Sam’s pickup was in the driveway, and so was a sedan, not Thomas’s but a shabby Corolla, tan and trimmed with rust and bumper stickers supporting the World Wildlife Fund, Planned Parenthood, Greenpeace, and Bernie Sanders.

She smiled faintly. Vermont would like this New Yorker.

She walked past the cars and peered up at the house, its windows bright mirrors reflecting the sky and water. Should she come back later? Since it was Sunday, she’d figured she would find Sam at home but thought he’d be working on the sculpture, not entertaining a guest.

A knock jarred the quiet. It was coming from inside. Maggie followed the noise toward the front and raised her hand to protect her eyes from the sun’s glare. She could just make out a slight movement behind the glass. Then no movement. The knocking stopped.

Suddenly, a door opened. “Margaret.”

Still shielding her eyes, she smiled, surprised. “Linnie.”

“Are you here to rescue me again?”

“Do you need rescuing?”

“Not yet.” She stepped down to the landing.

A paved path curved to the front of the house, its thin layer of snow trampled. Maggie followed the footprints.

“Did you run into Caleb?”

“Who?”

“Caleb. You know. From a few weeks ago. When you gave me a ride? He drove me over this morning, then went off with his dog for a walk. I’m waiting for Kate to get back. Thomas took her to Allenport to pick up McDonald’s.” She smiled a little. “Which was what Caleb and I were going to do, but whatever.” She shrugged.

Maggie glanced over her shoulder. From a distance, the drive’s opening into the woods looked like a gaping mouth. She turned quickly and walked the rest of the way up the path. “No. I didn’t see him.” Whoever he was. That night was a blur.

Linnie stepped past Maggie and called, “Caleb!” She shook her head and muttered to herself, “Where the hell did he go?” Louder, she hollered, “Caleb!”

“Jesus. Do you have to scream?” Appearing in the doorway, Sam nodded once at Maggie. “Hey.” He raked back his hair, and his frown grew into a scowl when Linnie shouted for Caleb a third time.

Maggie’s stomach sank. This was probably a bad time to ask for help. Sam looked pissed.

A dog barked. There was a whoop of laughter.

Linnie waved. A big blond guy with a dog bounded toward the house. Along the way, a stick got thrown, chased, retrieved, and then wrangled over.

Maggie did recognize him. It was the guy who’d pointed her in Linnie’s direction the night of the party.

He whistled, called, “Fluffster! Come on, boy,” and strode to the door.

“Fluffster.” Sam made a face, impatiently waved everyone inside, panting dog included, then closed the door. “Couldn’t you have come up with a better name?”