The Christmas Thief by Mary Higgins Clark and Carol Higgins Clark Page B

used to Alvirah’s early-morning observances and had learned to grunt approval of them even as he savored the last few minutes of drowsy near sleep.
    Alvirah studied him. His eyes were closed, and his head was buried in the pillow. “Willy, the world has just come to an end, and you and I are dead,” she said.
    “Uh-huh,” Willy agreed. “That’s great.”
    No use rousing him yet, Alvirah decided.
    She showered and dressed in dark gray wool slacks and a gray and white cardigan sweater set, another of Baroness Min’s selections for her. She checked her appearance in the full-length mirror on the closet door. I look okay, she decided matter-of-factly. In the old days I’d be wearing purple slacks and an orange and green sweatshirt. Inside, I’m still wearing them, I guess. Willy and I haven’t changed. We both like to help out other folks. He does it by fixing leaky pipes for people who can’t afford plumbers. I do it by trying to straighten out situations when people are overwhelmed with problems.
    She walked over to the dresser and picked up her sunburst pin with the microphone in the center and clasped it on her sweater. I want to record what people have to say when the tree is cut down, she decided. It will make a nice little story for my column.
    “Honey.”
    Alvirah turned. Willy was sitting up in bed. “Did you say something about the end of the world?”
    “Yes, and I told you we were both dead. But don’t worry. We’re still alive, and they called off the end of the world.”
    Willy grinned sheepishly. “I’m awake now, honey.”
    “I’ll start packing while you shower and dress,” Alvirah said. “We’re meeting the others in the dining room for breakfast at eight-thirty. Funny, I haven’t heard a sound from Opal’s room. I’d better wake her up.”
    She and Willy were in the master bedroom suite on the main floor of the villa; Opal was upstairs in another large bedroom. Alvirah walked into the great room, caught the aroma of coffee, and spotted Opal’s note on the breakfast bar. Why would Opal be up and out already? she wondered as she hurried to read the note.
    Dear Alvirah and Willy,
    I left early to do some cross-country skiing. There’s something I have to check out. I’ll meet you for breakfast at the lodge at 8:30.
    Love,
    Opal
    With growing concern, Alvirah reread the note. Opal’s a good cross-country skier, but she doesn’t know all these trails, she told herself. They can go into pretty remote areas. She shouldn’t be out there alone. What was so important that she had to leave so early to check it out? she wondered.
    Alvirah went over to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. It had a slightly bitter taste, like coffee that had been sitting on the burner for a couple of hours. She must have left very early, Alvirah thought.
    While she waited for Willy to dress, she found herself staring out at the mountains. Heavy clouds were forming. It was a gray day. There are so many trails out there, she thought. It would be so easy for Opal to get lost.
    It was a quarter after eight. Opal had promised to meet them at eight-thirty. It’s silly to worry, Alvirah decided. We’ll all be eating a nice breakfast together in a few minutes.
    Willy emerged from the bedroom wearing one of the Austrian sweaters he had bought at the gift shop. “Do you think I should learn how to yodel?” he asked, then looked around. “Where’s Opal?”
    “We’re meeting her at the lodge,” Alvirah answered. I only hope we are, she thought.

23
    R egan, Jack, Nora, and Luke left their cabin at 8:20 and headed toward the lodge.
    “This is so lovely,” Nora sighed. “Why is it that just when you really start to relax it’s time to go home?”
    “Well, if you didn’t agree to speak at so many luncheons, you could be as relaxed as my dearly departed clients,” Luke observed drily.
    “I can’t believe you said that,” Regan protested. “But then again, I can.”
    “It’s hard to say no when I can