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‘Aye-up, most times, mebbe’ He cocked an eye towards the sky ‘ But there’s a storm comin’ in’

‘Not really,’ she said, even more politely ‘The weather reports say—’

The old man’s lip curled ‘Don’t care what they say’ Carefully, he plopped Holly’s change into her outstretched hand ‘Storled brakes in that car?’

What new-fangled brakes? Holly almost said She hadn’t owned a car in years What was the point, when you lived in the heart of Boston? Besides, she’d spent the past six months in a Tuscan fararlic, and the last three weeks on a ind tour across the States, signing copies of Ciao Down With Holly, the book that had come out of her stay in Tuscany She knew all there was to know about the differences between the cuisines of Northern and Southern Italy, but brakes were so else entirely

Not that it mattered She’d be at the cabin before the old doomsayer’s prophecies came true So she’d smiled pleasantly and said her brakes were just fine, thanks, and then she’d driven off, watching in her rearviewhis head mournfully

‘Ridiculous,’ Holly had muttered to herself, as she’d made the turn onto the road that led up North Mountain As if some oldthe weather than the CNN ists…

Halfway up the

At first, the flakes were big and lazy They settled prettily onto the branches of the tall pine trees that clung to the slope on Holly’s left while sailing gracefully off the precipice to her right But within minutes the wind picked up and the snoent fro direction so that now she was driving headfirst into an impenetrable cloud of white And there was no way to turn back The road was too narrow and far too dangerous for that

She was driving blind, trapped in the heart of what see of a blizzard All she could do was hunch over the steering wheel, urge the car forward inch by slippery inch, and try not to wonder whether or not she had the ‘new-fangled’ brakes she’d pooh-poohed just half an hour ago

The old ht She’d been stupid not to have rented a car with four-wheel drive Who was she kidding? She’d been stupid to have decided to come to the cabin at all

Everyone had tried to tell her that Not just the guy at the gas station The clerk who’d rented her the car The traffic cop in Burlington, when she’d asked for directions Even Belinda, her agent, who knew as etarian knew about a pot roast, had blanched when Holly had said she was taking off for a feeeks in Vermont

‘Where?’ Belinda had said incredulously—but Belinda figured that civilization ended once you took the Lincoln Tunnel out of Manhattan