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call—or to knock the trusting homeowner unconscious and rob her blind.
    Still, the woman looked all right. Not that you could judge a person by appearances. Andrea had learned that lesson. She’d learned about the masks people wore, and what was behind the masks—not least, her own.
    “Ma’am?” piped the irritating, beseeching voice.
    “I’m sorry,” Andrea said firmly. “I can’t help you.”
    There. That was that. The matter was settled. She was turning away from the door when she heard the woman say, “Please.”
    No one had said
please
to Andrea in a long time.
    She hesitated, her lips working silently, mouthing words. Then on impulse she unlatched the door and opened it a few inches, without releasing the security chain.
    “You’re polite,” Andrea said. “I like that.”
    “It’ll just take a minute,” the woman said again.
    Andrea could feel her heart clenching and unclenching in her chest, each beat a separate jolt that traveled up her breastbone into her throat. She didn’t want to release the chain. She was sure she would regret it if she did.
    And yet it had been so long since anyone had treated her with courtesy. And the ticking of the clock did get irksome at times, with no voices in the house.
    The chain made a poor defense, anyway. The woman could have forced open the door by now, had she wanted to. One good shove would rip the chain out of its socket.
    She could probably be trusted.
    “All right,” Andrea said, her own words surprising her. She took down the chain and opened the door before she could change her mind. “Come in.”
    “Thank you.” The woman stepped over the threshold, and Andrea took a step back, afraid of sharing her space. “I appreciate it. Really. My name’s Abby. Abby Bannister.”
    Andrea realized she was expected to give her own name in return. It had been a while since she’d practiced the ritual of exchanging introductions. “Andrea Lowry.”
    “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Lowry.”
    “It’s Miss Lowry. Just Miss. Call me Andrea.” Her mouth was dry. Speech was difficult. “The phone ... in the kitchen.” She gestured vaguely.
    The woman moved past her. She was alone. No accomplice had been waiting to spring through the doorway.
    Andrea lingered in the living room while Abby Bannister called AAA and arranged for service. When the call was over, Abby emerged from the kitchen. It had taken longer than the promised minute, but Andrea wasn’t upset about that. She was beginning to adjust to the peculiar sensation of sharing her living quarters with another human being.
    “I’m sorry I was so standoffish,” Andrea said. “But a person has to be careful, you know. Especially at this time of night.”
    “I understand.”
    “The car people—they’re sending someone?”
    “Yes. It may take some time. I’ll wait outside.”
    “You can wait in here ... if you like.”
    “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
    “No, really, I don’t mind.” The odd thing was, she didn’t. Now that she’d allowed a person into her home, she suddenly dreaded the thought of being alone again. “I can fix you something to drink.”
    “Well, if it’s not too much trouble.”
    “I have lemonade. Is that all right?”
    “That would be fine, thank you.”
    Andrea got the pitcher out of the fridge and poured two tall glasses. She was distantly amazed that she could do this. She was entertaining a guest. She was a hostess.
    She carried the glasses into the living room and handed one to Abby. They took seats across from each other.
    “You have a very nice home,” Abby said.
    Andrea doubted she meant it. The house was small and old and stuffy, the curtains were always closed, and there were security bars on the windows. No mementos or knickknacks were on display, no items of a personal nature. She’d lived here for more than a year but had furnished the place with little besides essentials, and most of those had been purchased secondhand.
    Andrea asked Abby where she