‘I can’t get to the phone right now because I’m out delivering presents in my sleigh …’ the dead sheriff’s voice sounded strong and healthy from his answering machine. ‘Ho! Ho! Ho! Merrrrrrry Christmas!’

Unnerved, I got up to go to the ladies’ room, revolver in hand. I was walking around my office armed because Gault had ruined this place where I had always felt safe. I stopped in the hall and looked up and down it. Gray floors had a buildup of wax and walls were eggshell white. I listened for any sound. He had gotten in here once. He could get in again.

Fear gripped me strongly, and when I washed my hands in the bathroom sink, they were trembling. I was perspiring and breathing hard. I walked swiftly to the other end of the corridor and looked out a window. I could see my car covered in snow, and just one van. The other van remained missing. I returned to my office and resumed dictating.

A telephone rang somewhere and I started. The creaking of my chair made me jump. When I heard the elevator across the hall open, I reached for the revolver and sat very still, watching the doorway as my heart hammered. Quick, firm footsteps sounded, getting louder as they got nearer. I raised the gun, both hands on the rubber grips.

Lucy walked in.

‘Jesus,’ I exclaimed, my finger on the trigger. ‘Lucy, my God.’ I set the gun on my desk. ‘What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call first? How did you get in?’

She looked oddly at me and the .38. ‘Jan drove me down, and I’ve got a key. You gave me a key to your building a long time ago. I did call, but you weren’t here.’

‘What time did you call?’ I was light-headed.

‘A couple hours ago. You almost shot me.’

‘No.’ I tried to fill my lungs with air. ‘I didn’t almost shoot you.’

‘Your finger wasn’t on the side of the trigger guard, where it was supposed to be. It was on the trigger. I’m just glad you didn’t have your Browning right now. I’m just glad you didn’t have anything that’s single action.’

‘Please stop it,’ I quietly said, and my chest hurt.

‘The snow’s more than two inches, Aunt Kay.’

Lucy was standing by the door, as if she were unsure about something. She was typically dressed in range pants, boots and a ski jacket.

An iron hand was squeezing my heart, my breathing labored. I sat motionless, looking at my niece as my face got colder.

‘Jan’s in the parking lot,’ she was saying.

‘The press is back there.’

‘I didn’t notice any reporters. But anyway, we’re in the pay lot across the street.’

‘They’ve had several muggings there,’ I said. ‘There was a shooting, too. About four months ago.’