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face was streaked with mascara, the gray sheath she had worn the night before was torn and stained, and she was trying to cover her bare feet with the long skirt. “I’m sorry,” she said again, and put her head down on her knees, sobbing.
    “My God, Claire. What’s happened?” I started toward her and nearly fell over Woofer’s leash. “Wait a minute. Let me put him up.” I pushed the reluctant dog inside his fence, sat down by Claire, and put my arm around her.
    “I’m so cold,” she whimpered.
    “Are you hurt?”
    “I’m just so tired and cold.”
    “Well, let’s go in where it’s warm. Do you feel like standing up?”
    “Yes.”
    As I helped her to her feet, I could feel her whole body shaking with a hard chill. First things first, I thought. I would find out what happened later. Right now, I had to get her inside and get her warm.
    I am a small woman. Fortunately, Claire was even smaller, probably five feet tall, but wraith thin. She leaned heavily on me as I got her to the den sofa and covered her with an afghan. I got the heating pad from the closet and put it under her feet, which were scratched and dirty.
    “Think you can keep down some coffee?” I asked.
    She nodded and closed her eyes. The lids were bluish against her black brows. She needed medical attention, I realized. We could be dealing with shock or hypothermia here.
    “No doctor,” she said, reading my hesitation. “Please, no doctor. I’ll be okay when I get some coffee.”
    “I think you need some help, Claire.” I reached over and smoothed her bangs back from her forehead.
    “Please, Mrs. Hollowell.” Tears rolled from her closed eyes. “Please. I’m already feeling better.”
    The quivering of her body told me she was lying, but upsetting her more wasn’t going to help.
    “I’ll get the coffee,” I said.
    She sighed deeply. “Thank you.”
    When I got back, a matter of only a minute or two, she was asleep. For a second, it frightened me. She lay just as I had left her, on her back with the afghan covering her. Her mouth was slightly open, and tears still ran down her cheeks, but she was breathing quietly and the shaking had lessened.
    “Claire?” I said softly, wondering if this was a natural sleep.
    She mumbled, and turned into a semifetal position.
    “You okay?”
    “Don’t do it,” she said.
    “Do what, Claire?”
    She mumbled again, and put her hand under her cheek. I sat down and looked at her. Her breathing gradually deepened, and I realized this was the sleep of deep exhaustion. The best thing I could do was let her rest. While I watched, her black hair slid down over her hand. Claire Moon, I thought. Beautiful Claire Moon. Are you still Claire Needham in your dreams?
    I tiptoed from the room and called Sister to tell her I couldn’t bring the twins to see Santa.
    “Claire Moon?” she said, when I explained. “What’s wrong with her?”
    “Cold and exhausted. How she got this way, I don’t know.”
    “You didn’t ask her? My Lord, Patricia Anne.”
    “I didn’t get a chance. I thought for a few minutes I was going to have to call 911 or take her to the emergency room.”
    “Does she know about Mercy?”
    “I have no idea.”
    Sister made a sound of disgust. “I can’t believe that. I’ll call you from the mall. Okay? Maybe by that time you’ll know something.”
    “I’m taking the phone off the hook.”
    “Fine. You do that, Miss INF.”
    “What?” I said. “What?” But Sister was gone. I was about to dial her again when I remembered INF stood forintuitive, introverted, feeling, three personality traits that Mary Alice wouldn’t be caught dead with.
    I finished the cup of coffee I had fixed for Claire and called Bonnie Blue. Her brother, James, answered and said she had already left for work, that the shop was opening early during December. I asked him if he had heard about Mercy Armistead’s death, and he said Thurman had called him.
    “Pretty shook up,” he said. “I’m