"I told you everything I know!"

"That's hard to believe," I told him, surprised at my own directness. "You were living out here with Craig and Regina, weren't you? Isn't that your stuff up there, in one of the extra bedrooms?"

Rory gave me a fleeting look: bright eyed, hard. "What we did here isn't any of your business," he told me, with some justification. "Don't speak to my wife like that," Martin said coldly. He had appeared by my side with his usual silence. "We don't care about your love life. We just want to find out where Regina is, and whose baby this is." "Whose?" Rory looked down at his feet. He didn't seem to understand what Martin meant, and I thought, That could mean two things. "Well, as long as that baby is here, anyone could claim it, couldn't they? Anyone could say anything about that baby, who's gonna say no? Nobody knows nothing except me." That was a real conversation stopper, and it got the attention of almost everyone in the room.

The silence was broken by Karl Bagosian's entrance through the kitchen porch. I was so surprised to see him, I involuntarily said, "Where'd you come from, Karl?" Then, shaking my head at my own rudeness, I said, "Excuse me! It's good to see you again so soon! Would you like some coffee or hot chocolate?" I registered the fact that Karl wasn't wearing his prosperous midwestern car-salesman clothing anymore, but some very practical cold-weather wear. Karl was looking at Rory Brown with the coldest, most assessing look I'd ever seen. If I'd been on the receiving end of it, I'd have been as silent as Rory, and just as scared.

"Hey, Mr. Bagosian," Rory said finally. "How you doing? How's Therese?" "Don't speak her name." How theatrical the words sounded, and yet none of us even thought of laughing. Karl was deadly serious. Therese? I searched around the corners of my brain, finally remembered Therese was Karl's middle daughter.

"I need to talk to you for a minute, Martin," Karl said. "In the kitchen."

Talk about your social challenges.

"Rory," I said brightly, "wouldn't you like to go upstairs and gather your things together? Then you wouldn't have to make another trip out here!" To my relief, he took the verbal shove and went up the steps. Somehow, Rory looked much more at home in the house than I did. I fetched a baggy old sweater with big pockets I'd draped over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Karl and Martin were deep in conversation, so I didn't speak to them. I'd had the sweater on under my coat this morning when I'd gone out in the snow and seen the tracks, and the nursery monitor was still in the left-hand pocket. I glanced back through the doorway at our uninvited guests, who took the hint and began making small talk. Hayden, who'd been up for a few minutes, had been deposited in his infant seat by Martin, and of course he came in for a share of the conversation. The nightfall of snow was another hot topic, and after that, odds and ends of town gossip that were as boring to me as Lawrenceton gossip would be to any of these people. I was able to gather from the snips I caught as I refreshed mugs and fetched napkins that Margaret had once been a schoolteacher, Dennis Stinson supported the Dallas Cowboys, and more snow was expected today.

The hoot of a horn attracted my attention, and I went to the front door to see an old black pickup with an attachable sign that said U.S. MAIL sitting on the roof. The mail carrier was leaning out of the passenger window, a box and some envelopes in her hand.

"Hello," I called, and stepped out with only my sweater for warmth. The receiver for the nursery monitor, stuffed down in one of the big pockets, banged as I walked. I was glad I had my boots on. I crossed my arms over my chest as the breathtaking cold dove into my lungs.

"You the new people?" the woman asked. She was round all over and had a very misguided haircut, kind of a poorly done old-fashioned shag. She reeked of cigarette smoke.

"We're staying here temporarily. We're the owners," I said, close enough to the windows to lower my voice. The chug of the engine was loud in the snow-induced hush.

"Just wanted to check. I have a package here for the renter. You want to accept it? You want me to hold it until she comes back?" It was a box from Victoria's Secret. Good Lord. "I'll keep it for her," I said reluctantly, and tucked the box under my arm. The mail carrier had thoughtfully put a rubber band around the package to hold the envelopes to it.

"What's your name?" the carrier bellowed.

"Teagarden, and my husband's name is Bartell, but I don't think we'll be getting any mail here," I explained. "Do you just leave it in the mailbox out by the road?"

"Yes, normally, but this box wouldn't fit, and when I saw tracks going in I thought I could be sure someone would be up here," she said. "Well, nice to meetcha."

I thanked her, and clutching the package across my chest and shivering, the heavy pocket of my sweater banging against my stomach, I darted back into the house.

"That was Geraldine Clooney," Margaret said with some amusement. "What did you think?"

"She's one of a kind," I said.

Cindy and Dennis laughed. Luke wasn't in the room. Karl was pouring himself another cup of coffee, and Martin was coming down the stairs. The baby wasn't in his infant seat. Martin must have put him in his crib. I wondered why Rory hadn't come down with his things.

I wondered what Karl and Martin had been talking about in the kitchen. I wondered at the officiousness of Dennis and Cindy. Telling Rory that we wanted to see him was one thing; bundling him up and practically kidnapping him was another. If Dylan or Karl had brought Rory out, I wouldn't have wondered, but Cindy and Dennis?

As often happens to me, my mind began drifting along its own path. There's nothing like being alone in a crowd to spark a really interesting little thought pattern. I wondered how the Corinthians dug graves in the snow. Did the ground actually freeze, like the tundra? Would I get to see a snowplow? Did snowplows clean driveways, too?

"Roe? Roe?"

"Yes?" I gasped.

"I'm sorry," Margaret said, concern in her voice. "But I was telling you that we were going to be going now. You seemed so out of it." "Just daydreaming, I'm afraid," I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. "Thank you so much for coming to my rescue this morning." "I think I left my purse in the kitchen."

"Of course, let me go get it." I scooted into the kitchen. There was a rifle leaning against the wall by the back porch door. I absorbed all of this in one comprehensive glance, snatched up Margaret's purse from the counter, and handed it to her in the living room within seconds.

"I don't see Karl's transportation out there, Aurora," Margaret said. I looked up at her and shrugged.

"You got me," I said cheerfully. "Men are strange." Amusement crossed the pale face. "Come see me," she said warmly, and waving good-bye to the others, she and her husband made their way through the rutted snow to their vehicles.

Well, that was two fewer things blocking the view down to the little copse. I was loading the tray with used cups when I heard a strange little rustling sound. The oddest thing about it was that the sound seemed to be issuing from my appendix.

I thought about it as I carried the tray to the kitchen, sliding it carefully onto the counter. I looked down anxiously, I admit, and felt like a total idiot when I realized the sound had been issuing from the nursery monitor. Hayden must be moving around in the crib, I figured.

But... rustling? Karl came in just then, politely bringing an empty Equal packet. He looked around, spied the trash can, and dropped in the bit of paper. Since he was a courteous and orderly person, he tried not to ask me what I was doing staring at a nursery monitor as if it were communicating with me, but since he was also the man who'd been outside toting a rifle, he had to ask. Picking up on my concentration, he simply pointed a finger and raised his eyebrows inquiringly.