The door to the post office swung open and she emerged, looking like a bird of paradise hatching in a sparrow’s nest. Sonny Fouts, coming out of the hardware store, paused to stare at her, but she didn’t seem to notice as she strode up the sidewalk, her briefcase swinging at her side, a cell phone glued to her face as she carried on an animated conversation.

Russ sucked in his breath as he surveyed her from the ground up, starting with the pair of dark green high-heeled boots with a row of fringe that swung to and fro with each bouncy step. Her snug black skirt skimmed over trim hips and stopped well above the knees, revealing sleek, slender legs. Above the skirt she wore a short suede jacket bearing an abundance of snaps and more streamers of fringe. Her hair tumbled in luxuriant black waves from beneath a beret.

Most people in Linhart wore hats-straw cowboy hats in the summer, felt in the winter, and gimme caps from the feed store. But not berets. Way too French for a town founded by German immigrants. Way too citified.

“Oo-ey, she’s somethin’ else, eh?” Bert said with his usual candor. “Kinda on the skinny side, maybe. Uh-oh, look out, she’s headin’ this way.”

Bert quickly picked up a three-day-old newspaper and pretended absorption in it. Russ walked casually to the back of the store to check on the coffee, facing away from the door as if the lady didn’t interest him much. It was a lie, of course. Her type always interested him.

Russ resisted the urge to turn around when the jingling doorbell announced the arrival of a customer. He heard the rustling of Bert’s newspaper and the halfhearted thumping of Nero’s tail against the wooden plank flooring.

“Help you, missy?” Bert asked politely. “Bert Klausen, at your service.”