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in the goofy, rose-coloredglasses stage. Remember, when you lose track of time because all you can concentrate on is the guy?”
    “Yeah, I vaguely remember some kind of feeling like that,” I said, waving my hand dismissively. I drank my coffee and thought about Andrew, who I’d left back in Boston when I left everything else. Andrew with his blue eyes, broad shoulders and great laugh. Andrew, who went on a two-week fishing trip after we’d had a fight and came back married to someone else.
    I blew out a breath and blew away the memory. “Who’s Ruby seeing?”
    “His name is Justin. He was a counselor at an alternative school in Minneapolis. Now he’s working on some kind of project to build a wilderness camp for troubled kids.”
    “I can’t picture Ruby getting all dewy-eyed over a guy.” Ruby was funny and unconventional. Her hair changed color about every two weeks, plus she had more piercings than anyone I’ve ever seen.
    Maggie leaned over to look out the window again. “Where is—” She didn’t finish the thought because the door to the restaurant flew open and a blast of cold air blew over my back. Mags turned from the window, her eyes widened and she set her cup blindly on the table.
    Ruby stood in the doorway, flakes of snow swirling around her. Her hair, hot pink this week, was wind tossed, her scarf was twisted and her face was ashen.
    “Somebody help me,” she said, closing her eyes for a second.
    I stood up. “What’s wrong?”
    She held out both hands helplessly and looked over her shoulder out the door. “I think she’s . . .” She shook her head. “She’s in the alley. She’s not moving.”
    Everyone was staring at Ruby but no one was moving. I pulled on my coat. “Ruby, who’s in the alley?” I said, crossing to the door. “Show me.”
    She nodded and hurried down the sidewalk, half running, half stumbling. It was slippery and the snow had drifted over the pavement in places.
    Ruby led the way into the alley two doors down from the café, and stopped so suddenly I banged into her. She pointed at something with a trembling hand. I put my own hand on her shoulder. “Stay right here,” I said. I could see tire tracks in the dusting of snow and crumpled fast-food wrappers.
    There was something lying farther down the alley. A bag of garbage, I told myself as I eased closer, my heart pounding. A cat. An injured dog. My hands were shaking and I clenched them tightly in my heavy mittens. Then I stopped, because I could see what was on the ground. It wasn’t a bag of garbage or a dog that had been hurt. It was a red-and-black-plaid mohair coat covered with a dusting of snow. It was Agatha Shepherd.
    And she was dead.

4
    A gatha lay partly on her stomach. I tried to stay in Ruby’s footprints as I reached the body. It seemed pretty clear, based on the waxy appearance of Agatha’s skin and the fact that she wasn’t moving, that she wasn’t alive, but still I felt I had to check.
    I crouched in the snow and pulled off one mitten. Agatha’s eyes were closed. I felt for a pulse at her neck. Nothing.
    I closed my eyes for a second, silently sending up a prayer that whatever had caused the woman to die had been swift and painless. Then I got to my feet and turned back to Ruby. Maggie was beside her, one arm around Ruby’s rigid shoulders. I shook my head, and Ruby sagged against Maggie.
    My phone was in my briefcase back in the restaurant, I realized. “Do you have your phone?” I called to Maggie.
    She pulled it out of her pocket and held it up.
    “Call nine-one-one.”
    Maggie gave Ruby’s shoulder a squeeze, took a few steps away from her and flipped the phone open. Ruby started back toward the body, and I moved to intercept her.
    “Kathleen, please, can you help Agatha?” she said, gesturing at the body with a shaking hand.
    I caught her by both arms and turned her away. “Maggie’s getting help,” I said.
    “I can’t leave her there covered in snow,” Ruby stammered,