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a tattered, but warm, sweater. I ran my hands through my own black curls, happy to have the cap off. Downstairs, Mattie danced around my feet in excitement, but I eventually managed to get the squiggling beast out of the way long enough to pull on my heavy winter boots and down-filled coat, wrap a long scarf around my neck, and pull a highly unattractive but functional hat with earflaps onto my head.
    Last of all, I snapped the leash onto Mattie’s collar and we set off. I opened the gate, stepped onto the path, and my arm was almost detached from the socket. I might have enjoyeda pleasant stroll but walking Mattie was more of a mad gallop, abruptly interrupted by bone-shaking halts, as the dog found something interesting to sniff at and then charged off in search of the next fascinating object. This was a neighborhood of stately Victorian mansions, built in Rudolph’s heyday when it had been one of the most significant ports on the Great Lakes. Some homes were now in a state of gentle decay, many had been broken into apartments, but almost all of the houses were beautifully decorated. Grinches don’t live in Rudolph for long. Majestic trees glittered in front windows, lights were draped across porch frames and pillars or wound between tree branches. The bandstand was trimmed in hundreds of tiny white lights, and a white spotlight shone on the town’s official Christmas tree. Thick clouds continued to spill snow, and no light came from moon or stars to guide my way. The lake was a solid black void in the distance.
    As we reached the park, Mattie veered off to the right, going deeper into the darkness, pulling so sharply on the leash, I staggered. My feet slid out from under me on a patch of hidden ice. My hands flew out as I tried to keep upright, releasing the leash. The dog bounded away. I fell, hard, into the deep, soft snow. For a moment I lay where I’d fallen, facedown, head buzzing. I blinked, shook my head, and struggled to roll over. I did a quick mental check. I wiggled my toes and my fingers. Everything seemed to be in place and working. My right wrist had broken my fall. It hurt like the blazes, but I could still move it, so I didn’t think anything was broken.
    With a curse and a groan, slipping and sliding on thehidden ice, I pushed myself to my knees and then staggered to my feet. I blew snow off my face and wiped down my arms. I couldn’t see Mattie but I could hear him barking in the dark, toward the rocky shore of the lake.
    â€œMattie! Matterhorn! Get over here!”
    No reply. I couldn’t see anything, but I stumbled through the deep snow, following the sound of barking. I want to be a responsible dog owner, so I always carry a flashlight and a pocketful of plastic bags on our nightly excursions. I pulled the flashlight out of my pocket and switched it on. I played the light over the expanse, seeing nothing but snow. A few more steps and there he was: a swiftly moving brown and while tail and furry butt.
    â€œMattie,” I said, sounding very stern. “Come here, right now!”
    He turned his head and looked at me. The light caught his brown eyes. But he didn’t come at my command and turned back to whatever had grabbed his attention. It appeared to be a black plastic garbage bag.
    My blood boiled. Some irresponsible citizen had chucked their garbage into the park.
    The dog stopped barking and settled into a low whine. He stood over the bag, looking back at me. Urging me to come closer.
    I shined the flashlight on the bag.
    Something reflected back at me.
    This was no garbage bag. It was person. A man.
    I ran forward and dropped to my knees in the snow. Ignoring the pain in my wrist, I reached for the man. I touched his shoulder, intending to give him a good shake.Perhaps he’d had too much to drink and had foolishly lain down in the snow for a short nap, or had tripped and been knocked unconscious.
    He was so very cold. I touched his neck, and nothing