“Nothing,” Cork said.

“Lot of ground to cover.” Bledsoe handed the cup back and glanced north where the wilderness stretched all the way to Canada. “It’s a shame, nice girl like her, something like this.” He dug beneath his parka and brought out a pack of Chesterfields and Zippo lighter. He offered a cigarette to Cork, who declined. He lit up, took a deep breath, and exhaled a great white cloud of smoke and wet breath. He put his gloves back on and let the cigarette dangle from the corner of his mouth. Nodding toward the sky in the west, he said, “You hear what’s coming in? If that girl didn’t have bad luck, she’d have no luck at all.”

Cork heard the squawk of his radio and picked it up.

“Base to all units. It’s official. We’ve got us a blizzard on the doorstep. A real ass kicker, looks like. Come on in. Sheriff says he doesn’t want anyone else lost out there.”

Cork listened as one by one the other units acknowledged.

“Unit Three. Unit Four. Did you copy? Over.”

“This is Unit Three. Bledsoe’s with me. We copy, Patsy. But listen. I still haven’t checked Hat Lake. I’d like to have a quick look before I head back.”

“Negative, Cork. Sheriff says turn around now. He’s pulling in the dogs and air search, too. Weather service says it’s not a storm to mess with.”

“Is Wally there?”

“He won’t tell you anything different.”

“Put him on.”

Cork waited.

“Schanno, here. This better be good.”

Cork could see him, Sheriff Wally Schanno. Grim, harried. With a missing girl, a whale of a blizzard, and a recalcitrant ex-sheriff on his hands.

“I’m just shy of Hat Lake, Wally. I’m going to check it out before I turn back.”

“The hell you are. Have you taken a good look behind you?”

Glancing back to the west, toward the cloud bank that was now looming high above the tree line, Cork knew time was short.