Snow swirls and coils around my car, and I think this is perhaps what the inside of a genie bottle looks like. The outside winds make this short of a blizzard but more than just a snowfall. The dashboard tells me it’s twenty-three degrees, and I wonder for another time why Cora wanted to meet out here.

Moments later, headlights slice through the falling snow and illuminate the inside of my car. Seconds after that, Cora eases her Land Rover into the space next to mine. Ours are the only two vehicles in the lot.

She turns off her car, kills her lights.

For a moment, I’m watching this as I would a movie. Trying to understand the motivation of the character in the adjacent car. Why are we meeting out here, in this weather, at night? Is it for the privacy, or something else?

Woof.

I do a mental inventory of everything in this car. My father keeps it clean, so there aren’t random items lying about, but I don’t know what could be in the closed-off areas. I quickly check the center console and the glove compartment, finding them empty save the car registration and manual. Typical for my father, who despises anything considered clutter.

I check the pockets behind the front seats. Again, empty. In the trunk, there has to be a spare tire, and thus a tire iron.

If I need a weapon, that’s my only hope.

Weapon. Against my sister. This is where we are in our lives.

She raps on my window, making me jump. I didn’t even see her out there. My fingers find the button on the door and I lower the window. A burst of snowflakes immediately seeks asylum in the car, only to meet their deaths by the heated air vents.

“Outside,” she says. The scent of her perfume yanks me back twenty-two years. Smell is the most powerful memory, and I know with certainty she’s wearing Calvin Klein’s CK One, just as she did as a teenager. Just as she did that night.

“It’s awful out there.”

“It’s perfect,” she says.

If a character in one of my books didn’t want to talk inside a car, it would be because they were afraid the car was bugged. And though I’m pretty sure Cora doesn’t suspect this, the thought does spark an idea. I should be recording our conversation. In fact, I’d be crazy not to.

I roll up the window and wait until the interior light dims, then quickly unlock my phone and launch the voice recorder app, which I use for story notes. I press Record and then slide the phone into the snug front pocket of my jeans.

Deep breath. Then I get out of the car.

She’s standing a few feet away. Three halogen lamps account for all the light in the lot. Beyond that and onto the trail, darkness reigns. It’s snowing harder now and the flakes are dense and wet, the kind that bring down trees with enough accumulation. I flip up the hood of my jacket against the onslaught.