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WEDNESDAY BROUGHT LIGHT RAIN. Mountain thunderstorms are usually brief, but steady drizzle had been falling since mid- morning and showed no sign of letting up. Buck and I had just returned from a noontime run around the lake when the phone rang. I reached for the cordless unit in my kitchen as I watched a pair of blue jays zoom in and out of the pines behind my log home. "Mr. Keane?" "Yes." "My name is Mary Pat McCormick. I'm Professor Smyers's graduate assistant. She asked me to photocopy some papers for you, and I wanted to let you know you can pick them up whenever you like." Her voice had a slight throaty quality, like a young Kathleen Turner. "Will you be there in an hour?" "One of us will." "Great, I'll come right down." I returned the phone to its cradle and watched the blue jays take off. They didn't say where they were going. Maybe Toronto. Preferring fountain drinks to canned pop, I stopped at the B&F Market-Nederland's only grocery store-for a forty-four- ounce diet Coke, then headed down the mountain. The visitors' lots were again full, so I parked where I'd parked before. In the exact same spot. I was beginning to think of it as my spot.