Margaret Millar is somewhat of a hidden treasure among American "mystery writers". (She was originally from Canada, but her many years of living in California with her writer-husband Ross McDonald give us Americans a claim on her.) What makes her unusual and special within the genre is the way so many of her novels subtly and eloquently examine the emotional toll taken on people by the small things that haunt their lives, create inner conflict or despair.

Isobel Seton, a witty New Yorker, is riding to a lodge in the wilds of Quebec in the middle of a blizzard. When the driver stops the bus in the middle of nowhere and walks off into the heavy snowstorm, the stranded would-be skiers find themselves in the middle of a mystery that ranks among Millar’s best.

Cleo Jasper, a beautiful woman in her early 20s drops out of sight while attending an exclusive school for the learning disabled. Shortly before her disappearance, she had wandered into the law offices of Tom Aragon, the engaging young hero of Ask for Me Tomorrow and The Murder of Miranda. Cleo's older brother, Hilton, hires Aragon to find the vulnerable girl and bring her back home. Hilton's dedication to his little sister is tinged with guilt - and perhaps something more - for he has already alienated his wife and son by his devotion to Cleo.

The decomposed body of a much-loved eight-year-old, Annamay Hyatt, is found in a wooded creekside area. To an agonizing degree everyone concerned with Annamy feels responsible. To an even more agonizing degree, someone is. The effect of the child’s violent death runs through the community like a plague. It infects not only her parents and her cousin, Dru, the same age as Annamay, but everyone who lives or works in the area, from the aging man who gives young parties to the white-robed con man who comes to the creek and hears a banshee.

Thomas Philips was a happy man who could afford to retire at the age of 45. Old grudges were forgotten; the past was a lucrative memory. He scarcely felt the pinprick in his neck, and by the time the hand closed over his mouth, it was too late to do anything about it.