“I think the butterscotch is good, don’t you?”

For a moment Hannah thought her sister was referring to the batch of cookies she’d taken to Bill and Mike at the sheriff’s station. Then she noticed that Andrea was holding out one foot to show off her high-heeled boots that were made from butterscotch-colored leather.

“Very nice,” Hannah said, wondering how Andrea could possibly walk in heels that high. “I hope you’re not showing a farm.”

“I’m not, but why?”

“Those heels are pretty high for the country, especially if you have to walk up banks of snow.”

“High heels are better than flat heels. I can dig in with these and I don’t slip.”

Hannah’s mind flashed back to a documentary she’d seen about mountain climbing and the pitons they used as footholds to scale steep slopes. She could visualize her sister in the Himalayas, digging in with her heels and walking right up to the top of the mountain, passing veteran climbers and their Sherpas alike.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

Hannah knew Andrea wouldn’t think her mental image was funny, so she made up something on the spot. “I couldn’t even walk in those things, much less climb snow banks.”

“I know you couldn’t. You never bothered to practice. Remember how I used to walk up and down on the living room rug in my heels?”

Hannah remembered, and the memory brought on another smile. Andrea had clocked miles on their lime-green living room carpet wearing heels and whatever old clothes she’d put on after school. Sometimes it was jeans and high heels. In the summer, it was shorts and high heels. Occasionally it was pajamas and high heels.

“If you’d practiced as much as I did, you’d be comfortable in high heels.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I have lousy balance and no inclination to break my neck.”

“Well, whatever.” Andrea patted her shoulder bag purse. “This purse wasn’t made by the same manufacturer, but I think it’s a good match with my boots.”

“Looks good to me,” Hannah said. She’d never bothered having shoes and purses that matched, but both her mother and Andrea insisted that mismatched accessories were a fashion no-no.

“Bill called me a couple of minutes ago and said he might drop by. You clued in Lisa, didn’t you?”

“Yes, if you’re talking about her fictional aunt. And she knows that Candy is a runaway who’s supposed to be my college roommate’s younger sister.”

“How about Candy? Does she know who she’s supposed to be?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d let you tell her. You’re the one who made up her cover story.”

“All right. Where is she?”

“In the front helping Lisa. I’ll go get her and introduce you. Be really careful. She’s still a little nervous, and she might run if you say the wrong…”

Hannah stopped speaking as the swinging door between the coffee shop and the kitchen barged open and Candy rushed in. She didn’t look to the right or the left. She just made a beeline for the back door, jerked it open, and rushed out.