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"
Not
a
chance
,
"
said
a
woman
’
s
voice
.
"
April
third
.
Six
P
.
M
.
That
way
the
day
warms
up
the
ice
.
"
Shadow
smiled
.
Marguerite
Olsen
was
wearing
a
ski
suit
.
She
was
at
the
far
end
of
the
deck
,
refilling
the
bird
feeder
with
white
blocks
of
suet
.
"
I
read
your
article
in
the
Lakeside
News
on
the
Town
Record
Northern
Pike
.
"
"
Exciting
,
huh
?
"
"
Well
,
educational
,
maybe
.
"
"
I
thought
you
weren
’
t
coming
back
to
us
,
"
she
said
.
"
You
were
gone
for
a
while
,
huh
?
"
"
My
uncle
needed
me
,
"
said
Shadow
.
"
The
time
kind
of
got
away
from
us
.
"
She
placed
the
last
suet
brick
in
its
cage
,
and
began
to
fill
a
net
sock
with
thistle
-
seeds
from
a
plastic
milk
-
jug
.
Several
goldfinches
,
olive
in
their
winter
coats
,
twitted
impatiently
from
a
nearby
fir
-
tree
.
"
I
didn
’
t
see
anything
in
the
paper
about
Alison
McGovern
.
"
"
There
wasn
’
t
anything
to
report
.
She
’
s
still
missing
.
There
was
a
rumor
that
someone
had
seen
her
in
Detroit
,
but
it
turned
out
to
be
a
false
alarm
.
"
