The Excelsior police station was a new, one-story building of brick and dark gray stone. It was on the south edge of town near Highway 7, next door to the McDonald’s and across the street from an ice cream shop—perhaps, Irene suggested in a very dry voice, to make up for its being so far from the Excelo Bakery and its wonderful doughnuts.

A thin-mouthed man with dark red hair and a lot of freckles came to the tiny foyer and said he was Detective Sergeant Mike Malloy. He seemed to recognize Irene, and not with pleasure. But he took both of them back to a small office crowded with two messy desks and several filing cabinets.

On one desk was a large paper bag stapled shut, with a big red tag labeled EVIDENCE covering the staples. He pulled a metal chair from the other desk so each woman could sit down.

Malloy broke the seal on the paper bag with professional nonchalance. “I want you first, Betsy, to tell me if you recognize any of this.” He upended the bag and wads of colored fabric mixed with the broken sticks of a wooden frame tumbled out.

“May I touch it?” she asked.

“Go ahead.”

Betsy picked up a wad of dull green cloth, which unrolled itself into a Christmas stocking. She turned it around to find a needlepoint picture of children looking through a multipaned window at Santa and toys. The stitches were fancy; Santa’s beard was done in long curls, his fur trim was really furry, and the toys were crusted with tiny beads. “I think this is ours,” said Betsy, looking at Irene for confirmation.

Irene nodded, her eyes sad. “It’s mine,” she said. “Maybe it can be saved. I won’t know until it’s been washed and reblocked.”

“I think it looks fine, just a little dirt here and there,” said Betsy, surprised.

But Irene shook her head. “I don’t know if it will ever be the same.”

The angel, broken out of its frame, was in much worse shape. It seemed to have been pulled at its opposing corners, distorting the stitches along with the picture, and to have picked up some serious stains along its journey. “Oh, dear.” Betsy sighed.

“Yes, quite ruined,” said Irene.

Those were the only two pieces of needlework from the bag; there were also pieces of the mat that had enclosed the angel, and fragments of the wooden frame. There was also extraneous paper trash, and an empty plastic pop bottle.

“Is that all you found?” asked Betsy.

“Why, isn’t that all that’s missing?”

“No, there was also a needlepoint picture of a blue Chinese horse.”

“It was in a plain wooden frame, quite narrow,” added Irene. “Matted in very pale green.”

“That’s all that was turned in.” Malloy sat back in his chair. “Were there price tags on these items?”