“…a doozy…enty-four to thirty-s…to four fe…inds of fifty-f…” The dying batteries in the radio released just enough information to let everyone in the diner know that they would be stuck for the duration of the storm. There was just enough visibility between blasts of snow to allow Jane to see the patrol car pull into the lot.

As she refilled coffee, she watched an officer pull a man in handcuffs from the back and shove him toward the diner. The prisoner was a gangly man with shoulder length hair and a bruised left eye. When he saw Jane as he entered, he gave her a predominately toothless leer that sent chills down her spine. The officer shoved him down in a booth. “You, stay,” he said and approached the counter.

“Coffee, please. Black.” Jane filled a mug and handed it to the cop. “It’s crazy out there,” he continued. “I about put the car in a ditch three times. We’ll just wait out the worst of it and then be on our way. Just keep clear of him,” he said, motioning to the booth, which was now empty.

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