the backwoods of Vermont。 She was hoping she wouldn"t see anyone in the week she was here。 Pretty reclusive for a former socializer； she mused without a hint of remorse。 From the hearth； the sudden crumbling of an ash…split log startled her。 She whirled from the window； eyes wide in alarm。 When she realized what the sound was； she took a breath and uncurled fingers from fists。 After months of being bitten to the quick； her nails had grown into nicely tapered tips。 And there was her wedding band； wide and gold； gleaming with deceptive brightness； on the third finger of her left hand。 When the fire spoke again； cackling for a feeding； she knelt before the warm stone。 Taking a piece of dried birch from the large wood basket； she laid it over the broken embers。 The log heated； then burst into flame。 It was an omen； she vowed； as she picked up her book from the floor by her chair。 Slipping large tortoiseshell glasses over the bridge of her nose； she settled back between the chair"s wide wings。 They were a fort； these wings； serving to keep her sights on the fire before her； rather than on the darkness behind。 Her ticket to freedom lay in her lap。 Ever an avid reader； Anne had escaped into books in recent months； when all else failed to calm her。 As a friend； a book had advantages over the human variety。 It was there whenever she needed it； it vanished as easily； and it never asked questions； expected witty replies； made awkward suggestions； or otherwise overpensated for its own inability to right the wrongs of the world。 She had packed a friend…a…day supply for this trip。 That was all the pany she needed。 The hardcover in her hand was a biography。 She opened it now； and was suddenly caught up in the same world she was trying to flee。 On the inside cover of the volume was an inscription that she hadn"t noticed earlier。 It brought back a storm of memories。 〃To my favorite sister…in…law。 Have a marvelous vacation and be sure to spend a week with us when you get back。 Maryellen。〃 From the first； Jeff"s family had adored her。 They had always insisted that they would hold Jeff personally to blame if the marriage ended。 In that spirit； they had stayed so close to Anne"s side that she had to finally beg them for space。 They had eased off； but with reluctance。 Anne"s parents had persisted； urging her to give up the apartment and move back home； but she refused。 She knew that as crammed with reminders of Jeff as the apartment was； it was better than the Westchester home where she had grown up。 To return there would be an admission of failure…failure to make the kind of happy life her parents had。 A ghost of a smile lifted the corners of her lips。 Her childhood had been happy indeed； even those awkward adolescent years when she was an ugly duckling； by modest accounts。 Oh； her parents denied it； but the mirror didn"t lie； and； anyway； the ugly duckling became a swan well before the Senior Prom。 By that time she was quiet and graceful； thriving academically； socially； and emotionally。 Nothing in her rosy first twenty…seven years had even remotely begun to prepare her for the heartbreak at the start of her twenty…eighth。 Brought back to the present by a pang of hunger； she closed the untouched book and went to the kitchen。 She flipped on a single light； mixed tuna into a salad； put a pot of coffee on to perk； and toasted rye bread。 With the sandwich plate in one hand and a coffee mug in the other； she retraced her steps； flipping the light off with a nudge of the elbow。 Her hunger surprised her。 Unusual for her； she finished the sandwich。 Revived； she sat back in the chair； the mug warming her hands as the fire warmed her feet； and it suddenly struck her that she was beginning to feel。 It had been months since she had smelled coffee brewing or felt the barefoot plushness of a carpet。 But the coffee did smell good。 Same with the burning logs and the pines outside； and her feet did feel； albeit smooth sanded oak planks rather than the thick carpeting of home。 Pushing the glasses up on her nose； she stared at the biography； but it wasn"t a biography kind of night。 Jumping up； she returned to her room for a replacement。 Mystery or romance…the choice was easy。 A romance might appeal to her later in the week； when she was feeling stronger。 She took the mystery and set off。 The addition of several logs brightened the blaze in the hearth。 Edging her chair closer； she read from its light； and the book drew her in。 Within a chapter； she was the heroine。 She was only marginally aware that the rain was ing harder； beating with increased force against rooftop； windowpane； and clapboard。 It was a fitting backdrop for the story of a young woman stranded in the deep woods in a cabin not unlike her oparison； debated switching to the romance after all； but was inexorably drawn back to the tightly written piece。 Burrowing deeper into the chair； she gave herself up to the plot。 She read for two hours； pausing only for more coffee。 The gold watch on her wrist read eleven； but she was wide awake； stimulated by caffeine； her new surroundings； and the riveting edge of the story。 As Chapter Four became Five and then Six； the mystery deepened。 Accidents were neither accident nor coincidence。 Someone was after the heroine。 No； something was after her； or so it appeared from the bizarre markings left by footprints； paw prints； or whatever in the winter snow。 Terror slowly mounted。 The woman was trapped； hunted； doomed。 As Chapter Seven ended and Eight began； she hatched her escape plan against seemingly insurmountable odds。 Then； plicating an already desperate situation； came the blizzard。 Gale force winds； blinding snows； chilling temperatures conspired to keep her at the mercy of the wild beast that stalked her。 With a thud； Anne put the book facedown onto her lap； heart pounding in vicarious fright。 Mystery； my foot； she mused with regret； this book is sheer horror！ It wouldn"t have been so bad if she"d picked it up last night or last week in New York。 Here； though； she was alone； isolated from the familiar； a good three miles from a shred of civi