Winter Prey

before. I should have known better than to show an interest in one witness,” Lucas said. “I . . . Oh, shit.”
    “What?”
    “Do you know where the doctor’s house is? WeatherKarkinnen?” Lucas asked, his voice urgent.
    “Sure. Down on Lincoln Lake.”

    Weather lived in a rambling, white-clapboard house with a steep, snow-covered roof. A fieldstone chimney, webbed with naked vines, climbed one end, a double garage anchored the other. A stand of red pines protected it from the north wind. Two huge white pines, one with a rope dangling from a lower branch, stood in back, along the edge of the frozen lake. The neighboring homes were as large or larger than Weather’s, most of them with aging boathouses at the edge of the lake.
    As Lucas and Climpt pulled into the driveway, a pod of snowmobiles whipped by on the lake, heading for a bar sign at the far end.
    Weather’s house was dark.
    “Just be a minute or two,” Lucas said, but a chilly anxiety plucked at his chest, growing heavier as he climbed out of the truck and hurried up to the house. He rang the doorbell, and when he didn’t get a response, pounded on the front door and rattled the knob. The door was locked. He stepped back off the porch and started down the sidewalk, intending to try the garage doors, when a light came on inside.
    He felt like a boulder had been lifted off his back. He turned and hurried back to the door, rang the doorbell again. And suddenly he was nervous again, afraid that she might think he was here to hustle her.
    A moment later Weather opened the inner door, peered through the glass of the storm door, then pushed the storm door open. She was wearing a heavy throat-to-ankle terrycloth robe. She pulled the robe together at the neck as she leaned out and looked past him at the truck, still running in the driveway, and said, “Okay, what happened?”
    Another boulder came off his back. She didn’t think . . .
    “There’s a kid missing—after I talked to him at school today,” Lucas blurted. “He might have wandered away from his house, but nobody really thinks so. He may have been taken by whoever did the LaCourts. Since we’ve spent sometime together, you and I . . . You see . . .”
    “Who’s out in the truck?” Weather asked.
    “Gene Climpt.”
    She waved at the truck, then said to Lucas, “Come on in for a moment and tell me about it.”
    Lucas kicked snow off his boots and stepped inside. The house smelled subtly of baking and herbs. A modern watercolor of a vase of flowers hung on an eggshell-white wall that faced the entry. Lucas knew almost nothing about modern art, but he liked it.
    “Who’s the kid?” Weather asked.
    “John Mueller,” Lucas said. “Do you know him?”
    “Oh, God. His mom works at the bakery?”
    “I guess . . .”
    “Aw, jeez, I’ve seen him up there doing his homework. Aw, God . . .” She had her arms crossed over her chest, and was gripping the material on the sleeves of her robe, her knuckles white.
    “If the killer took the kid, then he’s out of control. Nuts,” Lucas said. He felt large and awkward in the parka and boots and hat and gloves, looking down at her in her bathrobe. “It’d be best if you got out of here. At least until we can set up some security.”
    Weather shook her head: “Not tonight. I’ve got surgery in”—she looked at her watch—“seven hours. I’ve got to be up in five.”
    “Can you cancel?” Lucas asked.
    “No.” She shook her head. “My patient’s already in the hospital, fasting and medicated. It wouldn’t be right.”
    “I’ve got to go downtown,” Lucas said. “I could come back and bag out on your couch.”
    “In other words, wake me up again,” she said, but she smiled.
    “Look, this is getting nasty.” He was so serious that she tapped his chest, to hold him where he was standing, and said, “Wait a minute.” She walked into the dark part of the house and a light came on. There was a moment of rattling, then she came back with a garage-door opener.
    “C’mere . . . don’t worry about the snow on your boots, it’s only water.” She led him through the living room to the hallway, opened the first door in the hall. “Guest room. The right bay in the garage is empty. You come through the garage door to the kitchen, then through here. I’ll leave a couple of lights on.”
    Lucas took the garage-door opener, nodded, said, “I’ll walk around your house, look in back. Keep your doors locked