Hannah, Andrea, and Norman sat in the back booth under several strings of multicolored tinsel garlands that had been looped over the ceiling light fixtures in a crisscross pattern. A small fake poinsettia sat in the exact center of each table, and brightly colored cardboard cutouts of wreaths, snowmen, and sleighs were taped to the backs of the booths.

Except for the perpetual poker game that Hal hosted in the private banquet room in the back, the restaurant was deserted. It was two-fifteen in the afternoon, too late for lunch, and too early for the students at Jordan High to order after-school hamburgers and french fries. Even Rose had defected. She’d refilled their mugs, plunked the coffee carafe down on the table, told them to help themselves, and headed upstairs to the apartment over the restaurant to wrap a few Christmas presents.

“So what do we have so far?” Andrea asked, blowing on her coffee to cool it before she took a tentative sip.

Hannah got out her steno pad and prepared to read her notes aloud. She was taking a breather from work so that they could have a strategy meeting. Lisa and Candy were handling everything, and after a week at The Cookie Jar, Candy was fitting right in. Everyone appeared to believe Andrea’s cover story, although Hannah thought Bill might be a bit suspicious. He was letting it slide, though. Bill wasn’t about to haul Candy off to the county home right before Christmas, especially since she was now staying in the guest room at Hannah’s condo.

“She’s approximately fifteen, she doesn’t have a driver’s license yet, and she lives with her mother. Her father was a veterinarian, and he’s dead.”

Andrea shook her head. “We don’t know that for sure.”

“We don’t know what for sure?” Hannah asked with a frown.

“We don’t know her father’s dead.”

“Why would Candy lie about something like that?” Norman wanted to know.

“Divorce. I heard all about it on a talk show. Some kids don’t want to admit their parents have broken up. They’d rather say that one of them is dead.”

Norman looked puzzled. “But why?”

“It ends the discussion. If someone says, My dad is dead, you say, I’m sorry. And then you change the subject. If someone says, My parents are divorced, you might ask questions about which one they live with, and how often they see the other one, and things like that.”

Norman nodded. “That makes some kind of sense, but I still think he’s dead.”

“So do I.” Hannah glanced down at her notebook again. “I’m almost positive her name really is Candy. She answers to it even when she’s distracted, and it sounds natural when she says it. And I’m pretty sure her last name starts with an R.”

“She told you that?” Andrea asked.

“In a way, but she didn’t mean to. That first night when I woke her up, I asked her name. She said Candy, and then she began to say something that started with an R. When she realized what she was doing, she stopped cold and told me that I didn’t need to know her last name.”