“See that you bring nothing more,” Richard said, opening his car door without another word.

I unlocked my SUV and got into the driver’s seat, where four blue wool coats filled the back row.

Henry leaned forward between the front seats, holding a paper cup of lukewarm cocoa.

“Did the lady in the blue suit talk to you?” Henry asked.

“She did,” I said, pulling out of the hotel garage onto the Denver expressway.

We drove two hours west into the foothills before the sky turned dark gray and heavy snow started coating the pine needles along the shoulder of the highway.

At six o’clock I pulled into a highway rest-stop diner near Aspen to buy hot soup and check the tire chains.