Shortly after I passed a log cabin decorated with a banner that read GET US OUT OF THE U.N. NOW, I came to a sign that announced I was in the Village of Mountain View. The village was a metropolis compared to the places I'd just passed through. Large, well-maintained homes with wide porches faced each other across the road. The post office was in a lean-to attached to one of the houses, and I noticed a FOR SALE sign out front. Was the position of postmaster for sale along with the building?

A large steel building at the crossroads in the center of the village housed the recreation center and municipal offices. Directly across from it was Foster's Elevator, Inc., a complex of buildings that was nearly a town in itself. Most of them were white and of the Victorian era. Behind these were huge towers, silos, I guessed, and ladders that seemed to reach to the sky. Some buildings were obviously barns and garages. The paved parking lot was large enough for a hundred cars and trucks. Tonight, it was nearly full.

I parked on the edge of the lot in front of a sign that informed me that Nutro pet foods and lottery tickets were available here. Foster's Elevator, Inc., certainly looked like a prosperous, going concern, so I wondered why the bulletin board facing the road announced a going-out-of-business sale. I approached the front door of what appeared to be the main office building. Two porch lights on either side illuminated the front steps, which led to a wide veranda. The front door was slightly ajar, and a tattered poster advertising Vacation Bible School, apparently left over from last summer, flapped loosely in the evening breeze as I pushed open the door and entered the office. Inside, the office was deserted, except for some old oaken furniture, but I heard a lot of noise coming from the stairwell in the back of the room, indicating the party was being held upstairs.

The dark wood banister felt as smooth as satin beneath my fingers as I climbed the wide steps to the second floor of the building. I could almost imagine myself coming down that staircase in an elegant ball gown while Rhett Butler waited eagerly at the bottom for me. That's when I realized the building must have once been someone's lovely home.

The entire second floor was one large room, and it was filled with more women than I'd ever seen in one place. I paused for a minute at the top of the stairs and looked around trying to see if I could recognize anyone.

“Tori,” someone cried. “Come in, come in.” Janet Margolies was at my side, propelling me into the mob. “Hey, everybody. Look who's here. Tori Miracle, the writer.”

“Please, don't make me out to be something special,” I said demurely.

“But you are special, Tori.” We ’d reached the refreshment table, where Janet introduced me to a middle-aged woman who was ladling punch into little plastic cups. “Mom, this is Tori Miracle. Tori, my mother, Mrs. Foster.”

“Welcome,” Mrs. Foster said with a warm smile. “Have some punch?” Without waiting for my answer, she handed me a cup of red liquid. “Cookie?”

“Chocolate chip, please.” I accepted two cookies wrapped in a paper napkin.

“I've heard lots about you,” Mrs. Foster said while I shuffled my feet and tried to blush. “You'uns must be mighty relieved to have that cancer scare over.”

The punch I'd just sipped went down the wrong way, half choking me to death. When I'd finished coughing it up, I spluttered out, “What… what are you talking about?” But it was too late for an answer, for she and Janet were heading toward a table covered with presents.

As Janet began to open her gifts the women pressed forward, overwhelming me with the combined odor of their perfumes, hairs sprays, bath powders, and makeup. My eyes began to water, and I finally had to push my way through the happy throng to the back of the room, where I found a row of metal folding chairs and sank into one next to Lizzie Borden. She had a napkin spread over her lap with a selection on it of every kind of cookie I'd seen on the table.

“I understand you left the college,” I said.

Lizzie grinned. “For what they paid me, they could only push me so far.” She raised her hands and held them about six inches apart. “I was expected to do my work, Janet's work, and anything else that nobody wanted to handle. Like I told President Godlove, they'd have me in the classroom teaching if they thought they could get away with it.”

I nibbled at my cookie. While I didn't care for a lot of Pennsylvania cooking, I'd never found fault with the baked goods. “Who's taking over?”

Lizzie shrugged. “Who knows. Who cares. I emptied my briefcase on Janet's desk and walked.” She giggled. “I hear you're going to take over my job at the ghost tour.”

“Word does get around quickly. But I'm not going to do your job, I'm going to be a ghost.”

“Well, don't let them stick you in the attic. It gets hot as hell up there at night. Spooky, too.”

A tiny gray-haired lady was perched on the edge of the chair next to me, balancing herself with a collapsible cane. “Congratulations, young lady.” she whispered. “I done heard you been cured of the big C.”

“Where on earth did you hear that?” I blurted out.

“Shhh…” Several women stared at me with disapproval.

“Sorry.” When I turned back to the woman, she was hobbling toward the unattended refreshment table.

“What do you suppose she meant?” I asked Lizzie. “She's the second person this evening to congratulate me on my ‘cure.’ ”

“And she probably won't be the last,” Lizzie assured me.

“But I haven't even heard my test results yet. Dr. Washabaugh's office has been closed since her death.”

“Someone's seen the report. And since the Grapevine's never wrong, let me be the third to congratulate you.”

A roar of laughter up front caught our attention. Naturally, there were some mandatory gag gifts: a baby bottle that looked empty until turned on its side, a DO NOT DISTURB sign for the parents’ bedroom door, and a little pair of blue booties for the “next” baby.

After the last of the offerings was opened, Baby Mar-golies made her grand appearance in the arms of her doting grandmother. Her name, I learned, was Parker, which I was sure would lead to confusion in the future. After we had all dutifully oohed and aahed, she was carried off to bed.

Janet sat down on the empty chair beside me With one hand, she held out a plate. “How about a sticky bun, hot from the oven?”

I accepted one and quickly put it down on my napkin so the syrup wouldn't burn my fingers.

“Seems like everywhere I go, someone's insisting I eat one of these. And of course, I can't say no.”

“I'll come teach you how to make them if you like. My secret is I use a packaged hot roll mix, so they're fast and easy.”

“And good.” I licked a piece of nut off my sticky finger.

“Tori, I love the little suit. Parker will look really cute in it next summer.”

“Is it too big? It looked really small to me.”

“That's okay. They outgrow those newborn sizes really fast.”

“Sorry about the wrapping paper.”

“I didn't even notice that it said ‘Get Well Soon.’ ” She laughed heartily, and I joined in.

“This is the first elevator I've ever seen,” I told her. “The buildings look quite old. Has it been in your family for a long time?”

Janet nodded. “Since before The War.” Like most local people, she referred to the War Between the States as “The War.” “ My dad's the fifth-generation Foster to run it.”

“I noticed the going-out-of-business sign out front. Does that mean you don't want to take over?”

Her face grew grim. “I'd love to, but I don't have any choice. The elevator's being torn down next year.”

“Why?”

“To make room for the new highway.”

I laughed. A highway here in the mountains? She couldn't be serious. “Highway to where?”

“From nowhere to nowhere. It was dear old Mack Macmillan's last bit of pork barreling before he retired. His lasting memorial to himself. We call it the Mack Macmillan Highway to Hell. Darn it, I'm letting my emotions ruin my party. Sorry about that. Speaking of the devil, has President Godlove still got you looking into Mack's death?”