The Christmas Thief by Mary Higgins Clark and Carol Higgins Clark

idiots Benjamin and Giuseppe Como, better known as Benny and Jo-Jo, at their indictments. Opal remembered sitting across a conference table from the three of them when they were urging her to invest more money. Benny had gotten up to help himself to more coffee. He moved like such a shlump—as though he had a load in his pants, as my mother used to say.
    That was it! Opal thought. She quickly sat up in bed and turned on the light. She had suddenly realized that the man she had spotted putting skis on the rack of the van in front of a farmhouse when she was cross-country skiing the other day reminded her of Benny.
    The group of skiers she was with on Saturday afternoon had been following the instructor, but the trail they were on had such a large group of slowpokes ahead of them that the instructor had said, “Let’s try going around them this way.” They ended up skiing through the woods near a shabby old farmhouse.
    My shoelace broke, Opal remembered, so I sat on a rock, still in the woods but closer to the house. In front of it a man was putting skis on top of a van. He seemed familiar, but then somebody called him and he moved away. Even though he was hurrying, he seemed to shlump back into the house.
    He was short and stocky. He shlumped. I’d swear now it was Benny Como!
    But that’s impossible, Opal told herself, her mind racing. What would he be doing up here? The district attorney who was going to prosecute the Comos at their trial said he was sure that Benny and Jo-Jo had skipped the country when they were out on bail. Why would Benny be in Vermont?
    There was no staying in bed. Opal got up, put on her robe, and went downstairs. The great room was one open space with a beamed ceiling, stone fireplace, and large windows that looked out on the mountains. The kitchen area was two steps up from the rest of the room and defined by a breakfast bar. Opal made a pot of coffee, poured herself a cup, and stood at the window sipping the special Vermont brew. But she barely tasted it. As she looked out at the beautiful landscape, she wondered if Benny could possibly still be out there at that farmhouse.
    Alvirah and Willy won’t be up for a couple of hours, she thought. I could ski over to the farmhouse now. If that van is outside, I’ll copy down the license plate number. I’m sure Jack Reilly could check it out for me.
    Otherwise we’ll just go watch the Rockefeller Center tree being cut down, visit Alvirah’s maple syrup tree, and then go home. And I’ll always wonder if that man was Benny and I missed a chance to get him locked up.
    I’m not going to let that happen, Opal decided. She went upstairs and dressed quickly, putting on a heavy sweater under the ski jacket she had bought at the gift shop in the lodge. When she stepped outside, she saw that the sky was overcast and felt a damp chill in the air. More snow on the way, she thought—all the diehard skiers must be in seventh heaven to have snow this early in the season.
    I have a pretty good sense of direction, she told herself as she stepped into her skis and mentally reviewed the way to the farmhouse. I won’t have any trouble finding it.
    She pushed off with her poles and began to ski across the field. It’s so quiet and peaceful, she thought. Even though she had barely slept, Opal felt awake and alert. This might be crazy, she admitted to herself, but I need to feel as if I haven’t overlooked a chance to catch those thieves and see them in handcuffs.
    Leg irons, too, she added. That would be a sight to behold.
    She was moving uphill at a steady pace. I’m pretty darn good on these, she thought proudly. Wait till we’re having breakfast and I tell Alvirah what I was doing this morning! She’ll be mad as heck at me for not waking her up.
    Half an hour later Opal was in the wooded area across from the farmhouse. I have to be careful. People get up early in the country, she reminded herself—not like some of her neighbors in the city whose drawn