Baxter pursed his lips. “In the first place, snowstorms on the southeast coast of England rarely last more than a few days. We still have a week before our guests arrive. By then it will no doubt be as balmy as a spring day.”

“But-”

He held up his hand. “In the second place, in the unlikely event that the snow is still with us, it should be a simple matter to organize activities that do not require our guests to go outside.”

Cecily tossed her head. “Simple? Simple? Do you have the slightest idea what goes into planning events for the entire Christmas fortnight?”

He started to speak, but this time it was she who held up her hand. “In the first place, no, of course you do not know. You have never been involved in such matters. In the second place, I cannot imagine a Christmas without carol singers on the doorstep, or shoppers strolling down the Esplanade to gaze into the windows, or Boxing Day without the hunt, or-”

Apparently deciding that a raised hand was not going to silence his wife this time, Baxter folded his newspaper and stood. “My dear Cecily, you are borrowing trouble, as usual. As I said, it is highly unlikely the snow will still be with us in a week. Even if it should be, since you are the Pennyfoot’s resourceful and proficient manager, I have no doubt that with the help of such brilliant and creative minds as those of your associates, the inimitable Phoebe Fortescue and the equally incomparable Madeline Prestwick, not to mention your own superior talents, this year’s Christmas season will be every bit as memorable as the previous ones. If not more so.”

Cecily gazed at him in awe. Baxter was usually sparse with his comments. Such a wordy compliment was rare indeed. Even so, at his words she couldn’t help but suppress a shiver. “I sincerely hope not. I would like, for once, a Christmas without a corpse to ruin the festivities.”

Baxter grunted. “I heartily agree. Dead bodies are hardly conducive to a merry Christmas. In any case-” Whatever he was about to say was cut off by a timid tapping on the door. Frowning, he called out, “Yes? What is it?”