When Mother had finished laughing over her own file and the general petty nature of Vess’s files, we left the house, and I locked up and taped the key back under the mat. And then I scuffed the snow around enough to disguise the fact that the mat had been moved.

“Doesn’t make much of an effort for the holiday, does he?” Mother said.

She was right. No wreaths, no candles, no tree—not even any Christmas cards lying about. Maybe that was what had made the place seem so curiously forlorn.

“How does he get away with it, I wonder,” I said. “Doesn’t Caerphilly have some kind of ordinance requiring every household to make at least a minimum holiday decorating effort?”

“I wish it did,” Mother said. I had been joking. She was probably serious.

“Speaking of making an effort for the holiday,” I said. “I’m heading back to town. I have things to do.”

“I’m going to get the groceries for my Christmas dinner,” Mother said. “Your brother was going to help me carry everything—I don’t suppose you could—”

“I’ll help you hunt him down, no problem,” I said, hoping to head off a request that I take her shopping. “Just don’t ask him for any fresh ducks.”

“What are you doing now, dear?” she asked.

If that was an attempt to enlist me in the shopping, I was prepared.

“I’m going to drop by and talk to the chief,” I said. “And figure out some way to get him to look for that missing file without getting both of us thrown in jail for trespassing and interfering with an investigation.”

“The file we noticed was missing while we were looking for Mr. Vess’s poor starving cat?” Mother said.

“Yeah, that will work,” I said. “And then I’m going to go home, take another pain pill, and rest my arm until it’s time to get the boys ready for Michael’s show.”

“Feel better, dear,” she said. “And I’ll see you at the theater.”

Chapter 31

I did feel better on the way back to town. Partly because my arm, although only giving me occasional twinges of pain, was proving to be such a useful tool for weaseling out of things I didn’t want to do. And partly because the college radio station was back to its usual policy of nonstop Christmas music, and was playing a wonderful program of medieval carols. I was singing along with “The Holly and the Ivy” when I pulled into the police station parking lot. I was lingering in the car to hear the ending when my phone rang. I was in such a good mood that I answered it without thinking.

“Hello?”

“I don’t have any animals!”

I pulled the phone away from my ear, turned down the radio, and looked at the caller ID. It was the Methodist church. Almost certainly Mrs. Dahlgren.