3
I dug my shovel into the snow. My street, a long, long row of brownstones, was quiet. The moon shone bright, thinly blanketed by clouds colored orange by the streetlights.
Three o’clock in the morning was the perfect time for thinking.
A subzero chill cut through me.
I heaped a bucket full of snow into our tiny yard, a twenty by twenty plot of land that was dirt most of the year because we never took care of it.
After a while, I built a nice little snow mound that had twigs, weeds, and dirt clods sticking out at odd angles.
Here I was, knee-deep in snow and knee-deep in another client’s problems…
And Allegra da Silva was a mystery.
She came, as all our clients did, out of nowhere.
Either she just happened to dream a lot about trains and death, and it was a coincidence, or someth
