Beside her, Fake Mom squeezed Mouse’s shoulder. She stroked her mousy brown hair and said, We’re going to get along just fine. Aren’t we, Mouse? Now say goodbye to your father so that he can go on his trip.

Mouse tearfully said goodbye.

She and Fake Mom stood beside each other, watching as her father’s car pulled from the drive and disappeared around the bend.

And then Fake Mom kicked the front door closed and turned on Mouse.

SADIE

The public safety building is a small brick building in the center of town. I’m grateful to find the door unlocked, a warm, yellow light glowing from the inside.

A woman sits behind the desk, pecking away on a keyboard as I let myself in. She startles, clutching her bosom when the door bursts open and I appear. On a day such as this, she hadn’t expected anyone to be outside.

I trip over the door’s threshold on the way in. I didn’t see the one-inch rise. I fall to my hands and knees just inside the doorway, not having it in me to catch myself in time. The floor isn’t as yielding as the snow; this fall hurts far more than the others.

“Oh dear,” the woman says, rising quickly to her feet to come help me to mine. She nearly runs around the edge of the desk and reaches for me on the floor. Her mouth hangs open, her eyes wide with surprise. She can’t believe what she’s seeing. The room around me is boxy and small. Yellow walls, carpeted floors, a double pedestal desk. The air is miraculously warm. A space heater stands in the corner, blowing heated air throughout the room.

I’ve no sooner found my feet than I go to the heater, dropping to my knees before the oscillating fan.

“Officer Berg,” I just manage to say, lips sluggish from the cold. My back is to the woman. “Officer Berg, please.”

“Yes,” she says, “yes, of course,” and before I know what’s happening, she’s screaming for him. She graciously reaches past me to turn the space heater to a higher speed, and I press my hands to it, burning from the cold.

“There’s someone here to see you,” she says uneasily, and I turn.

When he appears, Officer Berg says nothing. He walks quickly because of the screaming, because of the edge in his secretary’s voice that warns him something is wrong. He takes in my pajamas as he moves past me for the coffeepot. He fills a disposable cup with coffee and extends it to me in an effort to warm me up. He helps me rise to my feet, pressing the cup into my hands. I don’t drink it, but the heat off the cup feels good to touch. I feel grateful for it. The storm perseveres outside, the entirety of the little building shuddering at times. Lights flicker; the walls whine. He reaches for a coat on a coatrack and wraps me in it.

“I have to speak with you,” I tell him, the desperation and fatigue in my voice palpable.

Officer Berg leads me down the hall. We sit side by side at a small expandable table. The room is bare.

“What are you doing here, Dr. Foust?” he asks me, his tone thoughtful and concerned, but also leery. “Heck of a day to be outside,” he says.

I find myself shaking uncontrollably. For as much as I try, I can’t warm up. My hands are wrapped around the cup of coffee. Officer Berg gives me a nudge and tells me to drink up.

But it’s not the cold that makes me shake.

I start to tell him everything, but before I can, Officer Berg says, “I received a call from your husband a short while ago,” and my words get stuck in my throat. I’m at a loss, wondering why Will called him after we’d agreed that we’d come see him together.

“You did?” I ask instead, sitting upright, because these aren’t words I expected to hear. Officer Berg nods his head slowly. He has an uncanny way of maintaining eye contact. I struggle not to look away. I ask, “What did he want?” bracing myself for the officer’s reply.

“He was worried about you,” Officer Berg says, and I feel myself relax. Will called because he was worried about me.

“Of course,” I say, softening in the chair. Perhaps he tried to call me first, and when I didn’t answer the phone, he called Officer Berg. Perhaps he asked Officer Berg to check on me and see if I was all right. “The weather. And the ferry delay. I was upset the last time we spoke.”

“Yes,” he says. “Mr. Foust told me.”

I start, again sitting upright.

“He told you I was upset?” I ask on the defense, because this is personal, not something Will needed to tell the police.

He nods. “He’s worried about you. He said you were upset about some washcloth,” and it’s then that the conversation shifts, because it’s patronizing the way he says it. As if I’m just some stupid ninny running off at the mouth about a washcloth.

“Oh,” I say, and I leave it at that.

“I was getting ready to head to your house and check on you. You saved me a trip,” he says. Officer Berg tells me the afternoon commute will be messy because the local schools weren’t called off ahead of the storm. The only saving grace is that the snow is to slow in the hours to come.

And then Officer Berg begins to pry. “You want to tell me about this washcloth?”

“I found a washcloth,” I tell him slowly, “covered in blood. In my laundry room.” And then because I’ve said that much already, I go on. “I found the knife buried in my backyard.”

He doesn’t so much as blink. “The knife that was used to kill Mrs. Baines?” he asks.

“I believe so,” I say. “Yes. It had blood on it.”

“Where is the knife now, Doctor?”

“It’s in my backyard.”

“You left it there?”

“I did.”

“Did you touch it?”

“No,” I say.