Free The Body in the Snowdrift by Katherine Hall Page

friends at home, Ed Martinson—you all know Ed—told me years ago about the way they toast in Norway, the old country to him. Whenever we’re at his house, this is how they do it, and I’m going to do it tonight. You look straight at the person you want to toast and maybe give a little nod; then you both take a drink. I’ve got two glasses filled and I want to toast each of you. So here goes. Skoal!”
    This time, there was no applause or catcalling. In silence, Dick looked deeply into the eyes of each person there, reaching down into each heart and soul before moving on to the next. It was a wonderful moment. When he came to her, Faith felt a lump in her throat. “Happy Birthday,” she whispered, adding another toast softly to herself: “May you enter heaven late.”
    The prime rib and accoutrements, cheesy potatoes prominent, arrived, and Dick sat down. When he’d heard Scott and Andy ask for the beef, Ben had orderedit, too—rare, just like theirs. The huge chunk of meat was threatening to spill off the plate, and Ben eyed it with something akin to dismay. Faith was about to lean over and tell him not to worry about finishing it, when Robert whispered something in his nephew’s ear, causing him to break out in a smile. He’d make such a great father, Faith thought, not by any means for the first time, and took a moment to run through her mental Rolodex of singles, despite the fact that Robert had politely but insistently refused all her matchmaking efforts.
    â€œJust in time!” Dick cried as Fred and Naomi walked into the room. “Scotty, run out and tell them to bring the shrimp cocktails. You can eat fast and catch up,” he said, beckoning the couple to their seats.
    Scott stood up and headed for the door, almost colliding with the third member of the Stafford party. It was Ophelia. Faith didn’t need an introduction, even though she’d never seen the girl before. The figure trailing morosely behind had sixteen-year-old female angst writ large all over it. There were visible piercings just about everywhere something could be punctured, and Faith imagined the baggy black jeans and cropped T-shirt proclaiming SHIT HAPPENS hid more. One wrist was tattooed with a barbed-wire bracelet, and again Faith suspected further decoration beneath her clothes. She wore boots with heels so high and soles so thick, they looked orthopedic. Ophelia’s dark hair was short, a kind of devil-may-care nail-clipper look. She had one long magenta-streaked lock that hung down across her face, trailing to her chin.
    And she was beautiful. Very, very beautiful, despite her every attempt to disguise the fact. Faith knew from the boys that she was “an awesome boarder.” She was trying to shuffle into the room, but her innate grace and energy wouldn’t allow it, and she almost sprang into the chair next to Andy’s.
    â€œI’m so glad you could make it, Joanie. No, no, I know that’s not it. It’s Miranda now, right?” Dick Fairchild was training his magnetic smile on the girl, and for a moment she was pulled in, a glimmer of one appearing in return on her lips. Then she caught herself.
    â€œOphelia, it’s Ophelia,” she said sullenly.
    â€œKnew it was one of those Shakespeare gals. Welcome to my party, Ophelia, Fred, and Naomi. Now all the Staffords are here.”
    Ophelia seemed about to say something more, but instead, she started whispering to Scott, who had returned, closely followed by a waiter with the Staffords’ appetizer. Faith watched Ophelia eat the lettuce, avoiding the shrimp. Then she handed the almost full plate to Andy Parker. She shook her head when the waiter came around with the main course. She was beautiful, but she was too thin. Whippet-thin and, like the dogs, her rib cage was clearly visible. It pressed against the spandex shirt, an X ray. Ben was mesmerized by her and was leaning so far over in his