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drop.
    Baffled, she turned to the desk where the gooseneck fluorescent lamp cast light on an open issue of Time . A brass nameplate read SERGEANT PAUL J. HENDERSON. This was where he had been sitting, passing an apparently dull afternoon, when whatever happened had… happened.
    Already sure of what she would hear, Jenny lifted the receiver from that stood on Henderson’s desk. No dial tone. Just the electronic, insect-wing hiss of an open line.
    As before, when she had attempted to use the telephone in the Santinis’ kitchen, she had the feeling that she wasn’t the only one on the line.
    She put the receiver down—too abruptly, too hard.
    Her hands were trembling.
    Along the back wall of the room, there were two bulletin boards, a photocopier, a locked gun cabinet, a police radio (a home base set), and a teletype link. Jenny didn’t know how to operate the teletype. Anyway, it was silent and appeared to be out of order. She couldn’t make the radio come to life. Although the power switch was in the on-position, the indicator lamp didn’t light. The microphone remained dead. Whoever had done in the deputy had also done in the teletype and the radio.
    Heading back to the reception area at the front of the room, Jenny saw that Lisa was no longer standing in the doorway, and for an instant her heart froze. Then she saw the girl hunkered down beside Paul Henderson’s body, peering intently at it.
    Lisa looked up as Jenny came through the gate in the railing. Indicating the badly swollen corpse, the girl said, “I didn’t realize skin could stretch as much as this without splitting.” Her pose—scientific inquisitiveness, detachment, studied indifference to the horror of the scene—was as transparent as a window. Her darting eyes betrayed her. Pretending she didn’t find it stressful, Lisa looked away from the deputy and stood up.
    “Honey, why didn’t you stay by the doors?”
    “I was disgusted with myself for being such a coward.”
    “Listen, Sis, I told you—”
    “I mean, I’m afraid something’s going to happen to us, something bad, right here in Snowfield, tonight, any minute maybe, something really awful. But I’m not ashamed of that fear because it’s only common sense to be afraid after what we’ve seen. But I was even afraid of the deputy’s body, and that was just plain childish.”
    When Lisa paused, Jenny said nothing. The girl had more to say, and she needed to get it off her mind.
    “He’s dead. He can’t hurt me. There’s no reason to be so scared of him. It’s wrong to give in to irrational fears. It’s wrong and weak and stupid. A person should face up to fears like that,” Lisa insisted. “Facing up to them is the only way to get over them. Right? So I decided to face up to this .” With a tilt of her head, she indicated the dead man at her feet.
    There’s such anguish in her eyes, Jenny thought.
    It wasn’t merely the situation in Snowfield that was weighing heavily on the girl. It was the memory of finding her mother dead of a stroke on a hot, clear afternoon in July. Suddenly, because of all of this , all of that was coming back to her, coming back hard.
    “I’m okay now,” Lisa said. “I’m still afraid of what might happen to us, but I’m not afraid of him .” She glanced down at the corpse to prove her point, then looked up and met Jenny’s eyes. “See? You can count on me now. I won’t flake out on you again.”
    For the first time, Jenny realized that she was Lisa’s role model. With her eyes and face and voice and hands, Lisa revealed, in countless subtle ways, a respect and an admiration for Jenny that was far greater than Jenny had imagined. Without resorting to words, the girl was saying something that deeply moved Jenny: I love you, but even more than that, I like you; I’m proud of you; I think you’re terrific, and if you’re patient with me, I’ll make you proud and happy to have me for a kid sister.
    The realization that she occupied such a