where the snow was falling steadily. “Jerks,” she muttered under her breath.

Rose pretended not to hear. Maybe Detective O’Hara wasn’t all bad. Benny’s burger was juicy and rare and when she bit into it she realized she was hungry.

“I don’t know how I can help,” she said, wiping her chin. “I really mean that. Crazy as it sounds, I only get messages about where to find bodies. I have no idea who the killer is.” Had Nancy’s appearance at the window last night been to tell her to look for Carla on route 7? Same as usual. Dead dead dead.

“We’re opening all the old cases,” O’Hara was saying. “Missing girls in Bethboro, Danville and the surrounding towns. It’s possible there may be more skeletons out there. This is something that’s been going on for at least five years. And it could keep going on … unless we find him.”

“Well …” Rose’s stomach, full of hamburger, was getting queasy. “It’s sort of.. . your job. The police’s job to do it.”