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Tom asked if I could drive back to Aspen Meadow. When Marla complained that we hadn’t had lunch yet, he said we could pick up something on the way back. She grumbled, but Tom said he wanted a few minutes to look through the sheets that Mrs. Peterson had given us. He shook his head. “Broome, check. Ingleby, check. Unger, check. ‘Excursions and classes offered by Boulder Fitness,’ ” he read. He tried to call the department to see who was working there, but since we were once again driving along the Hogback, there was no cell reception. He went back to reading aloud. “Presentations by blah, blah, blah, nobody we’ve heard of, except for Holly Ingleby, who did her jigsaw puzzle shtick. ‘With Thanksgiving puzzles for sale,’ it says on here.”
I was staring at the road, thinking about Mrs. Pe
