“I assume you’re still opposed to hamsters, guinea pigs, and gerbils,” he reported. “Persian cats and Siamese fighting fish were also discussed and vetoed. Josh and I spent quite a lot of time at the perfume counter, but in the end he decided that Rose Noire makes much better smells.”

“He’s probably right.”

“Josh still thinks maybe you’d enjoy an electric train set once you started playing with it,” he went on. “And he was disappointed that the diamond earrings he likes are a couple of thousand dollars over what he’s saved up in his piggy bank.”

“I do wish you could convince them just to make something,” I said. “I’m sure I’d be delighted with anything they made.”

“I know that,” he said. “But for some reason this year they are determined to buy you a present. If you can think of anything you’d like, let me know and I’ll try to talk them into it.”

“Will do,” I said, just as the boys scampered back to the table.

By the time we finished, the snow had started falling. But we weren’t about to let a little snow ruin our plans for the evening—going to see the world famous New Life Baptist Church’s gospel choir. Every year they did a Christmas concert at the church for the unfortunate townspeople who, not being Baptist, wouldn’t get to hear them sing at their Christmas services.

This year was especially exciting because it was New Life’s first Christmas concert since my friend Minerva Burke had taken over as choir director. My friend Aida Butler was a nervous wreck, because her daughter Kayla was doing her first big solo, so I made her sit with us and distracted her by telling her all about the designers’ antics.

Aida was still in her uniform as a sheriff’s deputy. The boys were fascinated by the various objects hanging from her belt.

“Mommy, wouldn’t you like one of those?” Jamie asked, pointing to Aida’s police radio.

“No, that,” Josh said, pointing to Aida’s holster.

“They’re both very nice,” I said. “But I don’t think anyone but police officers are allowed to have police guns and police radios.”

The boys pondered this in silence for a few moments.

“Is it hard to become a police officer?” Jamie asked.

“You have to go to the police academy,” Aida said. “For six months. And I’m sure your mom is smart enough to do very well there, but I don’t think she wants to spend that much time away from her family.”

Jamie seemed satisfied with this answer, but all through the concert Josh continued to study Aida’s uniform and then look at me as if picturing me in one.

Nothing put me into a holiday mood more certainly than really good carol singing, and I was also looking forward to seeing how well the choir did with Minerva as its new leader. We all knew the choir had become happier since its former much-hated director had departed under a cloud. But would they sing as well?

I should never have doubted Minerva. Or Kayla.

“They’ve outdone themselves,” Mother exclaimed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard them this good, and that’s saying something.”

As we were filing out—slowly, because everyone kept stopping in clumps to chatter about how lovely the choir sounded and how beautifully the church was decorated—I ran into Randall.

“So is Clay in or out?” I asked him.

“Don’t know yet,” he said. “The only time I could get the whole committee together was just after the concert. I’m heading to the meeting now. I’ll call you when I know.”

After the concert, I took the boys home and put them to bed and then wrapped presents while Michael went to the college theater for a quick tech rehearsal. Tomorrow was the first of two nights that he’d be doing his annual dramatic reading of Dickens’s A Christmas Carol.

It should have been a peaceful evening. I lit a fire in the fireplace, and the smell of juniper and cedar filled the room. Rose Noire and my brother, Rob, joined me, and we all wrapped presents and wrote cards while listening to Christmas music.

Rob was trying to be secretive, doing his wrapping behind one of the sofas. But since every single present he brought out to place under the tree was a flat rectangle about five and a half by seven and a half inches, I deduced that we were all getting our own personal copies of whatever new computer game Mutant Wizards, his company, had developed for the holiday season.

But his attempts at discretion and secrecy, however unsuccessful, made him so happy that Rose Noire and I both stifled our giggles and tried to look properly mystified at each stack of presents he deposited under the tree.

Rose Noire was humming happily as she wrapped another batch of her expensive gift baskets. The fact that Rob and Rose Noire, two of the least practical and businesslike people on the planet, had achieved financial success by doing what they loved usually cheered me and made me believe there was hope for humanity.

But tonight I was restless. I couldn’t write a coherent note on a Christmas card. I mangled the paper whenever I tried to wrap a present. I kept thinking that I should have gone over to the house to make sure Randall’s workers had cleaned up all the damage.

Rob, who was happily singing along with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir on the radio, didn’t seem to notice my mood. Rose Noire did, though, and did her best to distract me from it.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me giving ant farms to the boys?” she asked. “Because if you’re not, there’s still time to get the organic crayons.”

“I think we’ll be fine with the ant farms,” I said. “As long as you can provide some kind of natural, environmentally safe ant repellant if they get out.”

“They’re vegan, wheat-free, sugar-free, preservative free—”

“The ants?” I asked.

“The crayons. And yes, I have a plan for when the ants get out.”

When they get out? I’d have preferred if. But still, worrying about a hypothetical ant invasion distracted me, at least briefly, from my larger worries. When the Mormon Tabernacle Choir began booming out “Joy to the World” we all three joined in.

A little after eleven, I finally got the long-awaited call from Randall.

“Show house committee just broke up.” He sounded exhausted.

“This late? Well, is Clay in or out?”

“In, dammit. Not because we really want him, and he can kiss next year’s house good-bye. But he’s known to be litigious.”

“And you think he’d sue if we really kicked him out.” I sighed. “You’re probably right. And I doubt if he’d win, but beating him would cost a lot of money.”

“Probably more than the show house will clear. So we’re counting on you. Just hold it together till the opening.”

“Will do. Have we fixed everything he did today?”

“It was going well when I had to leave. I didn’t have a chance to drop by after the concert—the committee’s been meeting ever since it ended.”

A two-hour meeting? To decide to do nothing at all? Not for the first time, I uttered a small, silent prayer of thanks that I had resisted Mother’s attempts to talk me into joining the committee.

“I think I should go down and check, then,” I said. “How are the roads?”

“Roads are fine, but why not wait until morning to check?”

“Because I won’t be able to sleep till I do,” I said. “I’ll call you if I spot any problems, and then if anyone complains, we can say we already know and already have a plan to deal with it.”

“E-mail me.” He was obviously stifling a yawn. “Because I hope to be asleep in about ten minutes.”

I decided that since Michael should arrive soon, I’d wait and get his opinion on the roads. Randall drove a truck and prided himself on being able to drive on anything the weather threw at us. Michael had a more normal view on snow. I tried to concentrate on my Christmas cards.

By the time Michael arrived it was nearly midnight. Rose Noire had said goodnight and gone upstairs an hour before, and Rob was yawning. I was still wide awake.