“What’s Caleb doing down here?” I asked.

“Just got his anklet taken off,” Vern said. “County attorney’s offering him and Ronnie probation, provided they make financial restitution and do about a zillion hours of community service.”

“Good,” I said. “Is that Duane Shiffley with him?”

“It is,” Vern said. “Seems Duane is dead set against seeing any more young Shiffleys following in his unfortunate footsteps. Going to stick to Caleb like a burr to a hound dog until he’s sure the kid has done all his community service and seen the error of his ways. If Caleb wants to go to the devil he’ll have to do it over Duane’s dead body. Probably safe to go in now.”

I took Vern’s advice, wishing Caleb and Duane a merry Christmas as I passed. The chief was standing in the lobby, gazing down the hallway that led to the jail, with a satisfied expression on his face.

“Good morning, Meg,” he said. “And merry Christmas. I won’t take too much of your time—I know you have a lot on your plate.”

And it didn’t take much time, probably because he’d already taken a very detailed statement from Mother last night. I went through my story, and he took a few notes, but that was it. And he was obviously in such a genial mood that I didn’t hesitate to ask a few questions of my own.

“So was Mother right?” I asked. “Had Riddick stolen all of Mrs. Thornefield’s nice things?”

“Stolen just about everything,” the chief said. “And started selling everything off. Fortunately he was keeping good records, so we shouldn’t have too much trouble recovering either the items from the buyers or the purchase price from Riddick’s bank account, whichever Trinity prefers. And the items he hadn’t yet sold were all packed up—apparently he was planning to take it all with him.”

“Even the furniture?”

“He had it all loaded in a stolen truck,” the chief said. “Quincy Shiffley’s truck, in fact. Once we’ve inventoried it, the Shiffley Moving Company can bring it out to your barn to get ready for that auction.”

“What about the stuff in the church basement?” I asked. “Did he steal that, too?”

“No, he bought it all at various junk shops, estate sales and yard sales over the past six months, since Mrs. Thornefield passed away,” the chief said. “He knew everyone would get suspicious if there wasn’t a house full of furniture and boxes down in the basement. I suppose it never occurred to him that anyone would be that familiar with the contents of Mrs. Thornefield’s house.”

“He should have known Mother better by now,” I said.

“And it’s a good thing you knew your mother well enough to suspect she couldn’t rest without inspecting the basement,” the chief said.