John coasted to a stop at the foot of wide steps that led up to the raised front porch. He killed the engine, left the headlights on, and opened his door.
“Why didn’t you back in? What if we have to leave in a hurry?” she asked.
“If there’s someone here waiting for us then they’ll probably have the road blocked before we can get there. We’d have to find another way out, and I don’t want to try that in the dark. I’ll scout around for an emergency exit tomorrow.”
Caitlin opened her own door and stepped down. The snow crunched loudly beneath her feet. That and the sharp metallic ping of the cooling engine were the only noises that reached her. The air felt cold, colder than it had at the airport. She zipped up her jacket and wished she’d thought to buy gloves.
The house, a large two-story log home with hand-hewn, Swedish cope logs and thick chinking, was dark except for a tiny glow that marked the doorbell.
“Caitlin, look here,” John said from the other side of the Jeep.
She walked in front of it and found him pointing at a single pair of tracks that led around to the side of the house and returned close by.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It could just be the meter reader from the power company.”
“Don’t they have the remote reading meters?”
“As of last summer, they didn’t. I was here when the meter man came by. The meter is around on that side of the house.”
“All right, whoever it was left anyway.”
Caitlin led the way up the steps to the front porch. Some snow had blown onto the porch and formed a mound a couple of inches deep in front of the glass storm door. Jill opened the outer door, and then fished in her case for the keys.
She unlocked the door and stepped into the darkened foyer. The house was cold.
Caitlin hit the light switch, stomped the snow from her shoes, and then walked quickly to the front closet. Inside the closet, she pushed a few coats to one side, to reveal a gray, metal security panel. She keyed in her parent’s code, a red light winked out, and a green one lit.
“Okay, the security system is disarmed.”
“All right, I’ll get the bags from the car; you reactivate it after I’m back.”
Caitlin went across the great room to the lower floor’s thermostat and switched on the furnace. She heard sparking of the automatic igniter and the whoosh of gas as it caught.
She met John at the door and took her bags from him.
He followed her in, shut the door behind him, and threw the bolt. “It’s kinda cold in here. How do they keep the pipes from freezing?”
“The water is shut off in the basement. The valve area is heated by a dedicated electric heater to keep it safe.”
“That makes sense, no point in heating the whole house just to keep water from freezing.”
“It has its drawbacks. We’ll have to close the faucets and the valve on the hot water heater before we can turn the water on.”
She switched on more lights, illuminating the great room and the dining area on the opposite side of the entry.
“Nice place,” John said.
Caitlin gazed at the immense stone chimney that rose twenty feet above the hearth, the elk antler chandelier suspended above the hardwood floor, at the many intricate sculptures that graced bookshelves and end tables. The sculptures were her mothers. She’d begun working in ceramics before Caitlin was born and had branched out into clay when she was still a child. Her mother could have made a decent living off the sale of her art, but she’d never wanted to work for others. Caitlin had once thought that she sounded too much like an artist, unwilling to sacrifice her art for money. As she grew older, Caitlin began to suspect that it was more a fear of rejection than anything else. No matter who told her that her work was outstanding, her mother was always self-effacing, never willing to admit to herself that she was actually very talented.
“Thanks, I like it too.”
“Does that fireplace work?”
“Of course, there’s wood to the left of it. It has a gas igniter. The control is on the right. If you want to start it, I’ll fix us a drink. What’ll you have?”
“Anything. Whiskey if you have it. Preferably Irish, but on a night like this I’ll take whatever is available.”
“All right, I’ll see what’s stocked. Make sure you open the flue.”
“I’ve done this before,” John said as he walked toward the fireplace.
Caitlin went to the wall farthest from the door. A maple armoire stood against the wall. She punched a three-digit code into the small keypad on the right door and was rewarded by the click of an electric solenoid. The doors opened and revealed a well-stocked liquor cabinet. She selected a bottle of Black Bush for John and poured two inches into a wide tumbler. For herself, she chose a fine Armagnac and splashed a similar amount into a snifter. The top of the armoire held a small microwave oven, and she gave her glass a ten-second dose to break the chill.
She left the armoire open and carried both glasses with her. Passing by the light switch, Caitlin dimmed the lights until the room was murky. Then she went to the fireplace, where John was setting a last piece of split wood into the fireplace. He turned the small brass key and gas flames ignited under the logs.
“The flue?”
“I was just getting to that.”
“I didn’t think you’d forget,” Caitlin replied, surprised at the lightness in her tone.
John reached into the back of the fireplace and pulled the brass handle, shaped like a duck
