The question at work this week has been: what episode are you on? I, of course, am referring to the House of Cards on Netflix.

No one, thankfully, wants to be a spoilsport.

At the end of the second season, Frank and Claire Underwood completed their calculated ascension to the White House. I looked forward to Frank’s Shakespearean asides, his mocking expressions, his ruthless ambitions. What will Claire do in the third? Did Doug die? Where did Rachel go? Some scenes were shot in Northern New Mexico, where I live. How would they work into the story?

As most know, every episode of House of Cards for season three was released Feb. 27. Super fans had a choice: go on a gluttonous binge or ration out the shows to make them last a bit longer. I chose the latter. (After all, I have other things to do than watch TV.) So did my co-workers.

So when I asked my colleagues how far they’ve gotten in House of Cards, it’s been safe to talk plot and character, to critique the show’s progress only to that point.

I’ve done this before.

When my sister and I were kids, we got ahold of a Nancy Drew book. I believe it was an edition of the first, The Secret of the Old Clock. Nancy then was a high school girl who was a super sleuth. She lived with her father and a housekeeper. The author is supposedly a woman named Carolyn Keene, who was really no such person, but we didn’t care. We liked a book that featured a smart girl who solved mysteries. If only we could do something like that.

Anyway my sister and I both wanted to read the book at the same time. So we came up with a system. We agreed how far ahead we could read before we passed the book to the other. We were on the honor system until we reached the end.

So once again I find myself in a similar situation.

Last night I watched the show’s finale. And unless you have, too, I’m not going to discuss what happened or say whether I liked it or not. I’m not going to spoil it for you.

POSTSCRIPT: The photo above was taken a week ago with Hank at the wheel. After what meteorologists called “a parade of storms,” we have settled back to a sunny New Mexican winter and the snow is mercifully melting.