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hang out with the same group she and Simon did, she had heard his name mentioned and seen him at an official meeting or two.
    Jed was listening to the radio and petting Chocolate when Skye climbed back into the pickup. She looked at her watch. It was almost ten-thirty. “Sorry I took so long. The store was mobbed. Did you see Gillian?”
    “Yep.” Jed put the truck in gear. “Any place else?”
    Skye was about to say no—she really didn’t feel very well, sort of fuzzy and not able to think straight—when she remembered it was Wednesday. “Well, if you have time, I am supposed to pick up my Instant Gourmet order at Barbie Addison’s today.”
    “Where’s she live?”
    “You know those big houses south of here after the curve?”
    “By the cemetery?”
    “Right. Barbie’s is the biggest one.”
    “Okay.” Jed turned left.
    “Dad, do you know a Mr. Turner?”
    “Big guy?”
    Skye nodded. “He resembles one of the less attractive mountains.”
    “That’d be Nate Turner. He owns Turner Landscaping.” Jed looked at her. “Why?”
    “He was being a jerk at the grocery store.”
    “Yep, that’s him. He’s a couple of hubcaps short of aBuick.” Jed shook his head. “Stay away from him. He’s a mean son of a—”
    The rest of Jed’s comment was drowned out by a snow-plow rumbling past them in the opposite lane.
    Skye pointed. “There, on the left. That’s the Addisons’.”
    As her father guided the truck down the long driveway, Skye viewed the house with fresh eyes. She’d been inside on two or three occasions to play bridge or attend a party, but she had always arrived at night, and the sheer size of the place hadn’t been as noticeable in the dark.
    In the stark sunlight, the enormous brown multilevel house looked liked an airplane hangar. It was easily six thousand square feet, and that was without the three-car, double-width garage that was bigger than Skye’s cottage.
    “I’ll only be a minute. I’ve already paid, so Barbie just has to hand me the package,” Skye said to her dad as she slid out of the truck cab.
    She walked past the two vehicles already parked in the driveway and up the front steps. Twin evergreen wreaths with shiny gold bows hung on the Addisons’ big double front doors. Barbie was obviously getting a jump on her Christmas decorating—she was well-known for the extravagant displays she put out for every holiday.
    Skye rang the bell and waited. No answer. She rang it again and once more. Still no response. Swell. Barbie must not be home. She was turning to leave when she saw a small engraved brass sign that read: INSTANT GOURMET PICKUPS IN REAR.
    The drive and front steps had been cleared, but the side-walk leading around back hadn’t. There was a single set of footprints marring the snow, and Skye tried to walk in them to avoid getting her new leather boots wet.
    Winter had come early to Scumble River. They’d had frost in early October, sleet on Veterans Day, and it looked as if it would be a white Thanksgiving.
    Unlike her mother, who adored snow, Skye was not a fanof the white stuff. She did not like anything that got in her way, made her late, or ruined her expensive shoes.
    Today was a good example. What a waste of time. And despite what scientists said, she was convinced that snow, not germs, caused head colds.
    As Skye followed the footprints to the garage’s side door, she noticed that the Addisons’ backyard looked like a Christmas card, and the air smelled of pine and chimney smoke.
    She knocked, and watched as the door swung inward. It obviously had not been latched. She could hear “Jingle Bells” playing and called out, “Barbie.”
    Nothing.
    She tried again. “Barbie, it’s Skye Denison. I’m here to pick up my order.”
    There was no answer. Skye stepped through the door. It felt as if she had entered a maze made out of cardboard boxes. The entire three-car garage was stacked with bins, crates, and cartons as far as Skye could see. Calling