CHRISTINE HUSOM

I’m working on the 5th Snow Globe Shop Mystery and asked for book title suggestions. Thanks to each one of you who sent a prospective title–a lot of great ones! My team chose “Snow Place Like Home,” submitted by Cathy Thisius. Thank you, Cathy!

Here’s a condensed clip from the first chapter. Camryn Brooks is the first person narrator:

I yawned on my way to the living room, stretched out on the couch, pulled a comforter over my body, and opened a book I’d been reading. I was involved in the novel’s complex plot when my cell phone buzzed. I reached over and plucked it from the coffee table. My best friend Alice “Pinky” Nelson’s name appeared on the screen.

I smiled and pushed the accept button. “Hey, Pink—”

She cut me off. “Ahhhh. Cami, you need to come out here. Now.” She spoke with a hushed intensity. Was she hurt, in trouble?

My heart sank as I dropped the book, threw back the comforter, and jumped off the couch. “Come out where? Where are you, Pinky?”

“Kitchen . . . window. . . yours. . . look . . . out.” It took me a second to process her words, comprehend what she meant. She was in my backyard? Had she tripped and fallen?

I crossed the ten feet in a flash, slid my feet into boots by the back entry, cast all apprehension aside, and pushed open the door. The early evening sky was cloaked in darkness, and with the help of an alley’s street lamp, I spotted a vehicle I didn’t recognize parked by my garage. What in the world?

Pinky’s car sat next to it. I flipped on the outside house light and saw Pinky sitting in her car. When I went down the steps and moved toward her, she jumped out from her driver’s seat and pointed at the other vehicle. “I think he might be dead.”

My heart sank even lower as I glanced at a bulky form in the other vehicle’s passenger seat. I was unable to move, frozen to my spot on the snow-covered lawn. Pinky closed the gap between us and threw her arms around me. We turned our heads in sync toward the vehicle occupied by an unknown—dead or alive–person.

Thoughts ricocheted around in my mind. What came from my mouth was, “What brought you here tonight, Pink?”

“Cami, why would you ask me that when we’ve got some kind of crisis on our hands here.”

“Because I need to know if this is a dream, or if it’s for real.”

“Oh. Um . . . I picked up some groceries and had the dish I wanted to return, you know, from when you sent that chicken and rice casserole home with me.”

I nodded and continued, “You got here. Then what?”

“When I pulled in, I saw that car I didn’t recognize and wondered who was here, and why. For a minute I thought maybe it belonged to someone in your family. I looked closer and noticed somebody inside. It startled me, scared me. Why would some random person be parked in your driveway? There was enough light from the alley street lamp so I could see it was a man. His head was tilted back and his mouth was gaped open.”

I lifted my hand toward the vehicle in question. “What makes you think he might be dead, and not sleeping?” Not to mention, why is he here in the first place?

“Maybe he’s not dead. If he’s passed out, we need to wake him up or he’s going to freeze to death. We need to find out,” Pinky said.

I shivered at the thought. Like that night, the temperatures had hovered above and below the freezing point all week.

Pinky squeezed me. “Cami, you should get a coat on, and then we’ll check.”

“No. We need to call the police to do that.” I’d left my phone on the kitchen counter. “I’ll go in and call Clint.” The Brooks Landing Police Chief who was also the man I’d started dating.

She grabbed my arm. “You’re not leaving me out here. . . alone . . . with him.”

I pulled Pinky along with me into the house. She pressed her face against the door’s window and kept watch from a safe distance while I picked up my phone.

My fingers trembled as I struggled to find Clint’s number and the seconds passed. Finally. It took three long rings before he picked up. “Camryn?”

“Clint, can you come to my house, like right now? We think there’s a . . . a dead guy in my backyard.”

He let out a huff. “What in tarnation are you talking about, and who’s ‘we?’”

“Pinky. She found him.”

“Not on purpose,” Pinky protested, her eyes still fixed on the mystery car.