“Well…,” he said, his skepticism showing through.

“I know, I know. But even if the damage is only half what they’re predicting, it’s still going to be a costly job.” She sighed. “When I became a priest, I surely didn’t think I was going to be spending so much time worrying about leaking roofs and the price of oil and water heaters.”

He laughed a little. “Every job has its boring scut work. It’s one of the great universal truths.” He drank from his can.

“What are you drinking?”

“Decaffeinated Coke.”

“I’m having a Saranac Winter Ale. Ha ha ha.”

He laughed. “Do you normally taunt recovering alcoholics with your beer drinking?”

“Just you. You’re special.”

They were silent for a beat. Then he said, “What else did you do?”

“I had a couple counseling session on Friday. Spent the afternoon in Glens Falls Saturday with one of my parishioners who’s undergoing surgery. So I missed my stint at the historical society.”

Russ clucked disapproval.

“It’s okay. I told Roxanne I’d be in Monday. Then, we had a nice Eucharist this morning. Practically a full house. I think everyone wanted to see the roof before it fell in.”

“Huh.” There was a clunking sound over the line. “What are you doing now?”

She laughed. “Putting another log on the fire. I’ve got a good one going to take the edge off the chill. This old house is drafty, and if I have to buy another tankful of oil, I’ll be eating mac and cheese for the next month.”

“You should have your church get it weatherproofed.”

“I don’t want to draw the vestry’s attention to the fact that they own a desirable property that’s wasted with one single woman rattling around in it. I’m afraid they’d sell it out from under me and I’d have to move to one of Corlew’s awful town houses.”

“One of those places with the fake names where they spell town with two ns and an e? God, that would be a fate worse than death.” He shook his head. “What are you wearing?”

She laughed. “Is this that kind of phone call?”

“Oh, Christ, you know what I mean. Sometimes people who aren’t used to the climate take a while to remember to put on another layer instead of turning up the thermostat.”

She was still laughing. Then she coughed, and in a heavy southern accent dripping with honey, she said, “I’m wearing nothing except some very high heels and a teeny-weeny-”

“No, no, no, no.”

She laughed some more. “I’ll bet the women who do those phone calls are dressed pretty much like I am now. Turtleneck, my brother Brian’s old Virginia sweatshirt, and these really warm leggings my folks sent me for Christmas. Woolly socks and ratty old Passamaquoddy slippers.”

“Oh, baby,” he said.

She giggled. “It’s the slippers, isn’t it? They drive men wild.”

“Up here in the North Country, you have to learn to appreciate warmth.”

“And my thermostat is set to sixty-two.”

“Jeez, that is cold. Maybe this spring I’ll check out your windows and walls, see if there are some simple things we can do to tighten the house up.”

“As long as I don’t have to go to the vestry for maintenance money, that would be-” She fell silent.

“What?” he said.

“Someone’s pulling into my driveway.”

He glanced at the anniversary clock on the mantel. It was almost 8:30.

“Hang on a sec,” Clare said, and he heard the clunk of the phone being put down.

He rolled out of his chair and paced into the kitchen, the phone still pressed to his ear. Who the hell would be dropping by unannounced at this hour? He envisioned a gang of rowdy teens who liked to make noise and scare single women. Then he thought of a sexual predator, who knew she lived all alone. Some serial rapist, just out of Clinton, looking for easy pickings-

She came back on the line. “It’s Debba Clow.”

“Debba Clow? Does she have her kids with her? She’s not trying to skip out on her ex, is she?”

“No, she’s alone. She seems really upset. I have to go. Sorry…”

She hung up on him, leaving only a wistful echo behind. He held the phone for a moment, listening to the dial tone. Debba Clow. At Clare’s. At 8:30 on a Sunday night.

He dialed the station house. Weeknights, all calls to the station were routed through to the Glens Falls dispatch, since Millers Kill didn’t have the need or the resources to keep a dispatcher on 24/7. But weekends, the busiest time of their week, they had live coverage with Harlene. Harlene had been working for the police department back when Russ was still spitting out sand during the first Gulf War, and he had no doubt she would still be there when he was retired to Arizona.

“Millers Kill Police Department.”

“Hey, Harlene.”

“What are you on the horn for? You’re supposed to be at home, getting some R and R.”

“Look, there hasn’t been any trouble at the free clinic, has there?”

She whistled in his ear. “You’re scary sometimes, you know that? I think this is a clear sign that you’re spending way too much time at work. No, there hasn’t been anything at the clinic, but just after you left this evening, Allan Rouse’s wife called in. He’s the clinic doctor.”

“I know who he is.”

“Bet you don’t know why she called, though.”

“I’m waiting with bated breath for you to tell me.”

“He’s gone missing.”

“What’s that mean, exactly? He’s a grown man, and it’s eight-thirty on a Sunday night. He’s probably hoisting a few at a sports bar, where they have something on worth watching.”

“You’d think, wouldn’t you? But it turns out they were due to leave for Albany late this afternoon. They’re flying out to a medical conference in Phoenix, Arizona. Or at least they were. She had already missed the flight when she called.”

“Maybe he had some sort of medical emergency? Had to make a house call, or go to the hospital?”

“Mrs. Rouse said he’s always checked in with her before. She was calling their friends all this afternoon looking for him. She checked Washington County and Glens Falls Hospitals, thought he might be with a patient someplace. But no luck. She also called Laura Rayfield-that’s the clinic nurse practitioner.”

“I know who she is.”

“Well, she hadn’t seen him. Anyway, according to Mrs. Rouse, the doc seemed kind of restless and distracted, but she put it down to his upcoming trip. She says he left home around eleven o’clock this morning to run a few errands. He told her he was going to the clinic to deal with the mail and dictate notes for files. They were planning to be gone for a week. She reminded him he had to be home by four for them to make their flight in good season. Then he drove off. When he didn’t show up on time, she went over to the clinic, but he was gone. She hasn’t seen him since.”

He thought for a moment. “Did she check to see if he’d been admitted to one of the hospitals as a John Doe?”

“I dunno. Though you’d think someone would recognize him even if he had no ID. The man’s been practicing medicine in this town for thirty years.”

“What about a girlfriend?”

“I certainly haven’t heard anybody gossiping about one at my hairdresser’s. It wasn’t a question I wanted to put to his wife.”

“No, I suppose not.” He trailed across the kitchen floor slowly, letting his feet follow his thinking. “What did you tell Mrs. Rouse?”

“I told her that unless there’s evidence of something funny going on, we don’t declare adults officially missing for forty-eight hours. But it’s a slow night, so I asked Duane and Tim to stop into any bars that they pass and see if anyone’s seen the doc.”

“Good.”

“And since the man is sixty-five years old, I circulated a description of his car and plates to the staties. I told ’em it was a possible medical. For all we know, he had a heart attack behind the wheel while he was running those errands.”

“Good call.” There were a lot of stretches of road in and around Millers Kill where a car could roll off into the brush and not be noticed. “I don’t know why I bother to come in, Harlene. You go ahead and do my job for me.”