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than concerned. “Looks like he was protected by this horrible old leather jacket that I keep trying to throw out. Good thing he wrapped up.”
    I cut a few more light strands. They finally dropped off Baxter and fell to the ground. Nina gathered them in a pile.
    “What kind of idiot takes a ladder up on the roof anyway?” muttered Gwen.
    Baxter sounded tired. “Didn’t you tell me you wanted lights on the dormer windows? Did you think I could just toss them up there?”
    Time to get out of their squabble. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
    Nina frowned at him. “Sophie is right. You ought to get checked out. That was a long fall.”
    “Nonsense. If he can argue with me, he’s fine.” Gwen sounded like a mom talking about a kid who’d taken a little tumble.
    “I guess we’ll head home, then.” Turning as I spoke, I stepped over the ladder. My father had owned one very much like it. Long and battered from use, various colors of paint had dripped on it over many years. My breath caught in my chest at the sight of the broken rung.
    It hadn’t worn out in the middle from years of use. It broke on the side where it connected to the ladder. I was no expert, but only part of the rung had splintered as wood should. The top portion of the break appeared almost smooth, as if it had been sawed.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Dear Sophie,
    I’m married to a Christmas nut. For years my husband has wanted a lighted Christmas wreath attached to the front of his car. I’d like to surprise him, but I don’t know where to start. Do they sell wreaths for cars?
    Santa’s Helper in Bow, Kentucky
    Dear Santa’s Helper,
    You can buy prewired artificial wreaths for cars at many automotive stores. If you would rather use a fresh wreath, then use a string of battery-powered lights, or twelve-volt LED lights that plug into the car’s cigarette lighter.
    Sophie
    My gaze drifted to Gwen, who fussed at Baxter. “I’m behind schedule now,” she complained. “There’s so much to do. My cookie swap is tomorrow. I don’t have time to coddle you. Can you walk? And Nina, don’t you dare bring store-bought cookies.”
    Their front door opened again. Katrina, the Babineauxs’ youngest daughter, viewed the scene. Six years old with an adorable mischievous face and pudgy cheeks, she ventured toward her parents, her auburn tresses unkempt as though no one had bothered to comb her hair. “Mom? Mom! What if I promise—”
    “Really, Kat. Can’t you see that I’m busy? The subject is closed. There will be no animals of any sort in my house. You’re allergic to them. End of story. Now get out of your father’s way.”
    Baxter stood up unsteadily.
    Kat watched with a crestfallen expression and whispered to no one, “But I’m
not
allergic.”
    A tinny rendition of “Jingle Bells” played on our street, distracting us. A faded red and white VW camper pulled up in front of the Babineauxs’ home. A lighted wreath covered most of the front under the window and between the headlights. Colorful lights twinkled around the windows. A sign on the side read
No More Hungry Children
.
    Gwen’s mouth hung open. “Noooo,” she breathed.
    A man leaped out of the driver’s seat and yelled, “Baxter, baby!” He held his fists over his head and did a little dance of joy, rotating his ample middle.
    Gwen hissed, “Please tell me that’s not your brother, Elvin.”
    Baxter probably didn’t hear her. With a joyous cry, he charged toward the dancing man and held him in a bear hug. The guy looked suspiciously like a younger, chubbier version of Baxter. I’d have bet on them being related.
    The passenger door opened and a long shapely leg emerged, followed by another. The owner wore her skirt too short, her makeup too heavy, and her sweater far too tight on the most ample bosom I could recall seeing.
    Gwen gasped.
    The woman’s curves made Gwen’s shapely figure seem positively scrawny.
    The woman smiled and issued a happy little scream. “Gwen!” She sauntered