Feeling Marge’s hands trembling, Lucy gave them a gentle squeeze. “Don’t be silly—it can’t be helped. I’m glad you called. Honest. Now, get going,” she said, giving her a little shove. “And call me as soon as you have any news.”

Lucy stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Officer Findlay lead Marge down the icy path to the patrol car; then she shut the door firmly against the dark and cold. She tiptoed down the hall. It wasn’t difficult to figure out which room was Eddie’s. Pausing outside the door that had been left slightly ajar, she peeked in. Enough light from the hall filtered in so that she could see Eddie sleeping peacefully. His face was plump and round, and asleep he looked much younger than he did in the daytime. Although he was a big, strapping boy, he wasn’t really very old—only ten; like Toby. He still needed his parents, thought Lucy. Both his parents.

Returning to the living room, Lucy sat down on the plaid Herculon couch. She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them. She was still shivering slightly, and she let out a long, quavering sigh.

The Christmas tree stood in the corner, glimmering as the tinsel wafted gently in the updraft from the baseboard heat. The lights were still on, twinkling gaily, and the opened presents were spread out beneath the pine branches. Among the presents she noticed a hat and scarf set from Country Cousins. It was one of the less expensive items in the catalog and was a very popular gift. Lucy alone had sold hundreds of them. Seeing a little gift card tucked in the corner of the box, she took it out and unfolded it carefully. “To Marge,” the card read, “because you need more than love to keep you warm.” It was signed “Barney.”

Lucy dropped it as if it had suddenly burst into flame in her hand and wrapped her arms around herself. Her glance fell on the worn recliner in the corner that was clearly Barney’s chair. The lamp table beside it was well stocked with the hard candies he had sucked on steadily since giving up smoking, and his TV Guide and remote control awaited his return.

“Damn,” muttered Lucy. She didn’t for a moment believe that Barney’s crash had been an accident. He was an expert driver; in fact, he’d taken many specialized driving courses for police officers. He loved driving the big cruiser with its antilock brakes and heavy-duty suspension, and often said that if you knew what to do, you could control any skid.

Of course, the road to Barrow’s Light was full of curves, and black ice was always possible this time of year. But Barney would have known that and driven accordingly, thought Lucy.