CHAPTER 45
LUNCH WAS A do-it-yourself project. All the components were laid out on the big stainless steel counter in the kitchen—deli meats and cheeses, a container of chicken salad, lettuce, pickles, tomatoes, a selection of breads, chips, fruit, and carrot sticks. Nate assembled a sandwich and grabbed a canned soda, joining the others in the dining room. Power to the neighborhood had not been restored and to save gas, the lights were switched off during daylight hours. The weak glow coming through the windows cast the room in gray and Nate sensed its occupants were fighting that enervating effect with a forced jollity. He sat and munched, listening to the bantering conversation. When it hit a lull, he swallowed and leaned forward.
“Who’s Amanda Horton?” he asked.
There was a brief
