Once the woman's in the door, Beth closes it tight - God, it's cold out there. She doesn't bother hiding the knife or putting it away, letting it hang at her side like it's an extension of her hand; some part of her thinks, maybe it's better if people know she has it. (Which is crazy, you know - but then, so is getting attacked by a vacuum cleaner guy.)

Her eyes grow more intent at the question. "Atlanta. You can come in, if you're not one of them."

She's already in, technically, but Beth's walking toward the kitchen, where they can sit at the table and talk.